peafowl | jmgoyder

Romance

by jmgoyder

I am still watching those two loved-up peafowl. The white peahen has become rather a show off lately, so I’m worried that the peacock’s interest in her may have gone to her head because she keeps standing on the food box and pirouetting in front of all of the peacocks when really (and I’ve told her this!) she should be loyal to her first suitor.

For the sake of convenience, and clarity, I have decided to name them Brad and Angelina.

In the photo below you will see that Angelina is a little confused; she is in the middle, between two male white peacocks who both adore her but are beginning to tire of her antics.

And here we have Brad, being advised by one of Angie’s brothers to persevere because, ultimately, it will all be worth it.

Ahhhhh – romance … what would we do without its uncertainty, excitement, agony and joy? Mmmm – probably we’d all be calmer and wiser and very boring!

Wings

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Flirting

by jmgoyder

Oh, this is too beautiful.

I have been watching these two peafowl for some time – the blue peacock and the white peahen – because, over the last couple of months, they seem to have formed a tentative romantic relationship. As they are adolescents, it is still at the shy stage of things, and I’ve noticed that they only get close if none of the others are around.

So yesterday, in the early evening, I was surprised to see them together but, as I watched, they were both very careful not to be too forward with each other. They would stand next to each other but refrain from making eye contact and mostly look around as if neither were aware of the other’s presence.

Instead, the peacock looked up into the wattle tree, as if there were something to be alarmed about, and the peahen did the same. That’s when I realised they were flirting with each other because, as we all now know, there was nothing in that tree – not even a Willy Wagtail!

I continued to watch, fascinated, as the peacock kept cocking his head here there and everywhere, pretending (I think!) and the peahen did the same.

They didn’t make eye contact with each other but they did, eventually, begin to look in the same direction as if they had both found a common interest. I began to feel as if my presence, and my camera, were unwanted and that they needed some privacy.

So I left them alone to be too beautiful together.

Wings

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Where is Zaruma?

by jmgoyder

Peacock 1: Have you guys seen Zaruma? I’m worried about him.

Peahen 1: Who’s Zaruma?

Peacock 2: You know – that duck that Godfrey loathes.

Peahen 2: Oh, the ugly one?

Peacock 1: Come on – he can’t help his looks.

Peahen 1: Last I saw he was still trying to hang out with the gang.

Peacock 3: Can he fly? Maybe he’s in a tree.

Gang: We’re not supposed to have anything to do with you, Zaruma – go away before Godfrey sees you here.

Zaruma: What if I promise never to poop in the pond again?

Gang: Take it up with Godfrey. Now get lost!

Zaruma: I wish I could be a kid again. It was so much easier.

Peahen 1: I found him! Come on darling, come on Zaruma. Don’t you worry about that big bad gander; we’ll look after you schnookums.

Wings

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The ‘new’ emus

by jmgoyder

We have now had the new Emerys (the name I call our emus) for nearly a month, so three days ago, I let them out of their yard for the first time. They were hesitant that day and just hung around outside their yard, but on the second day, they ventured further into the paddocks they are looking longingly at in the above picture. I was hoping they would stick to the five acres around our house but, as Son pointed out rather sternly, they are wild birds at heart.

Each day it has been a challenge to round them back into their yard. They do come when I call out “Emerys” but they take their time and I have to have a lot of cabbage to tempt them. They love frolicking in water so now what I do is to turn the hose on into their yard and create a big puddle and this also lures them in but it takes a lot of patience.

Unfortunately we have had two casualties. The first was on the day of arrival (I couldn’t write about it at the time); one of the six emus, once released into the yard, could not stand up. It kept trying and falling over and this went on for a couple of hours while the emu farmer was still here. We tried everything but eventually the farmer said that once this happened there was no hope, so he had to put the emu out of its misery. This was done very quickly and humanely, but I was devastated. Then, a week ago, the same thing happened to one of the others and Son had to do the deed as the emu was extremely distressed and seemed to be in terrible pain and kept cheeping. This was the same day Wantok flew away so it was a pretty dreadful day. The picture below shows one of the emus sitting down (this one is perfectly well) but this is what the two deceased emus did when they got sick; each of them would get to a sitting position, then flop to one side or the other, legs flailing, then get to a sitting position again and so on. There doesn’t appear to be any explanation.

On a more positive note, the remaining four emus are thriving and loving their hours of freedom. They are much bigger than our first Emerys so I think they might be safe from that fox, but I can’t be sure, so I spend a lot of time following them around which I thoroughly enjoy. It’s hilarious to watch them run in their zig-zagging way. They often bump into the peacocks and geese which frightens the hell out of both parties. Strangely, the only one they don’t seem afraid of is Godfrey, the gander, who hisses and honks at them to which they reply with a surprisingly deep grunt, almost like a bark and this shuts him up!

Ha!

Wings

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The pile of feathers

by jmgoyder

On Christmas Eve evening I went out as usual to put the gang away and, once that was done, I went to sit down at my picnic table close to their yards to wait for the peacocks to ascend into the trees.

But my heart galloped to an abrupt halt when I saw, just beside the picnic table, a pile of feathers – King peacock’s tail feathers – about 20 or so. A feeling of grief overwhelmed me because I assumed that the fox had killed him, so I sat down and sobbed inconsolably until, a few moments later, Son bounded out of the house to see where I was. My sobs were rather loud, so he found me quite easily and proceeded to laugh hysterically when I gasped, “King is dead.”

“Mum, you idiot,” Son said, sitting next to me and putting his arm around my heaving shoulders. “He’s fine – see – he’s right there!” He pointed and, through my tear-engorged eyes I saw King strutting across the lawn towards me, looking a little less regal than usual.

I stopped crying with sorrow and started crying with relief. “King!” I called and he came closer.

“He must be molting, Mum. I just collected all his feathers this afternoon and put them in a pile for you,” Son said gently, still chuckling.

I dried my eyes on my shirt. “Would you mind not calling me an idiot?” I said.

“I’ll consider it,” he said.

Wings

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The trumpeting of angels – or not

by jmgoyder

Peacocks make a variety of very loud noises and I mean VERY LOUD. Some say that these are amongst the most annoying noises in the world. I was warned about this by the people who sold us our first peacocks, but it was several weeks before any of them made the slightest sound so the first time I heard it, I got a terrible fright because it sounded like a woman screaming – no, not screaming, SHRIEKING. Okay, so that’s one sound. Another one is this trumpeting sound – quite haunting and, to my ears, pleasant, although when they all do it together I am very glad we don’t have close neighbours because it sounds a bit like an orchestra tuning up – ie. a bit disharmonious!

Anyway, these noises fill the air for much of the day, on and off, but the three of us are so used to it now that we don’t even notice. So it’s fantastic fun to see the expression of alarm on visitors’ faces when the peacocks do the shrieking thing. “What the hell was that?” they exclaim.

It’s probably the squawking noise (see/hear youtube below) that most irritates people because it’s such an angry sound, but we don’t hear that too often thank goodness.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s_DJNG-lxbk

My favourite of their sounds is this soft click-clicking that issues from their throats when I feed them bread or other treats. It’s almost if they are saying ‘thank you’.

Husband will be elated to come back to this trumpeting of angels (I think!)

Wings

4 Comments »

The frantic fluttering of wings

by jmgoyder

In the life-death-life-death-life cycle of birds I have now seen it all, had my heart broken then re-put-together, and dealt swiftly with the kind of suffering that is evidenced by the frantic fluttering of wings. As you know, we have a fox problem; in fact this whole district has a fox problem, but I didn’t realise how much of a problem this was until we suffered our first casualties (this was before we lost our first emus).

It was months ago now, back at the beginning of our bird adventure and I will never forget that morning.

It was very early and the sun was just crawling out from behind a cloud when I heard a dreadful chorus of squawking and quacking, so I leapt out of bed and ran out of the house to the back yard and, only metres away, there was a fox with one of our male Indian runner ducks in its jaws. I shrieked and ran towards it and it let the duck go and ran away and, thankfully, the duck survived.

I called all of the birds – and gradually, silently, the chickens who hadn’t been killed came towards me. I have a food bin out the back, so I got some bread and they livened up a bit but, when I did a head count, I only counted six when there should have been 12. And I couldn’t find our two roosters. Then, I realised that the Indian runner I had saved, was all alone; his female mate was gone too.

There were feathers everywhere, but no bodies, and I learned later that foxes (specifically vixens feeding their cubs), bury or hide what they kill for a later food source. But that morning, not knowing what I know now, I sat down on the ground and cried while I fed little bits of bread to the survivors. There was an eerie silence and I looked up into the wattle trees to see that all of the peafowl and guinnea fowl were still there, staring down, scared and quiet.

I stopped crying and called up, “It’s okay, you can come down now; the fox is gone,” and, one by one, they vacated their branches to land softly near me and to share the bread with others.

Wings

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Afternoon delight

by jmgoyder

I usually go out to the back yard at around 4-5pm to put the ducks, geese and turkeys into their yards for the night. The chickens all sleep in the trees now, just like the guinnea fowl and peacocks; they have learned the hard way to be scared of the foxes.

The gang all head to their yard of their own accord. They are much more routine-orientated than I am, so sometimes I find them waiting patiently inside the yard and, when I arrive with lettuce, they make a lot of noise and I’m never sure if they’re saying ‘oh, goody, lettuce’ or ‘well, it’s about time!’ I think it’s probably the latter.

The three Indian runner ducks are a bit more difficult to round up. They still don’t seem to understand that they are in danger from foxes and they run away from me in that Basil Fawlty way that is both funny and frustrating. I have to put them in a separate yard from the gang because the male duck keeps trying to flirt (that is an understatement) with the female geese.

Once the ducks, geese and turkeys are all settled in their yards, I sit down at one of the adjacent picnic tables and have a drink while I feed the chooks. Sometimes I am joined by a particularly friendly peacock. No, he’s not really interested in the beer; he wants to steal some of the chook food!

Wings

8 Comments »

Lullaby

by jmgoyder

The sound of their wings as they launch themselves up into the wattle trees at dusk is like a lullaby. I sit quietly and watch as all of the guinnea fowl and peafowl go to bed. I love the way each bird chooses a branch for the night and there is never any squabbling. King peacock is usually the first and then, one by one, or sometimes in pairs, they all fly up.

It is too late in the day for Husband to come outside with me to hear this lullaby, to watch this never-ending work of art, so usually I race back inside and tell him and he gives me that bemused look he is so good at. It’s very similar to Son’s ‘yeah, whatever, Mum’ look, so I’m never quite sure how to interpret it.

If you have been following this blog you will know that Husband has Parkinson’s disease. He doesn’t have the Michael J Fox type; he doesn’t shake at all. He has the kind of Parkinson’s that immobilizes him, that makes it very difficult for him to walk, to get up from a chair, to get out of bed, to be who he used to be – a man who used to run around the paddocks for the fun of it and round up cattle without a motorbike – my hero.

We have just bought a scooter for Husband and, even though he wasn’t that keen to have a vehicle made for the disabled, he actually really likes it now, so tomorrow at dusk, Husband and I will watch the lullaby together.

Wings

16 Comments »

WWE for pheasants

by jmgoyder

From the age of nine to the age of thirteen, Son was absolutely crazy about wrestling. We even flew across the country to Adelaide to see a match once (which he reckons was one of the highlights of his childhood!)

As you may recall, I began this blog with a story about my two golden pheasant males, Phoenix 1 and Phoenix 2, fighting over a female, with Phoenix 2 being exiled and our 80-year-old neighbour ringing up to say he was there.

Well, the saga has continued. First of all, the neighbour arranged, via a wildlife officer, for Phoenix 2 to be returned to us, but Phoenix 1 immediately banished him again and he was back at the neighbour’s house before she even got home (a 2-kilometre flight I might add). So she and I decided that she may as well keep him and she was rather thrilled, so everyone was happy.

Then, a couple of weeks later, she rang to say he seemed to have disappeared which was upsetting for both of us until another neighbour informed us that he was at their place and had attached himself to their mulberry tree. So they, too, caught him and brought him back here but, even though the female pheasant had long since disappeared (can you blame her?), Phoenix 1 once again chased his brother away.

The irony is that Phoenix 1 is now a very lonely pheasant and whimpers outside the back door constantly, whereas Phoenix 2 is happily gorging on mulberries less than a kilometre away. I really miss Phoenix 2 but what can I do? I refuse to aviary the birds, because I want them to have the freedom of choice, but I do hope he goes back to the 80-year-old neighbour’s place because she really loved him.

One thing for sure: I am not getting any more female pheasants! I’m sure you will understand if you look at these pictures of the battle below; it was terrible, it was awesome and it was a hell of a lot more dramatic than any WWE match I’ve seen.

The peace-loving peacocks tried to intervene; well, we all did, but to no avail.