Author: mamaroo43214595

 

In Rylstone, we are lucky to have several families of a delightful little bird called the Superb Fairy Wren.  That is such an appropriate name for them because the males have a superbly bright blue head and tail.  They are tiny little birds, and very delicate looking.  The females of course are a non descript browny colour but with the same body shape and the same jaunty little tail, with a green wash.  They hang around in family groups, and it appears that Mr Wren has a harem, because he is surrounded by little brown birds, but in reality, his previous children stay with them for a season or two to help with the raising of the next brood of chicks.  In a good season, there will be three crops of chicks, and Mrs Wren builds the nest by herself, and hatches out the babies, but the whole family looks after her, and assists with looking after the babies.

But the domestic scene is not quite as tranquil as it seems.  Mrs Wren, having chosen Mr Wren as the best provider for her family, sometimes takes it upon herself to go and visit another Mr Wren who lives a couple of hundred yards away, and gets herself in the family way by him, and then goes home to her “old man” and lays the eggs for him and the older children to help her raise.  I might add that Mr Wren is no more virtuous, because it’s very likely he’s been having it off with another Mrs Wren as well! 

Now just to add a bit more spice into the mix, along comes a cuckoo.  We all know that cuckoos lay their eggs in other birds nests.  But the cuckoos try very hard to lay them at the right time so the wrens don’t realise the cuckoo’s egg is not one of their own.  If the cuckoo lays the egg too soon after Mrs Wren has started laying, she instinctively realises its not hers, and weaves it into the side of her nest, or hoicks it over the side.  However, if Mrs Cuckoo is able to time it correctly, she will eject one of the wren eggs and replace it with her own, which will be very similar to the wren eggs in colouring, and only a little different in shape.  Mrs Wren, all unsuspecting, then sits on all the eggs, thinking they’re hers.  When the babies start hatching, all hell breaks loose.  The baby cuckoo ejects any baby wrens that have been born, and also any eggs that are still waiting to be hatched, so that it gets all the food the wren family can provide.  And for some reason, the wrens think that any baby in the nest must be theirs, and will feed it unthinkingly, even though it looks nothing like them, and grows bigger than them.  And that is exactly what happens….the baby cuckoo grows to be up to six times the size of the foster parent . 

One year I witnessed a family of wrens feeding a young cuckoo.  The cuckoo by this time had left the nest, and was sitting on a branch in a bush in my garden.  It shrieked incessantly, as all baby birds do, and it was surrounded by these tiny little wrens, who appeared to have divided themselves into shifts, to ease the work load.  One lot of little birds would fly off and find food and then come back and shovel their loads of delicacies into this cavernous mouth, and then retire to a different branch to recover.  You could almost see them breathe a sigh of relief and say to each other, “Thank goodness we can sit down for a minute!”  The other group would then fly off for their turn at finding tucker, and then return and feed their adopted offspring, then retire while the first group went back to work.  I had never seen a cuckoo that young, and I stayed and watched for some time.  I thought thank goodness there’s so many in the family, they wouldn’t cope otherwise!

I can only imagine that the wrens are very pleased to see their charge reach adulthood…..and leave home!

 

When the children were small, in pride of place on the side of the garage, was a bug zapper.  This consisted of a fluorescent light bulb inside a cage.  It would attract the many and varied bugs that were hanging around outside the house, and of course they would get too close to the globe, and zap!  There would be a zzzzzzit sound, and the bug was no more.  The bugs would eventually fall to the ground, where they would be eagerly devoured by the resident blue tongued lizard.  Now this blue tongue was the grandaddy of them all.  He was huge.  They can grow to be up to 2 feet long, and this fellow was all of that.  In fact he may have been the grandma of them all, because it seems the females grown larger than the males. 

He had made his home under the bushes under the bug zapper, and he had been there for months that I was aware of.  I didn’t see him often, but I would hear a rustle in the bushes, and occasionally I would see a head poke out momentarily.  He just minded his own business under there, steadily growing, and eating the barbecued bugs, and varying his diet with the odd slug and snail.  All was well till one day the dogs, Jessie and Albert, discovered him.

The lizard had come part way out from under the bush, the better to have a sunbake, and the dogs saw his head, and immediately started frenzied barking.  After all, this MIGHT be a snake!  I came running outside, just in case it was, although what I was going to do I wasn’t quite sure, apart from call the dogs inside, and make sure the kids weren’t out there…. Anyway I got outside just in time for the lizard to move towards them, showing pretty well all his bulk, and open his mouth, poking his blue tongue out at the dogs, and hissing, and flattening his body, making it appear even larger.  This was too much for the dogs, who were fairly close to the lizard at this stage.  The pair of them bolted to the opposite side of the yard and continued barking loudly from their new position of safety, about 20 or 30 feet away.  

When I saw it was only the lizard, I decided there was no cause for panic, and called the dogs inside, so that the lizard could calm down and climb back under his bush, in peace.  The dogs felt pretty brave from that distance and took a bit of convincing that it was a good idea to come in.  They kept woofing as they moved to the door, as if to say, well okay, mum said we have to go inside…..but watch out next time, buster!

But peace reigned for the rest of the summer, probably because the lizard timed his sunbakes for when the dogs weren’t around….. 

I was just about to leave to go to Mudgee, my nearest biggish town, to do some shopping, when the phone rang.  One of my fellow carers had just rescued a sugar glider, and it needed to go to the vet asap.  Seeing the vet was in Mudgee, and that’s where I was headed, it wasn’t a problem, so I arranged to meet her, and take it with me. 

Let me tell you a little about sugar gliders.  They are tiny little creatures, about the size of a rat, but with a long tail, longer than their bodies.  They have the sweetest little faces, and are covered with soft grey fur, with black markings, and their tail is fluffy, and used for hanging onto branches.  Between their front and back legs, they have membranes, which they use to glide from tree to tree.  When they jump from a branch, they throw their legs out, and the membranes act like a parachute. Their glides can reach 50 yards.  Because they live in trees, they have very strong little claws, so that they can hang on to the trunks and branches of the trees. 

This little one was delivered to me at the appointed place, wrapped up in warm clothing, in a box, but it was freezing cold.  The carer who had rescued it was very concerned, because a dog had brought it home and delivered it to its owner.  It’s very unlikely the dog actually caught it;  more likely it had already been injured, and the dog merely found it.  However, the whole ordeal would have been pretty traumatic for the poor creature, and it would have been in shock.  And who knows what extra damage the dog had unwittingly inflicted.  The poor little thing was just lying there, seemingly barely alive.  I didn’t think its chances were all that terrific, but I knew it needed to warmed up if it was to have any chance at all.  So I did the only thing I could think of doing under the circumstances, and that was to put it right next to my skin, and then get it to the vet as quickly as possible.  So I unbuttoned my shirt, and put it in, then buttoned my shirt up again, got in the car, and arranged the seatbelt around it and me, and off I drove.  All was well till I was almost at Mudgee…..and I could feel it moving around.  Good I thought, it’s warming up.  However I was a bit concerned when I felt its sharp little claws as it climbed up my body, and fairly quickly too.  I suppose it thought it was climbing a very strange tree.  Felt fairly weird too, as you can imagine.  So I stopped the car, just in time to catch it, as it exited the neck of my shirt, and popped it in the box and securely clamped the lid down.  We only had a few minutes to go and we would be at the vets, which was probably just as well, seeing it had come to life!

I took the box into the vets and explained all that had happened.  I arranged to call when I had finished all I had to do to see what had transpired.  Upon my return, the vet told me the little glider had spinal injuries, but she had given her (she had discovered a pouch) a cortisone injection to bring down the swelling in the hope of recovery.  She said she was still having problems maintaining her body temperature and wasn’t terribly hopeful for her eventual recovery.  But….as we all think, if they’re still alive, and there’s a chance, you give it to them.  She had been placed in nice warm things to keep her comfortable till I got her to the carer, so I took her to the car and decided to check her out before I started the car.  Well.  In her eyes this was the final indignity.  She had had quite enough poking and prodding, on top of whatever caused her injuries, and being carted round by a dog.  And had an injection!  So she bit me!  Right on the end of the finger, and so hard that when I automatically pulled my hand back, there she was hanging off my finger.  So now it was my turn to be less than impressed!  I called her and all her relatives some impolite names, and I was VERY pleased when she decided to let go!  I covered her back up as quickly as possible, and back on the box with the lid, and then I ransacked the car for a band aid, which I eventually found up the back of the glove box.  My finger was throbbing, and it bled quite freely, so I had no worries about the wound being clean…..but gosh it hurt!  So after giving myself first aid, and still mumbling and grumbling, I set off for the carer’s place to put this little fiend in her care….

By the time we arrived, I had calmed down considerably and was once more concerned about her welfare.  She had also calmed down, and inflicted no further injuries on anyone when she was placed on the heating pad, to try and keep her warm throughout the night.  A small “fruit salad” was placed in the box with her, consisting of several chopped up pieces of fruit, and some blossoms.  Night time is when they normally feed themselves, and are active.  So, seeing she had been settled down for the night, I went home. 

Unfortunately, the little glider didn’t survive.  By the morning she had slipped into a coma, and passed away quietly.  Her injuries were too severe for even her feisty spirit to overcome.  But we had tried….

 

A very concerned lady rang one day.  She had found a lizard in her garden (not usually a cause for concern) but she thought this one had been burned somehow, and escaped with its injuries.  It looks a bit like a blue tongue lizard, she said, but….but it’s black!  And all its scales are …… raised up!  Hmmm thought I, putting on my thinking cap.  She continued, When I saw it, I got a box and put over it, so it wouldn’t get hurt, and it kept on going, with the box over the top of it!  Hmmm I thought again, this doesn’t sound like an injured lizard to me….much too active.  I asked was it still in the garden?  She replied, no, I got it inside a box and brought it in.  I don’t think it’s very happy….it keeps hissing at me.  Gawd thought I, I hope this IS a lizard, and not a flipping snake! 

So I drove round to her place, and she was waiting at the front gate, in a dither.  I think she thought it might jump out of the box and leap on her, knock her down and murder her.  She practically dragged me into the house, and showed me the box, in state on the dining room table.  I wasn’t sure what I was going to find, and had brought a towel with me.  I was hoping I wasn’t going to find a snake, and towels are pretty handy with just about everything else.  I gently opened the box.  Thank goodness, it definitely wasn’t a snake, I saw legs.  But there, glaring at me, and sticking out its tongue, and hissing at me…..was a shingleback lizard. 

I told her it appeared quite healthy, and it wasn’t injured.  But..but…it’s burnt!  No, I said, it looks like it is, but thats the way it’s meant to look.  It’s a type of blue tongue lizard, but these ones are called shinglebacked lizards, because of the shape of the scales.  It’s not hurt then, she asked?  No, it looks perfectly healthy to me.  Are you happy for me to put it back in your garden?  They love to eat snails and things like that.  Oh she said, it won’t hurt me?  They’re not poisonous are they??

I smiled to myself….this lady who had showed so much bravery in “rescuing” what she thought was an injured animal without a thought had lost all her courage; in fact probably had lost it as soon as she had it safely in the box.  Getting the lizard in the box was no mean feat – they have no teeth, and can’t inflict any serious injury, but their gums can bruise you, and they do a pretty good job of looking terrifying, puffing out their sides, opening their mouths wide and poking out their awesome blue tongues, and hissing!

I assured her that no, it wasn’t poisonous, and once in the garden, it definitely wouldn’t harm her, and would probably take to its heels if disturbed.

While I don’t think you could exactly call shinglebacks monogamous in lifestyle, as they live alone, they keep returning to the same mate every breeding season. Typical of all lizards, they love to bask in the sun, and rarely appear during the winter months.  Spring is their breeding season, and the female gives birth to live young.  They’re generally fairly big babies, and usually, she only gives birth to two.  Might be just as well…..seeing their size….. 

So we took said shingleback into her garden, up the backyard, where he could find places to hide when he wasn’t feeling adventurous.  Having got over the shock of it, the lady quite liked the idea of having her own snail eater in the garden, and I felt quite sure, if he decided to stay put, he would have a safe haven there.

I’m sure most of you are aware that Gypsy is my “little” dog.  She is of mixed ancestry, her father being a chihuahua, and her mother being a terrier of some description, supposedly an Australian Silky, but possibly some miniature foxy as well.  Anyway, Gypsy turned out like a toilet brush on legs; bigger than a chihuahua, with long wire hair, big eyes, and terrier eye brows and whiskers.  Anyway, she loves walks.  And she reads my mind…..

Typically, I don’t say I’m taking you for a walk Gypsy, I just get into the shower, and come out dressed, and she is there waiting for me…….but only when I am taking her for a walk.  She follows me round till I find my sneakers and socks, and sits beside me till I put them on, looking expectantly at me.  Then I get up and get the lead and then she starts to dance, leaping around my feet.  Then I say the magic words, Come on Gypsy and she is beside herself!  Dancing and whimpering and turning herself inside out, which makes it almost impossible for me to put the lead on her.  Eventually I succeed, and the lead is on, and she then starts biting the lead, and winding herself up in it, and winding me up in it too.  Then after I have managed to get myself and her unentangled, we proceed to the front door, and she shoots through the cat door, and wonders why she is suddenly stopped short.  There is no way I’m going to even attempt to climb through the cat door….. So back she comes for a more sedate exit through the normal door.  And then off we go, I amble along at my normal pace, and she trots with head and tail held high down the road.  We normally go to the golf course, it’s closest, and depending on how energetic I am, the length of the walk can be varied immensely.  Once we reach the golf course, I let her off the lead, again a bit of an effort, because she’s still got plenty of energy, and once free, she’s off exploring.  I reckon she runs about six times as far as I walk.  While I take my walk around the trees, and over the little creeks, she’s off exploring, chasing rabbits and ducks and discovering things.  I’m not sure she’d know what to do with a rabbit if she by some miracle caught it, it would be as big as her.   Being so short, if she gets herself into some long grass she can’t see over the top, so as she runs through it, every few feet she leaps skyward and you see this little head pop up through the grass, trying to see where she is.  Every so often she stops suddenly, because there is something interesting to smell, and she doesn’t want to keep going till she’s investigated it thoroughly, and then it’s a mad panic to catch up with me.

Then all too soon, in Gypsy’s eyes anyway, the walk is almost over, and she has to have the lead back on.  This means back on the road, and home.  After expending all that energy, it’s much easier to get her lead on, but she still manages a trot for the last leg.  Then we get inside the gate, and the lead comes off for the last time.  Again she is co-operative, and secretly pleased to be home, so she can check the cat’s dish in case any food is left, and then to curl up and recover, ready for the next walk……

This morning as usual, my first visit was to the loo.  Our loo is constructed so that it’s actually tacked onto the back of the house, and you actually have to go out the back door, onto the back verandah, and take a left turn into the “little house”.  Of course, you run the risk of having to run the gauntlet of whatever roos are in residence at the time.  And that is what happened this morning.  I had slept in, and was in a bit of a rush.  They were hungry, and thought that when I was coming outside it was with bottles, so of course they were very pleased to see me.  So pleased in fact that I couldn’t get the loo door shut quickly enough and the three roos accompanied me into the little house.  Now as you can imagine, when you’re in a bit of a rush, and arranging your very roomy winter jarmies and voluminous dressing gown so you can actually USE the loo, it’s quite a feat to get yourself onto the throne with three roos hanging off your legs,  and looking about your person to see where you have hidden those bottles.  I made it without any accidents to myself or the roos, and while I was sitting there, starting to feel relieved, I noticed Roobella had managed to get underneath my dressing gown.  Then she started inspecting my jarmie pants, which of course were round my knees.  Then they shook, and I felt a warm body next to my legs.  I was by this stage having a fit of the giggles, because I had a fair idea of what I was going to find, and stood up, ready to hoist the jarmie pants back up, so I could head back inside.  However, down one leg of my jarmies, curled up looking comfortable, was Roobella.  She had, of course, been inspecting my jarmies to ascertain their suitability to making a good pouch, and they had passed with flying colours.  Naturally I had to remove her from her little nest so I could make myself decent, but she was not impressed with this move, and voiced her objections in no uncertain terms.  I suppose her exit from her new abode was a bit undignified, because I grabbed her tail first, which was the first thing I found, and then grabbed her round the chest, and lifted.  Well!  She kicked, bucked, hissed, clicked, and then when I got her upright, she bit as well!  She was still complaining when I put her upright on the floor, and got my attire organised before she had another go at tumbling into her new found pouch.  I opened the door and fled quickly and headed across the back verandah to the door to the house, and I got it opened and through just in time, because they were hot on my heels.  Roobella was of course in the lead, and I just managed to get the door shut before she attempted to enter….whew!

 

For some time now, I have been surrounded by the sound and antics of baby birds.  The first ones on the scene were the magpies.  Several months ago, the father magpie started swooping, but now his duties consist mostly of feeding his two babies, taking it in turns with mother.  The babies are now as tall as their parents, and expert fliers in their own rights.  They are starting to learn to warble like their parents, although at times it sounds like boys when their voices break, and the more advanced of the two is starting to feed himself, although as soon as a parent appears he reverts to begging as though he’s never had a feed in his life.  They are a treat to watch, as they discover the joys of sunbathing, or attempt to pull a grub out of the ground, only to discover it’s really a stick, or running after dad as he finds a tasty morsel.  They are learning to trust some of the neighbours, who will occasionally toss them something to eat.  This is actually bribery so we don’t get divebombed next year….

Speaking of divebombing, dad still takes time out to go screaming after young kids on pushbikes on their way to and from school.  You can just about set your watch by him….

For a few days I had a different sort of baby to look after.  The school got in touch with me, one of their pupils arrived at school with a baby bird they had found on the road, so of course they rang me.  We think it’s a wattle bird, they said, and having such fond memories of the pair I raised last year I cheerfully said of course I’ll take him.  However, when I got to the school, and was directed to the appropriate classroom, where I was presented with a box.  All the children insisted I should identify the bird before I left, so I removed the lid carefully and it was definitely NOT a wattlebird.  I wasn’t a hundred percent sure what it was, but I felt pretty sure it was a baby black faced cuckoo shrike.  I’d seen one before, but never taken care of one, so I thought, right another adventure!  The kids all forgot the name, it’s a bit of a mouthful, but I think they’ll remember what he looked like.  He was a mottley grey colour, with a dark coloured mask across his eyes.  When he opened his beak, inside was a bright orange, and he made a delightful “trill” inbetween meals, just as though he was talking to himself. 

The first couple of days, I had to force feed him.  I think he was suffering from shock, as he was found in the middle of the road, without his mother, and I discovered from checking my bird information that his natural diet would have been fruit and insects, so I gave him chopped up meat, soaked dog biscuits and chopped up pieces of fruit.  Once he got over his shock, he ate willingly, and ate everything he was given.  In the time honoured tradition of baby birds, anytime anyone opened his box, it was meal time.  One meal Nolan came and looked and the bird asked him for food as well.  Nolan pulled his nose back hurriedly, as the bird got a bit close for comfort.  Also, once he got over his shock, he wanted to start flying, and a couple of times he managed to escape his box when I opened it for feeding, and sat on my head.  This hastened my arranging for him to go somewhere with an aviary.  The only cage I could find for him was tiny….he wouldn’t have fit through the door!  So he has left me to try his wings, and eventually feed himself, and learn about being a wild bird again. 

Just a few days ago another lot of babies arrived.  Galah babies.  These like the magpie babies are as big as their parents, and are attempting to feed themselves on the grass seeds around about, but they still depend on their parents for their main food.  They sit up in the gum trees in the park next door, or on someone’s tv antenna, and the babies make this terrible begging noise that sounds like a donkey braying.  Then when they actually get fed it you can hear them gobble it down.  Multiply that by about 12 babies, and you can imagine it gets very noisy at meal times.

Yesterday I had the pleasure of watching the magpie babies wandering round the back yard in the company of their mother, trying to eat my chives and thyme, and being fed grubs and morsels from time to time, when down flew a baby galah.  They are basically pink and grey like their parents, but their chests are mottled, and the colours aren’t as distinct.  This particular fellow also had some feathers missing, as though someone had grabbed hold of him and removed some, but he thought he was pretty good.  He waddled straight over and started eating some of the grass seeds that were growing, taking little leaps and bounds as he went, and squawking as well.  This was all a bit much for one of the young magpies who ran at him.  This didn’t faze our young galah at all, he just jumped back at the magpie.  The magpie wasn’t backing down at all either, so we had a stale mate, with them both glaring at each other till hunger (or boredom) got the better of them, and they went back to looking for food.  In the meantime, mother magpie and the other young one walked past (galahs waddle, but magpies stride like very small tyrannosaurus rexes).  The young galah again went into what it considered its scariest poses but mum and junior just looked down their beaks with disdain and just kept on going.  So the magpie family and the galah went in opposite directions.  Then another young galah turned up.  This one didn’t look as scruffy as the first one, and they were quite trusting, they let me get quite close to take a photo or two, but after a while the main flock flew over with many squawks and rolls (galahs never fly in a straight line when there’s the possibility of putting on a flying display), and the youngsters left the magpies, and me, and went back to their parents and friends. 

So peace was sorta restored….at least I only have to cope with the two magpie youngsters behaving badly now….

There were a few moments of panic in my house a while ago, involving one of the roos, Mr Grumblebum, who was a rather large, but very shy and nervous joey.  Under normal circumstances he would be too big for a pouch, but because of his timidity, he has a large one, and uses it to hide away from the world.  I had just given him a bottle, and because he had made a mess of his pouch, I made him get out, while I got a clean one ready for him.  At this stage I thought everything was safe to let him get out, I had been doing everything in his pouch up till this stage, but he seemed to be settling in at last.  And I THOUGHT all other animals were safely outside.

 

Enter our next player, Gypsy, who looks like a toilet brush on legs, owing to her unfortunate ancestry.  On her father’s side, she is pure bred chihuahua, but her mother was a terrier of some description, and looked mostly like a long haired guinea pig gone wrong.  Gypsy has inherited her mum’s long hair, but also inherited a wire consistency to it from an ancestor further back.  Anyway, Gypsy rushed into the bedroom, preparing to take a running leap at the bed.  The joey up till this time had been quietly surveying his surroundings, and had wandered a little away from me to the side of the bed.  He took one look at this little missile and leapt straight up in the air, and landed on the queensize bed, and the next jump took him over the other side, where he landed on a pile of books, which went in all directions.  The dog took one look at the roo, and changed her mind and ran outside.  I jumped out of my chair with the new pouch and moved quickly over to the very scared roo, and showed him the pouch.  He dived straight in, double quick, and did a tumble turn the olympic swimmers would have envied.  I then settled him down, and gave him some grass which he ate later, once he’d calmed down, and then went back to restore order in the bedroom, fixing the bed and tidying the books, and taking quite a few deep breaths!  After a while, the dog came inside very quietly, and put herself on the bed while no one was looking.

 

I received a phone call one day from a distraught mother, whose children had found a nest, complete with two baby birds, that had blown out of a tree in high winds.  The parent birds were nowhere to be found, and she had no idea which tree it came out of, so she couldn’t put it back.  So into my car I got, and drove out to see what could be done.  When I arrived there, I was met by her kids, and half the neighbourhood I think, and the baby birds had by this time been taken out of the nest and were each clutched by a child, and very carefully enclosed in their t-shirts.  Even though it was done very tenderly, I thought it was probably not the best thing for the baby birds, and I thought they were probably registering fairly high stress levels.  So I asked the kids did they still have the nest, and a couple of them ran off and came back with it, and I put the babies back in it.   They immediately snuggled up together, and I thought to myself, it will be a miracle if this pair survives, but promising the parents of the kids I would keep in touch, put the nest and babies in a box I had brought with me, and set off for home. 

I had no idea what sort of bird they were, they were just little and brown, but I had the sneaking suspicion they were honeyeaters of some description, and while having doubts they would survive, as soon as I got them in and settled, I consulted my bird book and found a few likely “suspects”.  I needed to have a bit of an idea so that I could feed them the correct food.  All the suspects were indeed honeyeaters, so that was a start, I then found out that I would need a special nectar mix, but in the meantime I could feed them farex (a baby rice cereal) with a little honey or glucose in it, mixed with a little insectivore mix, which looks exactly like squashed ants, but has vitamins and minerals in it.  Honeyeaters regularly eat bugs, they come with the nectar they get from flowers, and actively pursue bugs at times as well.  I suppose they need the protein.  So I prepared some of their tucker, and got them ready for their first feed.  They were little bundles of fluff, but their wing feathers were already growing, and they sat together on the edge of their nest.  I removed the nest from the box, and took them and the nest into the kitchen where it would be easier to clean up.  This food was pretty runny and I knew things could get messy.  I had found a spoon with a handle of the right shape that would be convenient for “poking” down their throats, and waved it over their heads, with the food sitting on the end of the handle.  They sprang into action and opened their mouths up wide, squawking!  They both tried to outdo each other, trying to stand up as tall as they could to attract my attention.  One was bigger than the other;  he was probably hatched out first, so had an advantage, but I tried to feed both equally, till they were both full up.  Then, very bloated, they settled down, snuggling up to each other, and slept.  I placed the nest back in the box, and left them to it, but every time I walked past the nest, they would leap up in hope, mouths agape, and squawking as though they were starved!  Being babies I knew they would need feeding often, but I thought every 5 minutes was just a bit much…..

 

The next morning I took them into the kitchen again for more feeding, turned around to get the food ready, and when I turned round again, one had flown to the top of the fridge, and the other was on the toaster.  Whoa I thought, this is not good!  So I went outside to find a small cage to put them in.  I had never raised honeyeaters before, and it was a fairly steep learning curve for me!  The cage had a little perch in it, and I lined it with paper, for easy cleaning, and put them in it, nest and all.  And fed them through the bars….It wasn’t long before they had abandoned the nest, and moved to the perch, so I then removed the nest (which I cleaned up and kept).  I found feeding them on the perch was an interesting experience, because being honeyeaters, they would hang upside down from the perch.  In the wild, honeyeaters assume all sorts of positions so they can get at the flowers, and that’s what these little fellows were doing too.  They were just as happy upside down as right way up, as long as the food kept coming.  However, it made it a bit of a hit and miss affair, because I never knew where their mouths would be at any one time.  Then they started flying round their little cage, and would hang from the top of it.  And they had only been with me a few days!  They were also growing more feathers, and I thought I could possibly identify them, as a bit more colour was showing on their bodies, and already their beaks were lengthening into honeyeater shape, and their heads were changing too; honeyeaters’ heads are often “elongated” to make it easier to duck their heads into flowers to suck the nectar.  Some even have no feathers at all on their heads, just bare skin.  I looked through the books I had and decided they were probably red wattlebirds.  As adults, they would have red “wattles”, pieces of red skin hanging below their ears, like earrings, and a yellow wash of colour across their tummies.  At this stage of course, they had no wattles, but they had that tell tale yellow on their tummies.  They had a long way to go till they got to be handsome adults though, they were still gawky and skinny, but very energetic and very hungry.

They continued flying round their cage, and growing and generally doing the right thing, so I decided I would try them outside.  I took the cage and hung it from a branch in the apple tree, and tied the cage door open.  Of course they just sat there, but after a few minutes they started to explore.  The next thing I knew they started to fly, followed by startled shrieks as they tried to work out how you land once you’ve got where you wanted to go!  It didn’t take them long though, and they were no longer crash landing, and they were flying from tree to tree.  Then I decided they should come back in, I didn’t want to risk them outside just yet at night times.  This was an interesting experience for me, because they thought it was a great game.  I would be just about to grab, and they would fly to a higher branch, and so it would go.  I eventually succeeded in capturing them, but I had to be very careful when I put the second one in the cage that I didn’t let the first one out again!

This behaviour went on for a few days, I would let them out each day, and take food down to them several times a day, as they flew around and honed their flying skills.  I had also managed to find some native wildflowers from neighbours gardens, and started taking them down to them as well, and pegging the flowers to the branches of the trees they were in, and also in the cage at night.  They accepted these offerings gratefully, and knew instinctively what to do with them.

It wasn’t long before they would fly up to me as soon as they realised I was coming out the door to feed them.  It was rather like being dive bombed by miniature vultures, and not only would they perch on my hands and arms, they would perch on the spoon, which made feeding just a tad difficult, or they would sit on my head and shoulders, hang off my clothing, and generally just treat me as a tree.  And of course, as they grew, they no longer wanted to come in at night, and when they got to the stage of flying high into a tree each night, still snuggling up to each other, I realised I would have to let them move onto the next stage of their development.  I noticed they would select a spot close to the edge of a branch, which actually would give them adequate warning of a cat attack, so again their survival instincts were coming to the fore. 

By this time I had a couple of “bottlebrushes”, a native Australian plant, blooming in the garden.  So each day, when they came to be fed, I would first take them to one of the bottlebrush bushes, so they could start their feed there, and then I would let them fill up on their nectar mix.  Soon I noticed they would visit the bushes of their own volition, and they also would fly over the fence to check out the neighbours gardens.  I could see them from the kitchen window hanging off a branch, head in a flower.  Then they met their first adult wattlebird.  He was incensed!  They were touching HIS flowers!  They hightailed it back into my yard and hid in the fruit trees till they felt safe again.  So they started visiting the garden belonging to the neighbours on the other side.  They also had bottlebrushes, and they had grevilleas and banksias.  They also had pansies and other nectar and pollen laden flowers and they had a ball!  Till the adult turned up again, with some reinforcements!  I couldn’t do a real lot, because this is what happens in the wild, and they had to learn to cope with things themselves.  They soon worked out that they would go to where the adults weren’t, and if things were really tough, they could just come home and I would feed them.  I had by this time started leaving food out for them in a place where the adult didn’t know, and they would just feed themselves, and fly off again.  Until of course the adult found the place, and used to help himself.  This time of course I stepped in, and shooed him away, and started feeding them in a different place.  Each time I moved the food he would find it, and stand over it, in an aggressive posture, shaking his “wattles” at them and looking every bit a tough guy.  Every few days I had to move their food, but they were growing and getting a bit braver, and a bit more cunning, and feeding well from the natural sources, so it was no longer such an issue.  My next door neighbours with the big garden were delighted to have them visit them.  They constantly told me of their adventures, and told of an incident when they were watering the garden one day, and how they inadvertently watered one of the babies.  He had been busily feeding himself from one of their petunias, and it gave him quite a start, and he flew off indignantly, hurling abuse at the humans for disturbing him!  However once he calmed down he was back searching for nectar again.

They started to catch bugs as well, and soon became proficient at catching them on the wing.  Their flying skills had become quite spectacular now, and they really seemed to enjoy themselves.  It wasn’t just a method of getting from flower A to flower B;  they seemed lost in the joy of flying.  About this time I realised they were in danger of becoming dependent on me as a source of food, so I gradually decreased the food I left out for them.  I would only leave food out if they actually came and asked.  And it was quite obvious when they “asked” because they would hang off the screen door till I took food out to them.  Of course when I took the food out, they would hang off me as well, I was still “their” tree.  They would even stick their tongues into my ears, or nostrils, and even nibble my earlobes!   And sometimes when I walked out the back yard with washing to peg on the line, they would hang off me then as well, and sit on the line while I worked. They were growing into quite handsome birds now, and starting to fly further afield.  One day my daughter was home and we decided to go for a walk.  One of the birds hitched a ride on my shoulder for a couple of blocks, then decided this was far enough, and flew home.  Both of them were there waiting for me when we got home, and of course they both wanted food.  As time went on, I heard reports of them even further afield.  I was never quite sure that it was definitely them, because I knew there were other young wattlebirds around, till the Rector of the Anglican Church told me one landed on his shoulder and nibbled his ear!  He was quite startled to say the least….

 

Then they started staying away all day.  Then for a couple of days.  Their visits were becoming more infrequent, and the neighbours were very concerned.  I assured them that this was normal, that they were growing up, and becoming independent.  There was plenty of food around for them, and they were doing “the rounds”, and would turn up a couple of times a week for a big feed, then go again.  The visits became weekly for a while, and then they disappeared altogether for a while.  Then one day, I saw some young wattlebirds in the bottlebrush next door, and I went outside.  Both of them flew over to me, and landed on me, but neither wanted to stay.  They had made the transition, and were now wild birds. 

I still see wattlebirds around.  I don’t know whether they’re “mine”, but it’s a great feeling to know I raised them successfully….

Nolan’s retirement started at a leisurely pace this week, with him not going into work at all till Friday.  When he did go, I took him in for a “visit”, and I stayed with him while we went from resident to resident, and staff member to staff member, licking all in sight, and almost wagging his tail off.  Everyone was delighted to see him as well, and we probably stayed about an hour.  The visit was a great success, but tired him out.  The rest of the week he had spent going for walks, having his bath….and sleeping.

 

During the week I had been talking to one of the staff members, who is acting as a liaison between management and Nolan, and she informed me that the Manager doesn’t want Nolan to retire.  As far as I’m concerned if ADA Cottage wants to remain as Nolan’s official owner, and is prepared to keep on paying for his upkeep, I am more than happy with that arrangement, but the staff member and I agreed, that Nolan deserves to retire, and that his attendance will take the form of visits, and will only be when he wants to go.  Believe me, he tells me when he needs a “fix” of his oldies….

 

While Nolan has been slowing down, I’m still just as busy as ever.  I still have to organise both dogs, and Max…and of course I have Clancy of the Overflow….and he is still overflowing!  He is not out of the woods yet, but his health is improving…he seems to have beaten the thrush.  He is well enough now to spend more time outside in the sun (when it shines), and he is drinking more at a go, and with more enthusiasm.  He now gets so excited when it’s meal time that he can’t keep still long enough to take the teat into his mouth, so it’s still a bit of a wrestle to get him started.  Once he’s got the teat in there, he sucks like a vacuum cleaner until his bottle is empty, or almost.  Then he sits there like Jabba the Hutt, (for those who remember Star Wars) with his jaws clenched, refusing to let the teat be taken away.

 

I got a call from the local beautician who had two little roos brought into her, and could I help her place them.  I visited her so I knew what size roos we were looking for homes for.  One was tiny, with just fur colouring under her skin.  The other was bigger, fully furred, but very scared.  Between us  we managed to find homes for them both.  Unfortunately the bigger one died….the stress was just too much for him, but last I heard the little girl was still with us.  Then one day when I was loading the dogs into the car, to take them down to the river, I was approached by a stranger, who had a sulphur crested cockatoo in his car, on his wife’s lap.  They had found it on the road, obviously hit by a car, and drove over half an hour out of their way to bring it to me.  It was obvious the bird was in a bad way.  The wife was in tears, while I had a quick look at it, and transferred it to an animal carrier.  She asked me to get it to the vet quickly so it could be put to sleep.  I was amazed!  Most people ask me to keep the bird or animal alive at all costs!  She realised how great his injuries were, and so I promised her I would take it straight to the vets, and we would do what we had to as quickly as possible.  As it turned out while we were getting things ready for the vet to do the deed, the bird died in my arms.  So I took him out into the bush, and laid him to rest at the base of a wattle tree.  Then I took the dogs for their walk….

 

Today I took the dogs down to the river for their walk, while I took photos of the wood ducks and other interesting things.  The dogs had a lovely time exploring and wandering about.  When it was almost time to get back in the car, I saw a water rat, so I went back to the river to try to get a photo.  While I was waiting for him to reappear, a head popped up in the weeds on the other side of the river.  It was a rather large old man roo, about 6′ tall and built like Arnie Schwarzenegger.  He just stood there, crouched over, while we looked at each other.  I managed to get several not very good photos (I wasn’t really close enough).  I might add I forgot about the water rat!  Then he moved off, and I discovered the reason…Nolan had decided he wanted to be a hero, and moved out into the river.  He came back when called, grudgingly…and wet….  Gypsy sensibly remained near me.  Roos always try to get away from what they consider a dangerous situation, but if they’re cornered, the males will fight to the death, and are quite capable of disembowelling a dog.  I’m sure Nolan had no thought of what fate might await him if he, a geriatric, took on a roo, but he had that look in his eye….

 

I was quite distracted by the roo, and didn’t notice two lots of people approaching with their dogs.  Of course I didn’t have leads on the dogs, and in my rush I couldn’t find Gypsy’s, so I got Nolan’s on and got him into the car as quickly as possible while I tried to control Gypsy without hers.  Fortunately the other dogs were well behaved, and we didn’t have any dogfights.  Then when we got home I discovered a hole in the garden, so I let the dogs out to smell round it, and hopefully deter the return of the rabbit (I’ll let you know whether this works!)….  While the dogs were occupied, a neighbour walked past with her small dog.  Gypsy was so excited with all that had happened she shot up towards the neigbours dog, and snapped at her.  The neighbour picked up her dog, so no harm was done, and didn’t want me to go crook on Gypsy, as Gypsy was just protecting her territory, but as I said, she could have done it with a little less enthusiasm.  Nolan was so busy smelling for the rabbit he didn’t notice….

I eventually got the dogs inside, where they curled up for a snooze, and I got a cuppa!  I wonder what next week will bring?…