Author: mamaroo43214595

All our family cats have had attitude. Starting with Muff, who became the matriarch. She was gentle with the kids, even allowing them to put her in a canoe full of water (much to the horror of their father who put a stop to it quickly). She was a deadly killer of any birds that made the mistake of nesting in the eaves of the garage, and kept any recalcitrant joeys in line. One night one decided it wanted her preferred place in front of the fire, and she put it in a headlock. She got her place back.

She died, full of years and lacking teeth, but still able to gum mice to death. I suspect they actually drowned.

Then there was Puddles who spent her life hating everyone. Pity help anyone who actually touched her. She had a confrontation with our dogs and turned into some sort of threshing machine, walking down the hall on her hind legs while her front paws, claws extended thrashing in front of her. The dogs fell over each other to get away. She died from illness but not before she had made her peace with me. I still wasn’t allowed to touch her but she looked for my company, and slept on my bed.

Felix came to us as a cute little kitten, giving us much pleasure and helping us to recover from the shock of my son’s car accident. He was very talkative, and would meet me when I came home from work and would tell me noisily about his day. He escorted stray dogs from the property, and kept dogs who were allowed to visit in their place. He and Max were best mates.

Max loved Felix and was his right hand man. He was the brawn to Felix’s brains. He was also willing companion to Albert the golden retriever and was often found lying down in the shade with him. Later in life he was the companion of Gypsy and they shared his basket together. He loved the kids, and was long suffering with them and with the other animals I had, and treated the birds with respect. I never took that for granted though, I would not leave him in the same room as something that may have been dinner for him….

Bilbo was our “miniature” cat. Because of illness he never grew past the size of a three months old cat, and he didn’t live long. Whenever he was picked up, he growled like a tiger, just in case someone wanted to give him some medication. He wanted so much to be treated as an adult cat, but the others always treated him like a kitten. He got so annoyed one time that he actually bit the other cat.

For several years, I babysat Tiggy. He hated the others (except for Bilbo) but loved us. My mother came to convalesce for five weeks after an illness and they had a special affinity, and I think he aided her recovery. She spent a lot of time asleep in my chair, with Tiggy on her lap. He eventually went back to his owner and lived out the rest of his life there.

And then there is Megga. She who must be obeyed. She who thinks I need organising. But when the chips are down…I am her rescuer. I am her mother and I have the ability to open cat food.

All our family cats have had attitude. Starting with Muff, who became the matriarch. She was gentle with the kids, even allowing them to put her in a canoe full of water (much to the horror of their father who put a stop to it quickly. She was a deadly killer of any birds that made the mistake of nesting in the eaves of the garage, and kept any recalcitrant joeys in line. One night one decided it wanted her preferred place in front of the fire, and she put it in a headlock. She got her place back.

She died, full of years and lacking teeth, but still able to gum mice to death. I suspect they actually drowned.

Then there was Puddles who spent her life hating everyone. Pity help anyone who actually touched her. She had a confrontation with our dogs and turned into some sort of threshing machine, walking down the hall on her hind legs while her front paws, claws extended thrashed in front of her. The dogs fell over each other to get away. She died from illness but not before she had made her peace with me. I still wasn’t allowed to touch her but she looked for my company, and slept on my bed.

Felix came to us as a cute little kitten, giving us much pleasure and helping us to recover from the shock of my son’s car accident. He was very talkative, and would meet me when I came home from work would tell me noisily about his day. He escorted stray dogs from the property, and kept dogs who were allowed to visit in their place. He and Max were best mates.

Max loved Felix and was his right hand man. He was the brawn to Felix’s brains. He was also willing companion to Albert the golden retriever and was often found lying down in the shade with him. Later in life he was the companion of Gypsy and they shared his basket together. He loved the kids, and was long suffering with them and with the other animals I had, and treated the birds with respect. I never took that for granted though, I would not leave him in the same room as something that may have been dinner for him….

Bilbo was our “miniature” cat. Because of illness he never grew past the size of a three months old cat, and he didn’t live long. Whever he was picked up, he growled like a tiger, just in case someone wanted to give him some medication. He wanted so much to be treated as an adult cat, but the others always treated him like a kitten. He got so annoyed one time that he actually bit the other cat.

For several years, I babysat Tiggy. He hated the others (except for Bilbo) but loved us. My mother came to convalesce for five weeks after an illness and they had a special affinity, and I think he aided her recovery. She spent a lot of time asleep in my chair, with Tiggy on her lap. He eventually went back to his owner and lived out the rest of his life there.

And then there is Megga. She who must be obeyed. She who thinks I need organising. But when the chips are down…I am her rescuer. I am her mother and I have the ability to open cat food.

 

 

The last couple of weeks have been emotionally draining, as I had to play the organ for several funerals.  One funeral was for a young man of 39, who was killed in an industrial accident (he went to school with my kids) and another was for a lady only a few years older than me, with whom I had worked.  Two funerals were for Tuesday and Wednesday just past.  I had also been asked to help cook for the afternoon teas afterwards, and I had music lessons to give afterwards as well.  So things were a bit hectic.

 

On the Monday afternoon before the funerals, I got a phone call from the daughter in law of the lady being buried on Tuesday.  She wanted to give me the list of hymns the family wanted played at the funeral, and she wanted to know could I also babysit her two little roos, Peter Pan and Wendy.  She is also a carer in our wild life group.  Straight after the funeral, she and her husband had to head off for a medical appointment, and probably wouldn’t be home for about 24 hours.  Her mother normally helped out, but she would be away as well.  Could I help out?

 

I had recently seen this little pair when she first got them.  She’s a fairly new carer, and wanted some pointers.  They were a pair of eastern grey kangaroos, one male, one female, still very much in their pouches, and needing 3 or 4 bottles a day.  They would eat grass, as long as they were left in their pouches.  Of course I said yes;  I reckoned I could cope with them, because their feed times wouldn’t clash with the funerals, and it would only be for a day.

 

They arrived at the appointed hour;  two of them in one large pouch.  They gave each other tremendous support, and if you had both out of the pouch at once, they would cling to each other.  The female was smaller, and very dainty and fine boned.  The male was larger, and a bit of a bruiser.  I didn’t think I’d want to meet him when he was fully grown.  I hung the pouch on a wardrobe door, and left them alone till their next feed was due, which was after the funeral, and after music lessons.  They were lovely and snug in their pouch, it was almost a shame to disturb them.  It took me a little while how to organise things, because when you woke one, they both woke, and both wanted to be fed….NOW!  However I soon worked out that I fed the boy first;  he was a wriggler and a bit rambunctious.  The girl was well behaved by comparison.  Both fed well once I got them started, and both were STARVED for that first feed.  Before bed, they were fed again, and I thought, I’ll get them outside in the morning for a bit of sun, and a munch on some grass.

 

Got up in the morning…and saw the world in a whole new light…the dust storm had arrived.  It was also blowing furiously, and quite unpleasant outside.  I decided the planned trip outside would be much too stressful for them, and their “mother” may not appreciate red joeys.  They had of course wet some of their pouch liners, and I decided I’d better not put them on the line either…putting them out in a dust storm defeated the purpose of washing them somewhat.  So I did the washing, and put it all in a plastic bag for dealing with later and the joeys went back to bed in their oversized pouch.  They didn’t seem too upset with the arrangement…after all they got their bottles on time, and tummies were nicely filled.  All was well with their world!  Several times while changing pouches I had them out on the floor.  It was a bit of a helter-skelter, with joeys trying to climb my leg, or make a break for it and leap through the house.  As you can imagine Max was not amused, and Gypsy was rather startled…these little creatures were much taller than her, when they stood up straight.  However we all survived, and eventually they went home to their place.  I dare say they’ll be back at some stage for babysitting if necessary.

 

Gypsy and Max found Wednesday a bit of a trial.  First there was those pesky roos, and there was also all that dust!  Max lost all interest in going outside and Gypsy set a new land speed record any time she HAD to go outside.  In fact a couple of times I had to remind her that she needed to go…..

 

 

The last couple of weeks have been emotionally draining, as I had to play the organ for several funerals.  One funeral was for a young man of 39, who was killed in an industrial accident (he went to school with my kids) and another was for a lady only a few years older than me, with whom I had worked.  Two funerals were for Tuesday and Wednesday just past.  I had also been asked to help cook for the afternoon teas afterwards, and I had music lessons to give afterwards as well.  So things were a bit hectic.

 

On the Monday afternoon before the funerals, I got a phone call from the daughter in law of the lady being buried on Tuesday.  She wanted to give me the list of hymns the family wanted played at the funeral, and she wanted to know could I also babysit her two little roos, Peter Pan and Wendy.  She is also a carer in our wild life group.  Straight after the funeral, she and her husband had to head off for a medical appointment, and probably wouldn’t be home for about 24 hours.  Her mother normally helped out, but she would be away as well.  Could I help out?

 

I had recently seen this little pair when she first got them.  She’s a fairly new carer, and wanted some pointers.  They were a pair of eastern grey kangaroos, one male, one female, still very much in their pouches, and needing 3 or 4 bottles a day.  They would eat grass, as long as they were left in their pouches.  Of course I said yes;  I reckoned I could cope with them, because their feed times wouldn’t clash with the funerals, and it would only be for a day.

 

They arrived at the appointed hour;  two of them in one large pouch.  They gave each other tremendous support, and if you had both out of the pouch at once, they would cling to each other.  The female was smaller, and very dainty and fine boned.  The male was larger, and a bit of a bruiser.  I didn’t think I’d want to meet him when he was fully grown.  I hung the pouch on a wardrobe door, and left them alone till their next feed was due, which was after the funeral, and after music lessons.  They were lovely and snug in their pouch, it was almost a shame to disturb them.  It took me a little while how to organise things, because when you woke one, they both woke, and both wanted to be fed….NOW!  However I soon worked out that I fed the boy first;  he was a wriggler and a bit rambunctious.  The girl was well behaved by comparison.  Both fed well once I got them started, and both were STARVED for that first feed.  Before bed, they were fed again, and I thought, I’ll get them outside in the morning for a bit of sun, and a munch on some grass.

 

Got up in the morning…and saw the world in a whole new light…the dust storm had arrived.  It was also blowing furiously, and quite unpleasant outside.  I decided the planned trip outside would be much too stressful for them, and their “mother” may not appreciate red joeys.  They had of course wet some of their pouch liners, and I decided I’d better not put them on the line either…putting them out in a dust storm defeated the purpose of washing them somewhat.  So I did the washing, and put it all in a plastic bag for dealing with later and the joeys went back to bed in their oversized pouch.  They didn’t seem too upset with the arrangement…after all they got their bottles on time, and tummies were nicely filled.  All was well with their world!  Several times while changing pouches I had them out on the floor.  It was a bit of a helter-skelter, with joeys trying to climb my leg, or make a break for it and leap through the house.  As you can imagine Max was not amused, and Gypsy was rather startled…these little creatures were much taller than her, when they stood up straight.  However we all survived, and eventually they went home to their place.  I dare say they’ll be back at some stage for babysitting if necessary.

 

Gypsy and Max found Wednesday a bit of a trial.  First there was those pesky roos, and there was also all that dust!  Max lost all interest in going outside and Gypsy set a new land speed record any time she HAD to go outside.  In fact a couple of times I had to remind her that she needed to go…..

 

Because Gypsy’s moods have continued, I decided I should take her to the vet, to make sure there was no physical reason for her behaviour.  So I rang and made an appointment.  Each day her hiding got worse, and longer;  she was still looking sad, and guilty.  I also decided to take the kingfisher to the vet too, he still wasn’t flying.

Vet day came, and I discovered that the bird had died overnight.  I’m assuming he finally succumbed to cat bacteria.  The fact he survived so long shows what a tough little character he was.

When it was time to leave, Gypsy was almost pleased to put the lead on.  However, she was not quite so pleased to be taken to the vets.  She was even less pleased when I took her into the consulting room and put her up on the table….and put the muzzle on her.  She gave the vet her best “sad face”.  She was then given a series of health checks, starting with the vet listening to her heart which wasn’t so bad, then having her tummy felt, and her joints checked for mobility.  However, she was very put out when the vet took her temperature!  Oh the indignity!

That completed, the muzzle came off and the treats came out.  All was forgiven, and her tail wagged!  While she was getting stuck into them, the vet and I discussed what she had found….which basically, apart from being “flat”, and the fact her heart beat was a little slow, she had discovered nothing untoward.  She said she felt she should have a blood test to further rule out any physical problems, so back on with the muzzle while the vet shaved a little bit of hair off her neck.  Gypsy’s forelegs, with her chihuahua ancestry were rather small, and slightly bowed, which made the prospect of getting blood out of them rather difficult.  There was a vein in her neck which was going to be much easier to get blood out of.  The assistant and I cuddled her while the “vampire” took the blood, and then off with the muzzle, and more treats!  Again all was forgiven!  The vet told me the results should be back by Friday morning, and we decided if no one rang me by 11 am, I would rang them. 

That evening, after we had dinner, and Gypsy was back in hiding, I got a phone call from the carer who had the tiny wombat that I had babysat before.  At that stage it was pink, and it had now grown, and was covered with hair.  It was still tiny and still in need of feeding often, and she had to go to Mudgee the next day, and could I baby sit the next day for her?  Of course I said yes.  The next day, she arrived at my door with her little bundle with plenty of milk and spare bedding, and instructions on feeding.  The little wombat had now been named:  Coco.  I’m not sure whether this was Coco Chanel, or Coco Pops…..  I found a safe place for her, and left her for a couple of hours. 

I decided that I would concentrate on spending quality time with Gypsy, and taking her for walks and encouraging her to do things that made her happy.  I discovered that when I went out to do some gardening, with a bit of encouragement, she would come and sit near me while I was working.  Likewise when I put the washing out on the line, or took it off, she would sit near me.  I also encouraged her to sit out in the sun, rather than hiding under a table, as the weather was just lovely, and when she did this she lost her guilty look, and looked almost contented. 

So, after a time out in the garden, and pegging the washing out, I started to think about taking her for a walk.  As I wandered inside, the mower man turned up.  I had arranged for him to call when it was convenient, because the weeds were taking over.  Gypsy accompanied me to the front door to greet him, but when she went outside to check him out, instead of her usual checking him over and then returning inside, she rolled over at his feet and refused to budge.  I picked her up and brought her inside so he could get on with his work.  He has quite a few customers, and was planning on doing 5 lawns that day.  Gypsy went off and hid under the chair in the back room while I fed the wombat. 

Little Coco was quite a wriggler, and it took me a few minutes before I could get her in a position she was happy with, but when we organised that, she downed the milk in no short order.  In fact I ended up giving her quite a bit more than what she normally had, but her “mother” had instructed me to keep going till she stopped…and that is what we did.  I then made my own lunch, and by that time the mowing had been done.  I showed the mower man the wombat when I went out to pay him, and he was disappointed he didn’t have his camera with him.  I assured him I’d be babysitting her again at some stage, and that I would let him know when she was here.

After he went, Gypsy and I went for a short walk.  All went well till we met a strange dog.  Gypsy stopped, and stiffened.  She was not at all happy, so I picked her up, and proceeded past the dog in question, who really wanted to be friendly….but Gypsy was having none of it!  By the time we came back he had gone, so she continued the walk, sniffing every blade of grass and leaving the occasional message of her own.  When I got home, there was a message on the answering machine from Coco’s “mother” saying she’d been held up.  I didn’t really think this was a problem, but I appreciated her letting me know.  She eventually called for her, and assured me she would call again… 

Friday came and I spoke to the vet.  The blood tests showed nothing concrete, except that she had been coping with a virus.  There was no indication of any major health problem, which was good to know.  However I was now left with how to cope with her problems.  He offered her some medication for dementia and/or antidepressants, and I told him I would take the weekend and think about what I should do for her.  In the meantime, I had been in touch (several times…by email and phone) with my daughter, who had Gypsy’s half sister till she died, and with Dom (also by email), Senior Moments’ resident naturopath, with the view of getting some sort of herbal support for Gypsy.  All of us agreed that the root cause of Gypsy’s depression was the fact that she was still missing Nolan.  Like humans, they grieve, and also like humans, their rate of recovery differs from dog to dog.  Dom and I discussed a couple of different products that might help her, and tomorrow morning I intend to go to Mudgee to see what I can get for her.  I’ll put the antidepressants on the backburner, and the products for dementia can wait till she has dementia!

In the meantime, I have taken her bed from the living room and put it next to the computer, and when I’m working on the computer she comes out of hiding and sits near me.  We go for walks whenever it can be arranged, and I’ve been giving her a few extra treats.  She still hides, but not quite as often, and is losing that guilty look.  She still looks sad, but she has the odd occasion when she dances, and looks happy.  Only time will bring her through this, but I hope I can speed up the process a little for her….

 

In Australia, Spring heralds warmer weather, wattle, longer days, and nesting magpies.  Nesting magpies are enough to strike fear into the hearts of naughty children and posties on their motorbikes.  Let me explain.

For most of the year, magpies are just normal birds, striking to look at, with a wonderful joyous call, intelligent, lovely to have in the garden because of all the bugs they eat, and generally just nice to have about.  Then spring comes, and they get the nesting bug, and the males get a big personality change!  They will defend their nest against anyone!  Mind you, the female has built the nest high up in a tree, where no one in their right mind would even attempt to reach, so I’m not really sure what dangers there would be from humans, but the magpie obviously can see some sort of danger from a human going past, intent on getting from point A to point B with a minimum of fuss.  So he flies down and always approaches from behind, and depending on how bad a mood he’s in depends on how much damage he is prepared to inflict!  Most just fly overhead, some clack their beaks as they go over, and some will actually hit with their beaks and/or claws, drawing blood.  Whatever they do, they always scare the daylights out of you.  These days cyclists (motor and bicycle) have to wear safety helmets, so the magpies can’t actually do any damage, but from personal experience, that whoosh of wings as they pass overhead is very unsettling, and if you’re on a bike, you’ll either wobble and ride on, or you’ll fall off….

They seem to have an intense dislike for postmen (and postladies) and take even greater pains to make their lives a misery.  I was watching our postlady drive her motorbike down the road, as she was returning from her run.  A magpie was following her, shrieking, and diving round her head.  As she drove out of his territory, he flew back to his tree, but the neighbouring magpie then took up the chase.  I imagined this would continue till she returned to the post office!

Studies have been done into the social life of magpies, but there’s still a lot to be learned.  From what I have noticed myself, and from what I have read, it seems that there is Mr and Mrs Magpie.  If the territory will support it, they have assistants.  Whether these are their young from before is not clear, but there seems to be more females than males.  Perhaps the young males get thrown out!  But Mrs Magpie builds the nest without help from Mr Magpie, but I suspect her assistants help her.  Then she lays the eggs, up to six, and sits on them for around 3 weeks waiting for them to hatch.  During this time, she is fed by Mr Magpie and co.  Must be a terribly exciting life sitting on the nest for that length of time and not even getting up to have a stretch…..but those eggs have to be kept warm at all costs!  If something happens to her mate (and sometimes it does) she of course will leave the nest to feed, before she dies of starvation, but there is a very real danger of the eggs getting cold, and of course then the eggs won’t hatch.  But assuming all goes well, after three weeks, up to three babies are hatched from the eggs, and the whole community knows.  They have the loudest insistent voices, and then mum and dad, and everyone else in their social set up, is busy finding food to feed these hungry little critters.  After about three or four weeks, their flight feathers have grown, but they are still covered with down, and they think they can fly.  They launch themselves from the nest, and glide to the ground.  There is no way you could call it flying, but that’s what they do.  Mum and Dad then abandon the nest, they just go with the babies, and continue shovelling food down their continually open beaks.  Not all babies survive their “maiden flights” (more properly called maiden glide).  Some land in the middle of busy roads, or in the backyard of someone with a savage dog, or the like.  But these, fortunately, are a minority, and soon they grow sufficiently to attempt true flight, and follow their parents around wherever they go, in their search for food.  The adults always know which humans will assist them, and they always take their babies there for handouts.  It is hilarious to watch them.  One parent will find some food, be it a grub, or a piece of meat left out by a human, and the baby will rush up to the adult, begging pitifully and fluttering its wings.  The babies by this time are as tall as their parents, but much scrawnier looking.  The parent will turn to the baby, whose beak is wide open, and thrust the little morsel down this cavernous opening.  The baby will gulp it down, and stop squawking only for an instant.  Then as Mum or Dad continues its quest for food, baby will rush after and repeat the performance!  This goes on for months, until eventually the baby who has by this time grown some more durable feathers, and is looking quite handsome realises (sometimes it is FORCED to realise by its exasperated parents) that it CAN feed itself, and becomes independent.

But back to the ferocious nesting magpie.  There is a nesting pair (I suspect with at least one assistant) in the huge gum tree at the back of my place.  Earlier in the season, I saw the female taking hessian threads, and sticks, and pieces of dry grass up into the tree.  She was of course preparing the nest.  Then she disappeared, but the male bird was always in attendance, and often wandering round my yard looking for food.  Worms are plentiful in my yard, and in my neighbourhood, so I knew he wasn’t starving, and presumably neither was she.  Then he started divebombing passerbys.  He never attempts to attack me, or my close neighbours, he obviously doesn’t regard us as threats.  One neighbour actively feeds the magpies, so he’s definitely seen as a good guy.  Although just the other day, he upset the bird, because he unthinkingly gave him some meat scraps covered in garlic pepper.  The bird took the pieces of meat from his hand, ate them, then rushed over to a patch of dirt, wiping his beak furiously!  He refused any further offers of food, and flew off in a huff!  My neighbour reckons the bird doesn’t like pepper…. So we’re waiting for the first baby squawk.  It must be soon…. But in the meantime, Father Magpie continues his guard duty.  The other day an eagle flew overhead, high in the sky.  Father flew straight up in the air shrieking defiance, and followed the eagle until it had left his territory.  Not quite sure what he thought he would have done had he caught said eagle, but he was gonna have a go!  And today, there were four children on pushbikes, riding up and down the street.  Of course every time they went past, out came this feathered bomb shell.  The kids thought it was a great joke, and continued riding past, just to get a reaction.  They were really enjoying themselves.  Had they not had bike helmets on they may not have felt so sure of themselves…. 

I have had the pleasure of rearing several magpie chicks.  I have also at times had to look after “teenage” magpies, we call them juveniles, or immatures.  These ones obviously aren’t old enough to have had their own babies, but when the little ones start squawking for food, the teenagers will rush over and try to feed them.  Sometimes inexpertly, but they try.  I’m never sure whether it’s an instinct with them to respond with food whenever they hear that noise, or whether it’s just a case of “here eat this and shut up”!

I have also seen the interaction between magpies and other animals, particularly cats.  Most cats seem to regard magpies (and their strong beaks) with great respect, and feel there must be easier meals to be caught out there.  A former neighbour of mine had an experience with her new cat, who was at that time around 6 months old.  He was exploring in the back yard and came upon a magpie and started to stalk it.  At that stage he hadn’t learned about respect for magpies.  He leaped in the direction of the magpie, who easily avoided him, and flew away, but returned a few minutes later with several other members of his group.  They then proceeded to threaten the cat, and he took refuge under her car.  He stayed there for probably an hour with the magpies on patrol duty round the car, before they eventually got bored and flew away.  This was witnessed with amazement by her son, who just sat and watched….he was prepared to step in if the birds actively attacked the cat, but he also thought the cat should learn his place in the society of the back yard….

Now a word of explanation.  Magpies exist in many places of the world.  The Australian Magpie is not related to the magpies found in the UK/Europe, or the ones found in the American Continent, or the ones in Asia.  However, those ones are all more or less related to each other, as they all belonging to the crow family.  The Australian Magpie is not a member of the crow family, but was given the name of magpie by European settlers, who saw its colouring and thought of its similarity to the European magpie’s colouring. 

It seems that magpies, whatever their place of origin,  at times attract bad press.  Australian Magpies with their divebombing habits, and European/American Magpies with their raucous calls, and their crowlike garbagemen duties.  Also the fact that both lots of birds have been known (not often with the Australian one, but it does happen) to take young from other birds nests.  These sorts of behaviours do not endear them to people.  In Australia, some people think magpies dive bomb all the year round and fear them.  Likewise magpies in the UK have been blamed for the demise of smaller birds, and the endangering of those species. 

All birds and animals (including humans) have good and bad points.  They all have much to teach us, and all have their place in the scheme of things.  While at the moment  all magpies are plentiful, throughout their ranges, having adapted admirably to human beings, this can’t be said for everything.  Many animals and birds have become endangered through loss of habitat and pollution, some are even extinct.  So we have to enjoy the contribution from all wildlife, even if sometimes it means we have to duck as a feathered whirlwind passes overhead!….. 

 

Where I live, it can get fairly noisy, but with the right sort of noise….bird calls.  I am woken each morning by all sorts of birds, some of whom have nicer calls than others, but all are welcome parts of my day, and during the day, I hear the calls so often, that I only notice them if they’re not there!  Of course there are other noises too, typical town noises that come and go, traffic noises, lawn mowers, police sirens, even the sound of the air ambulance helicopter coming in to the local hospital on occasion. 

However, one day, I noticed a new noise.  I’d never heard it before, and it was very strange.  Spooky even.  Goodness I thought, what on earth is it?  I went outside, trying to work out what it was.  I worked out it was coming from the wilderness behind the church across the road, so it was unlikely to be a new type of siren, or a machine.  It has to be a bird or animal, I thought.  I could remember as a child going to the pictures (movies) and hearing jungle sounds in the “Tarzan” movies….you know when Tarzan is swinging through the trees after the baddies.  (I never could work out whether those jungle noises were supposed to be birds or some sort of monkeys.)  This is what this “thing” sounded like.  Well, I thought, does this mean there’s a bird of paradise that’s got lost, or a monkey on the prowl??  This led me to think of another movie I had once seen (as an adult), called “Outbreak”, where a monkey escaped, and spread some really nasty virus amongst the human population, which of course killed almost everyone till our hero found the antidote…argh!  So, trying to think sensible thoughts, I went inside, but I still heard the call from time to time, and I knew I wouldn’t be happy till I found it what that noise was!

The next day I was out doing some gardening, and the noise started again.  I walked across the road, and headed in its general direction.  A little way into the wilderness (treading carefully and watching for snakes) I was able to work out which tree it was in, and walking around the tree, I could see right at the top, a black blob with feathers.  Right, that’s helpful.  Just then along came a wattlebird and moved threateningly towards it.  I was able to tell it was considerably bigger than a wattlebird, it was black, or at least dark, and it makes a woeful sound.  So home I went, forgetting the garden for now, and out came the bird books.  I went through them, and was able to eliminate quite a few types of birds with the scant information I had, and studied the few possibilities.  After a bit more investigation, I had the culprit.  A male Common Koel.  It’s a black bird, its glossy feathers shot through with blue and green, with red eyes.  Of course from where I was looking at it, there was no way I could see its eye colour, and I couldn’t see how attractive its feathers were either.  It’s a type of cuckoo, and very solitary, and shy.  They are very hard to see.  They migrate from the north of Australia during spring and summer, and head for cooler climes to breed. And they make a woeful noise! 

It seems they only call like this in breeding season.  The male calls for a mate, and the female, using a different call, answers him.  Once they find each other, go off and lay their eggs in some poor unsuspecting bird’s nest, all is quiet once more.  Just my luck I thought, I have a bird who’s been rejected, or is the only koel in town, or is just in the wrong place!  He’s been calling for a week or so now, I’m hoping he’ll give up and move on.  I found a picture of a female, so I’ve been keeping a look out for her as well…perhaps I can introduce them?

But at least I know what he is, and I know he’s just looking for love…..even if it is in the wrong place.

 

Last Monday morning, just after I had taken Nolan for his bath, and I was finally getting my cuppa, the phone rang.  The concerned voice on the other end of the line told me she had found a microbat in her bathroom, deposited there by her cat who was trying very hard to look innocent.  She had carefully picked up the bat with a piece of paper towelling, and placed it in a shoebox, and then covered it with a tea towel.  I arranged to call at her place and pick it up after I had picked Nolan up from his bath, and got the appropriate directions to her home. 

When I got to her address, I asked her had she been bitten or scratched by the bat.  Thankfully she said no.  A tiny percentage of microbats and fruit bats (flying foxes) carry a nasty disease called Lyssa Virus, related to rabies.  People who regularly handle bats of any sort have a series of preventative injections, and where at all possible, they are the only ones to handle the animals.  As I have not had the injections, I had to take this bat into care without actually touching it.  I knew there was very little chance of my catching anything from it, but I wasn’t really interested in taking the risk….specially with my daughter’s wedding coming up!  I would be in big trouble if anything stopped me getting there….

I had a quick look at the bat and he seemed very agitated.  This wasn’t really surprising;  after all he had been carted round in the mouth of a cat.  The cat had inflicted some injuries, and I was hoping they were only superficial, but the shock alone could kill him.  He was only a tiny little fellow….with his wings folded, he was round the size of a small mouse.  Also, this was his bedtime, and he just wanted to find a dark place and have a snooze.  Instead there were people looking at him, and very soon would be transferring him from box to box.  Oh the indignity!  So I decided I’d better do this as quickly and quietly as possible, and let him get on with his sleep….

I removed the teatowel from the top of the box he was in.  I reckoned with holes in his wings he wouldn’t be going far anyway.  He was hiding under a piece of paper, so I placed my box over that, made sure I had covered him too, and upended both boxes.  I removed his “old” box, and saw him now sitting on top of the paper, and I’m sure I saw some steam coming out of his ears as well!  So I covered him with a face washer that I had with me, put the lid on the box, and took him home, quick smart.

Then I started ringing round to find a “Bat Person”.  My usual bat lady was away, so I rang the vet and asked for any suggestions.  They suggested a gentleman from another caring group, but that didn’t worry me, I just wanted to get his little guy assessed, and into care.  I knew I didn’t have the expertise to care for him for long.  I rang his number, and he answered;  I explained the situation and I agreed he would stay at my place overnight, in his box, in a safe place.  He said in his opinion he might not last the night, because of the bacteria introduced to his system by the cat.

Night came and I “secured” his box against his possible escape, and put it in the spare bedroom.  I reckoned if he DID escape, I wouldn’t have to search the whole house to find him.  The next morning came, and I went in to check him.  He was still alive, and looked reasonably chirpy.  This was hopeful!  I rang the “Bat Man” and he was agreeably surprised too, and we arranged the “pickup”.  He called after lunch, and gave him the once over.  He had tears in both wings, but he thought he would recover well.  He held him in various positions examining while I took photos…..of course….

The little bat started to get a bit agitated again, and showed us his lovely needlelike teeth.  He didn’t actually bite, but it was a warning….so we put him back to bed in his box, while the “Bat Man” continued explaining what would happen, if all went well.  He would catch him some moths for food that night, and over ensuing days would move him to an enclosure where he could exercise his wings.  Then he would put a light in his enclosure to attract the insects, and he could start catching his own tucker.  Once he felt he was completely healed and ready to go, he would take him to where he was to be released, and sit him on his hand.  Once the bat realised he was free, he would start vibrating like a mobile phone:  he would start echolocating.  Then he would fly away.

 

Last Monday, I drove to Mudgee to get Gypsy’s rescue remedy.  Of course there were a few things I needed as well, but I wanted to be home by lunch time so I hadn’t left her alone for too long.  I succeeded in doing this, and gave her her first dose of rescue remedy as soon as I’d unpacked the car.  There was a slight improvement almost straight away, and a steady improvement since.  She gradually stopped hiding, and stopped looking guilty.  She still looks sad from time to time, and still won’t come into the living room unless I have the lead to go walkies, or I’m giving her a treat.  So, this is something I will have to work on, and try to encourage her into the living room and help her to realise nothing bad is going to happen.  She has started barking at people going past, and is more openly stealing the cat food.

She hasn’t been without her “moments” though.  One day I decided to put on her lead while I was sitting on the back steps.  She got so excited, she actually fell off the steps!  With her lead on, and me hanging onto the other end!  As you can imagine I got a big shock too!  The good thing was she didn’t fall and hurt herself, but she was dangling by her neck!  Fortunately not for long, because I reached down and grabbed hold of her so I could let go of the lead and put her back where she was supposed to be….on the step.  I decided then that I wouldn’t put the lead on her there any more. We went on the walk with no ill effects, although I was still in a tizz…. 

A couple of days later we walked to the bank.  She was having a lovely time, head held high, tail up, when I noticed another small dog race in front of us to bark at a dog on the other side of the road.  Gypsy and I just kept on going, when suddenly this same little dog ran up beside us.  She and Gypsy sniffed each other, then the other dog laid into Gypsy!  There was a lot of noise, and a lot of snarling, but I didn’t want to grab hold of Gypsy and risk getting bitten, so I started hitting (not hard…just enough to break her concentration) the other dog with my hiking stick.  This eventually worked, and I picked Gypsy up and I walked away as fast as I could.  Gypsy kept looking back, and so did I, and once the other dog was no longer in sight, I put Gypsy down.  She kept looking back, and had her tail between her legs.  When I got her home, I gave her some rescue remedy, and she seemed ok. 

While we were making our escape I heard a man call the dog.  I thought he was in one of the shops, and was making a poor attempt at controlling his dog, but I didn’t see who it was.  I was more concerned at getting Gypsy out of harm’s way.  The next day we went for another walk.  It was a fairly long one, and by the time we hit the main street the shops were closed.  So we just meandered up the street, with Gypsy checking her wee mail from time to time, and me checking out things of interest in the windows.  Then I noticed that the police car was out in front of the “cop shop” but with the engine still running.  I didn’t think too much about it, and just kept on going.  However, when we got closer, the police car did a u turn so that he pulled up next to us!  He rolled down his window and spoke to me.  I got a bit of a shock, but realised from his tone he wasn’t about to arrest me…. He actually told me that he was the owner of the dog that had been harassing Gypsy and he apologised profusely.  He said she should have been named Houdini….and the fence to his house is continually in need of repair.  She of course finds every hole.  He rents the house from the Police Department, which has a typical government attitude to repairs….find the cheapest way to do things, even if it means you end up paying more in the long run.  So, he has to jump up and down to get anything done to the fence.  Instead of fixing the whole fence at once, they decided they’d only do the worst bit, which means he still has to block any holes as they appear, and hope they’ll get organised and do a bit more repair for him.  He said he’d managed to keep her inside the yard all that day, and said the reason he waited there was in case she came rushing out…and he could catch her.  He also said he didn’t want her to get a head start on him because he had stitches in his leg which hamper him somewhat (which is why he was slow getting her under control the day before).  I don’t know how he manages if he has to chase baddies….perhaps his colleagues do that, and he just drives the car…

I was quite amused by all this, but I thought it was lovely he apologised.

During the week I did the washing (actually I usually wash a couple of times a week), but this particular day I wheeled my trolley out to the line and noticed a HUGE spider web.  It was attached to the rotary clothes line at the top, and the ground at the bottom.  The line is a bit higher than eye level for me, so the web was well over 5 feet high at the top.  It was also stopping the clothesline turning in the breeze.  I’m sorry I didn’t see it first thing in the morning with dew on it.  By the time I saw it all the dew had evaporated, and there was a certain amount of damage to the web.  There were a couple of dainty morsels wrapped in silk for later consumption, but no sign of the spider.  I used the rest of the line and tried not to disturb the web too much…

Last Thursday, Gypsy and I went for our walk to the river.  As we arrived there, I paused to look to see if I could see any sign of the platypus, even though it was a bit early in the day.  Just as we were looking two sulphur crested cockatoos (white cockies) flew down and perched on a couple of wires that go across the river.  They then proceeded to put on a circus act, and dangled from the wires by their feet and beaks.  Luckily I had my camera, and I managed to get a couple of shots of them!  It’s usually the galahs that do this sort of thing.

Friday came, which was the day I was supposed to go to the skin clinic, at Katoomba in the Blue Mountains, a couple of hours away.  There were three of us going.  Seeing it’s quite a distance away, we pool our resources, and costs.  About an hour before we were due to leave I got a phone call from our driver, who was feeling unwell, and had decided not to go.  I then had to ring the other lady to re organise things, seeing we would now need a new driver.  It took me quite some time to finally catch up with her and we decided we would take my car, and she would give me directions for parking if I needed them….with my neck problems, parking (and getting out of the parking spot) can be a trial.  We eventually set off and I was pleased to note that while Gypsy looked disappointed she was being left behind, she didn’t look heart-broken.  The drive took us a little longer than it should have, because we needed to get petrol for the car, and there were road works.  We also had a bit of trouble finding a car park….the first place we checked out was full, the next one had a limit of one hour…but the final place we looked was just right!  We gathered our belongings (including my hiking stick) and took off in search of a loo.  Katoomba is a very hilly place, and the place we thought a loo would be was, of course, up hill.  When we got there, the building was undergoing renovations, and they directed us back DOWN hill to the closest loos.  We finally found them, and then set off, up hill again, to find somewhere we could buy lunch.  We found a place where my friend had a HUGE chicken salad roll, and I had pumpkin soup.  Thus fortified, we headed up hill again in the direction of the skin clinic.  We had a bit of time to kill so we engaged in some window shopping, but avoided the shop with hand made chocolates….they were expensive…and VERY tempting.  We were nearly at the top of the hill, and checking out the local “posh” pub’s gardens.  Katoomba in days gone by had been the place of choice of the well to do to come for holidays.  These days it has an air of decayed grandeur and is a mecca for backpackers and hippies.  It is surrounded by beautiful scenery (the Three Sisters, and many lovely waterfalls).  Anyway as we turned back to the street, I noticed a familiar face.  It was Linda, my only niece!  She actually lives in the Blue Mountains, but quite a distance away, but had come up here on a job…she’s a gardener (although trained as a high school teacher), and was on her lunch break.  We spent a few minutes talking, and then she had to go.  We kept heading towards the clinic but spent a few minutes (and dollars) in a second hand book shop.

We both survived the skin clinic, although my friend had to have some nasties burnt off her forehead.  Neither of us have to go back for twelve months.  We headed back to the car, which was downhill from where we had been, and had an uneventful trip home.  Gypsy was overjoyed to see me, but didn’t seem at all distressed.  In fact, as I’ve been typing this, we’ve just had fireworks (it was show day today) and while she was initially startled  by them, she seems to have coped normally, and just sat in her box next to me.

Here’s hoping she’s finally on the mend…

 

I received a phone call from the local school that one of the kids had found an injured bird, and please could I come and take it off their hands.  I wasn’t able to go straight away, as I had an appointment, but I arranged to go as soon as it was over.  I went as soon as I could and found the poor bird upside down in the box.  The lady at the school was quite upset about it, and the little boy that had found it kept coming in and asking had I come yet, so she was very pleased when I turned up, even though I told her that things didn’t look good for the bird.  I took the bird home and made him a nest in the box so I could keep him upright, and left him alone to see how he fared.  Obviously there were head injuries, which he could recover from him, but one wing was drooping, and if the wing was broken the chance of recovery wasn’t great.  I checked him before bed, and he was standing up in the box unassisted, so that was good, but decided I’d take him to the vet in the morning.

 

In the meantime, I wanted to work out what sort of bird he was.  I thought initially he was a young bower bird but he wasn’t as big as other bower birds I had had in care, and he didn’t have the piercing blue eyes.  I got in touch with Julie and the pair of us checked various sources, including the net, and quite some time later decided it was a female juvenile bower bird.  No other bird was anything like it…..

 

Into the vet I went the next morning, and there discovered that she was about to ring me, she had an injured bird she needed help with.  We had a quick look at her bird, a white cockatoo, and there was no doubt the poor bird would be going to heaven. Without going into detail, he had horrific injuries, and we didn’t want to touch him and hurt him more.  So Sandra prepared the injection for him, and dripped a bit of it into his beak, so he would be sedated and it wouldn’t hurt him so much being handled.  While that was taking effect, we went to work on the bower bird.  We took him out of the box, and while inspecting her, we realised her wing was indeed broken, so we sent her to heaven. Then we went back to the cockatoo, and were able to handle him without moving him too much, and sent him to heaven.  

 

We were just packing up and Sandra got a phone call from Cheryl, the pathology nurse, asking could we look at a rosella she had found on the way to work this morning.  So I went up to the hospital where she worked, and they handed over the cat basket containing the bird, and back I drove to the vets.  Both Sandra and I hate birds in cat baskets that don’t open from the top, and this was a cat basket that didn’t open from the top.  Fortunately Sandra knows how to dismantle cat baskets….trying to get injured birds out of this sort of cat basket  when they’re not in the mood to co-operate can be really interesting…… So she dismantled the cat basket, and we found a rather feisty little rosella, but unfortunately it too had a broken wing, and had to go to heaven.

 

We both felt like Dr Death after all that, and we both hoped for no more calls for a few days.  A few days later, Sandra called me again.  A kookaburra had got tangled up in a fence, and the lady that found it was bringing it in that afternoon.  Sandra said she would ring me when it was arrived, and we both hoped the weather would co-operate, as it was turning nasty.  The phone call came, and I drove in, and we examined the bird. It seemed pretty well off with the pixies, but after careful examination we found no broken bones, and no sign of ligament damage (it was hanging by its foot).  We decided I would take it home, and see what happened.  We both expected it to die overnight, but were very eager to give it a chance.  If it appeared worse in the morning, I would bring it back for further assessment, otherwise if it was improving, I would start force feeding it.  

 

Next morning I checked it, and it was sitting quite normally in the box.  So I gave it some of Gypsy’s lean meat, and fed it every few hours during the day.  The next day, Saturday was pouring with rain, and I went in to feed it.  I opened the box, and it flew round the room!  Well I thought, you can go!  However, it was raining so heavily there was no way I was releasing anything!  So back in the box it went, and the feeding continued that day.  After church on Sunday I  set out on the road to where the bird lived (in the church yard at Ilford, one of the villages near here), and discovered the road had been cut by flood water.  The other road I could have used was also cut by flood water!  Monday came and I found one road was open, so out we went to Ilford, normally a 20 minute drive, but because I had to go the long way it took me 40 minutes.  The release went very successfully, with her flying into a nearby tree initially, then flying across the paddock.

 

At last!  Success!…:)