jmgoyder

wings and things

Peachick poop

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Now that Gutsy9 is a bit over a month old, he is producing poops that are larger than the size of a pinhead. He still spends a good part of each day on my shoulder, but so far he has only had a couple of little accidents there.

But this morning the thing I’ve been dreading happened. I was on my computer and Gutsy9 was fast asleep on my shoulder with his little face curled into my neck when he suddenly woke up and emitted a strange SPHLATT noise and my entire arm was suffused with heat. Arghhhhhhhhhhh!

I flicked him off and he flew to the ground, then I raced into the shower and washed his humongous droppings off my arm. So now I have my thinking cap on (and a towel on my shoulder because of course Gutsy9 has flown straight back up there), and I am wondering….

He is now accepted by the adult peafowl due to our daily outside integration sessions, however he is still too small to leave with them (a) because he is imprinted on me, and (b) a fox or crow will kill him.

Mmmmmm!

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What’s that on your shoulder?

Birds seem to like perching on human shoulders. This photo of Woodroffe (gosling) was taken just before he scrambled up to my shoulder and pooped. Unlike the ducklings, he did this silently, so it wasn’t until I went to the local shop and bumped into a friend who said, “what’s that on your shoulder?” that I realised I had a rather large mound of greenish substance on my collar and leaking into my neck (I thought I was just sweating; well, it was a hot morning).

You do know, don’t you (no, you probably don’t, and that’s okay) that you can now purchase nappies/diapers for poultry. And, yes, when Woody was little, I contemplated nappying him with the lovely pink and white chook nappies I had bought online.

Why? That is a very good question.  I suppose, initially, having read about imprinting (the details of which I will save for another post), I thought Woody might turn into the second child I never had – don’t worry, I didn’t want a second child anyway.

The nappies weren’t terribly complicated, although there did seem to be a lot of safety pins, and the instruction sheet, which consisted of a diagramatic series of steps, was a little difficult to de-code for a novice. So I gave up and decided to put Woody back outside with the rest of the gang. I think he was relieved; I know I was.

If, a few months ago, someone told me that they had a pet chook/goose/duck who lived in the house with them I would have been intrigued and, yes, amused. I would have thought this someone and his/her ‘pet’ were both extremely weird and I would probably have decided to gradually ease away from my friendship with this someone.

Now, however, I do ‘get it’, but I just don’t want to do it because, unless the chook/goose/duck wants to come into the house, I don’t see any point when they are all happy outside anyway.

Apparently, unlike dogs and cats, you cannot house-train poultry because they have no control over their sphincters. You see, I have done my research here!

Woody didn’t like that nappy idea anyway and I don’t blame him. I think he thought it was all a bit peculiar. I do hope he didn’t tell the others!

Anyway, chook nappies aside, I have now exchanged my white shirts for green ones at the local second-hand shop. I had washed them first, of course, but unfortunately the shoulder stains were still there. I’m not quite sure why, but the woman who served me didn’t want to know the details.

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