Mamaroo's Diary

A few nights ago, I had a dream.  Typical of most of my dreams, it was weird.  It was an anxiety dream, and I think it was because I was still subconsciously ticked off with my ex, for wanting to borrow my car….I mean it’s been two years since we separated, and he obviously still thinks what mine is his….  However since this dream I had a little talk to myself and reminded myself that any man who would give his daughter a weight loss pamphlet on her wedding day is capable of anything, and I shouldn’t worry about it.  So I won’t!  Anyway, back to the dream.

 

I dreamt that I couldn’t find my car.  It wasn’t where I had left it, and I was quite upset, as you can imagine.  Fortunately, a friend was with me and gave me a hug to comfort me…and I woke up…to find I had poor Max in a bear hug!  Not only was I giving him a huge probably uncomfortable cuddle, I had pulled him right down under the covers (it was a cold morning).  Max HATES being under the covers!  He is a long haired cat and obviously considers his fur to be covering enough.  The only time I have seen him willingly get under the covers was when I moved, and he hid in the bed.  When he’d calmed down a little, he got out from under the blankets and got under a pillow.

 

Anyway, he was under the blankets…forcibly…and he was not amused.  I am just so thankful he’s a placid individual, because other cats may have removed various parts of my anatomy…but not Max, he knew I would do what he wanted and feed him in due course and was prepared to suffer this ignominy in the meantime.  However, when he noticed my eyes open, he turned his head (purring all the while) and kissed me….on the lips!  YUKKO!!  I know where that nose and mouth have been!  ARGH!  So he got me back…..

 

A few nights later, I had another dream, and fortunately Max was not involved in this one.  I dreamt I won 6 cars.  Why on earth would I win 6 cars?  Does this mean I should buy a lottery ticket?

There were almost always cats in my family ever since I was a little kid.  I just grew up accepting the fact that cats ruled the roost, and any training that went on, they trained us.  It was just a fact of life.

 

That adage was so right, Dogs have Masters, and Cats Have Staff, only I hadn’t realised it back then.

 

Time moved on, I married and left home, and was introduced to the mysteries of dog ownership.  I found that here was an animal who would do anything for me;  all he wanted was a pat on the head and a bit of food…and if I was a bit slow doing it he loved me anyway.  Then I was reintroduced to cat ownership…not me owning the cat, but the cat owning me.  The cat soon worked out who the REALLY obedient people in the house were, and went to them with “requests” first.  I might add by this stage, the cat realised I was running my own little resistance movement, and was actually trying to train the cat to be realistic in his demands….

 

I also discovered that cats will try to be the boss over every other animal in the house.  If there are several cats, they work out their own “pecking order”, and everything else slots in beneath them.  As long as everyone else remembers their place things will go well.

 

However I have learned that there are little tricks of the trade to get them to do what you want them to.  One is (in this house anyway) to only give small helpings of food.  Cats invariably want to be fed, then get up and walk away before they’re finished.  In a house with dogs, this is a good way to lose your tucker, because a plate of food is fair game to a dog, specially if its owner is not present, and the food disappears quick smart.  Hence….a small amount of food….the cat eats most of it before he walks off, and the dog or dogs only get a tiny bit.  The cat comes back and wants more, you repeat the procedure.

 

I have also discovered that when the cat starts to fill up, he will complain bitterly that that food which was delicious at the beginning of the meal is now not good enough, and why can’t he have something different?  I have discovered that if you pick the cat up, and just plonk him straight back down again, in front of his food, he will eat it!

 

I tried this on Maureen’s cat, Lou, when I was visiting Maureen, and Jack, on my trip to the UK, and I discovered that British Cats react the same as Aussie cats when plonked down in front of their dinner….they eat!  Jack and Maureen had never seen this done before, and they took it on board, and added it to their own repertoire of how to get the cat to behave…

 

I might add that Lou added me to his staff while I was there.  I was another lap to sit on, and another person to stroke him, and generally do as I was bidden.  I have been added to various cat’s staffs….as a sorta aunt, who comes and baby sits when mum is away, and who will always provide sustenance and cuddles till mum comes back.

 

I am always reminded of an “alternative” creation myth.

God created all the animals, then he created Adam.  Adam was alone in the garden, and the animals were concerned, and approached God.  They told Him it was not good for Adam to be alone, so God gave Adam Dog.  Adam looked into Dog’s eyes and realised he was the centre of the universe, and got much too big for his boots.  The animals soon got sick of this and went back to God, and complained bitterly.  God removed Dog from Adam, and instead gave him Cat.  Adam looked into Cat’s eyes and realised that Cat, not Adam, was the centre of the universe, and was immediately deflated.  All things then resumed their normal priorities, and everything got back to normal….

Just over the last few days I’ve had a few problems with the printer….and they’ve all been caused by Max the cat.

 

The first incident was caused when Max decided he needed to drape himself all over the window sill.  This was fine, until he moved and fell off.  He bounced off the printer, and landed on the desk next to it, and managed to upset all my piles of paperwork, pens, books, and my box of tissues.  He looked rather puzzled that this had happened, but nevertheless settled down next to the printer and went to sleep.  He didn’t look at all sorry when some time later I tried to use the printer and discovered it wouldn’t work.  I investigated and discovered he had dislodged the USB cable.  When that was replaced, it was all systems go.

 

So he decided this was the in place to sleep.  I of course had sorted out my piles of paperwork etc, and generally tidied up, but decided if he was going to sleep there, I’d have to organise things round him, which I did.  He had a lovely time sleeping there each day, although he wasn’t terribly impressed when I would actually be using the printer.  All went well till I went to use the printer the other day.  It turned on fine, but it absolutely refused to feed the paper in.  I looked at it closely, but I could not for the life of me work out what was going on to stop it.  I must have fiddled with it on and off for a couple of hours, even rebooting the computer from time to time to see whether that would fix things.  But no.  Then, when I was just about to give up, and leave it till tomorrow, when my brain would (hopefully) work better, and I could find the problem, and even though I had actually looked into the innards of the machine several times before, I saw a pen right down in the workings of the machine.  Ah…..now how did that get there, and how am I going to get it out??  So I started fiddling with it anew, and made sure I held my mouth just right, and eventually I managed to get it out.  I was still amazed…..turned the machine back on….and off it went!  Printing job at last completed.

 

However I was bamboozled about how the pen got in there.  Then the cat came in for his daily sit, and the penny dropped.  I had missed this pen in my clean up after his fall from the window sill, and he had managed to edge it in underneath everything while he did his daily wriggle to make everything comfy and fit better into the available space.

 

I’m so glad I didn’t have to call the technician and say….well….um….I think my cat has put a pen into the printer…..

After Gypsy had been gone for about twelve months, I began to think I was ready to take on a new animal.  However, my own life had changed over the years, and was no longer as healthy as I once was, and life was downright challenging at times.  I realised I could no longer care for a dog, I couldn’t walk him/her on a regular basis, but a cat (and I love cats) would not need that sort of care, perhaps I could take a senior cat that needed a home.  After all, most of my animals have been rescue animals, why change now?  So I started investigating older cats.

This is where God saw my plans and laughed.

A friend of mine had recently had a kitten given to her.  The kitten had been found in the gutter, and was covered in fleas and also had ear mites.  She already had two cats of her own, and was looking for a home for this one.  In the meantime she treated the kitten for the fleas and ear mites and then sent me a picture on facebook.  Here was this poor little silver tabby with the hugest ears that needed a home.  She looked like a bat cat.  Of course, my heart melted, though I resisted for a couple of days.

So she came to live with me, and our journey together began.  I named her Megga Bat Cat, a play on words of megabat, and bat cat.  She was terribly cute, but in the manner of all kittens, at times terribly naughty.  I was training her at the same time that she was training me.

As she was getting bigger, two trees in my yard had to be felled.  This took place over a few days, with one of them the power had to be turned off for safety reasons, and a lot of noise, with the various equipment used.  She spent the first part of this rushing from one window to another, supervising activities, and making sure they were doing it right.  Until it all got a bit much and she needed a sleep.  We both headed for the back of the house.

The next day even the back of the house wasn’t safe, as they used bobcats to transfer large pieces of wood to the back yard for later cutting up.  How dare they!  The noise was following her everywhere!  But that didn’t stop her looking and supervising!

Finally it was all done, and she was able to catch up on sleeping.

A while later, when the weather turned cooler, I decided to light the fire.  Megga decided to help by getting in the firebox.  I extricated her both from the firebox and the room, and set about getting the fire lit.  I eventually let her back in once it was properly alight.  She came back in, and was instantly suspicious of this new source of light and sound and approached cautiously.  She checked it out, and decided I needed protection from it.

Most times she was alright with it, because she had worked out heat burns.  One day however, the fire had been on for a while, and was no longer loudly crackling.  She did her usual entry into the room, which included jumping from the backs of the furniture in all directions, but this time she jumped from one chair onto the heater.  I don’t think I’ve ever seen her jump off anything so quickly!  No damage was done, but she has even more respect for heat now!

One day when she was nearly six months old, she was doing her normal “behave like a lunatic” routine, which included leaping up on top of the flat screen tv, and I had just about had enough.  I yelled at her and she left the living room at speed, and I followed her out.  I turned round and shut the door to keep her out till she’d calmed down, and saw she had stopped just outside the bedroom door.  I stamped me foot at her (alright I was having a tantrum) and fell.  She looked most startled and disappeared under the bed.  I felt even more startled as I landed in the laundry hamper, and realised I had done something fairly drastic to my ankle on the way.  I managed to extricate myself from the laundry hamper, but realised I couldn’t get up. I couldn’t open the door to the living room, the door was shut.  The phone in the bedroom was on the other side of the bed, and the phone on the back verandah was too far away.

But all was not lost, I pressed my vital call pendant, and help was on the way.  I decided to make myself as comfortable as possible on the floor (I couldn’t get onto the bed) and crawled to the bed, and got a couple of pillows, one for my foot, and one for my head.  Megga came out and played with my hair, although I’m sure she really wanted me to get up and feed her!  The ambulance turned up within a few minutes and very swiftly assessed I would need an xray and possibly hospitalisation, though they reassured me the ankle may only be sprained.  I appreciated their kindness but I knew it was broken.

So they made sure Megga was locked in the house, not out of it, and took me away, and I didn’t return for three months!  I had indeed broken it, in three places, and I wasn’t allowed home till I could walk (with assistance) again.

In emergency, I was given a temporary cast till I could have surgery and healing could begin.  The doctor came to see me and after he had looked at the xrays, we spent our time comparing pictures of our cats.  I contacted family, and someone to look after Megga.

Megga eventually went to stay with a friend and her husband.  They took wonderful care of her.  She returned to me several days after I returned from hospital, and her reaction was, after sniffing her way through the house.  I remember you, where have you been?  Where’s your lap for me to sit on?

 

Prior to my hospitalisation, I used a cane.  Now I used a walker. She soon learned to give this tremendous respect, because she might get run over.  She also discovered it was the source of fun, and enjoyed being carted round the house on the seat. She really was mistress of all she surveyed!

Megga has always been an inside cat.  One, I wanted to protect the wildlife, and two I wanted to protect her from the lunatic drivers that sometimes came round the corner on the wrong side of the road, and the big dogs that lived nearby.  On the whole I think she agrees with this.  She has been unattended twice (she has been out in a harness and lead and seemed to enjoy the experience(s)) and found both times stressful.  The first time she flew down the hall and landed on the screen door, which opened.  So of course she got down and went exploring and decided inside was better but of course the door had shut, and on the other side was her arch nemesis, my daughter’s small dog.  Her pitiful meows alerted us, the dog was distracted and Megga came back in.

Her other experience was finding an open window.  Out she went, jumping several feet to the tank stand.  Getting DOWN from the tank stand which would be 8 to 10 feet high.  Wandering round the back yard, and getting back UP the tank stand, and unable then to get back in.  The windows were casement, hinged on the side opening outwards, and on the wrong side for her purposes.  Of course I went looking for her, and by the time I found her she was rather distressed, but allowed me to reach out of the window, grab her by the scruff and lift her across to the window sill and inside.  Thank God I didn’t drop her!

Of course she beat a hasty retreat and hid for a while!

Since that time she has mellowed somewhat, and our relationship has become easier.  She still thinks she is the boss, but I have become aware that her love isn’t JUST cupboard love.  Whenever I have to be away for a few days, she is ok for the first couple of days, then she starts to fret.  When I come home I am greeted by frantic meows, then some scolding…Where have you  BEEN?? And for the next few days she’s my constant shadow.   After a few days things return to normal, provided I do as I’m told…

God knew I didn’t need a quiet life with a sleepy elderly cat who would love nothing more than snoozing on my lap.  He knew I needed to be kept on my toes!

I went for my acupuncture visit as usual today, and at the end went for my usual tour of inspection of the horses on the farm.  My friend who gives the acupuncture guided me to a horse whom she knew was about to give birth.  So off we went, expecting to find a mare in the early stages of labour.  When we got to her enclosure, we saw her get up from laying down…..my friend said…….good grief!  She’s had the foal……and there it was………this little wet bundle on the ground.  She rushed over, as the mare bent over it to start licking it.

 

The poor little thing was shivering in the cool wind, so I went for towels, so my friend could help dry him.  In the meantime his mum was licking him, and every so often, she would nip him…..trying to get him to stand up.  She even pulled on his ear from time to time.  After half an hour, and many attempts, he finally stood on his own four feet, even though he was partly supported by a human.  He was assisted to the mare’s teats, and he tried to find how to get the milk.  He obviously wanted it, he was trying to suckle anything he thought might be helpful.  Eventually he latched on, and had a small drink and almost instantly he was stronger, stood on his own, and even tottered on his long spindly legs.  He walked with his legs stuck out at funny angles, and several times walked underneath his mother in an attempt to find milk.

 

By the time an hour had passed he was a lot stronger, but he still was having trouble co-ordinate his legs….they’re much too long for his body.  It amazed me it took such a little time for him to become mobile.  I felt as though I had witnessed a miracle.

People are always ringing me, day and night, with animal problems.  Most of these can be dealt with quite easily, but there have been some interesting ones brought on by mistaken identities, or because people’s ideas about sizes are a lot different to mine.

 

One gentleman rang in a panic one day;  he said I have a possum on my front verandah, and I’ve never seen one quite like this….it looks pretty sick, can I bring it round?  So of course round he came with the “possum” and presented it to me in a box.  It was obviously on its last legs, and I said I would do what I could for it, and took it from him.  He went home, feeling relieved.  On closer inspection, it was a “bush” rat, a native animal, and prettier than the “normal” rat, but a rat nonetheless, and before I was able to find someone who would look after it, it went to “rat” heaven.

 

Another time, someone rang with a problem with a baby snake.  Please could someone come and rescue them from the snake!  So I located the snake handler, and off he went.  He arrived at the place, and the people met him at the door with cries of in here, in here!  He went into the room he was directed to, and there on the floor was a leech.  I didn’t ask him what he did with it……but both he and I wondered greatly at what those people were on at the time.

 

A lady called at my house and presented me with a tiny bundle.  As she unwrapped it carefully she said I think this is a wombat, and it’s much too small to be away from its mother.  Judging from the size of the bundle, I was inclined to agree.  On closer inspection, the tiny wombat was actually a tiny rabbit kitten, which was also too small to be away from its mother.  I was able to redirect her to another lady who would look after it for her.

 

People often have trouble with judging sizes of animals as well.  Several times I have been called out on the rescue of a joey kangaroo, and found it to be a fully grown adult wallaby, which has just fitted onto the back seat of the car.  Another time I was called to a “baby” wombat.  It had been hit by a car, and the caller met me at the front door with this huge wombat that he had somehow managed to fit into a fruit box.  It must have weighed over 20 pounds.  The poor thing appeared to have lost the use of its back legs, so I took it straight to the “wombat lady” for her to deal with.

 

Another thing that can happen is putting the animal in inappropriate housing.  I’ve had this happen to me a couple of times with parrots and cockatoos.  Instead of putting the injured bird in a box, they put them in a cage.  Sometimes they manage to put them in an appropriate size cage, but the opening is terribly small.  Easy enough to put the bird in, but very hard to get a non co-operating injured bird out so you can examine it, or transfer it to a box…..  Another carer had the same experience with a wedgetailed eagle that had been put in a cocky cage.  The wedgetails have a wing span of around 10 feet, so they are a rather large bird.  This eagle was not coming out without a fight, so the easiest way to get him out was to dismantle the cage!

 

So you can see, when people tell me what they have, and what size it is….I don’t always believe them…..I prefer to be prepared for anything…..

 

I always thought first aid kits were supposed to contain band-aids, gauze bandages, and disinfectant.  But how about this?

 

A tortoise was brought to me yesterday, he had been run over and his shell was broken.  The lady who brought him to me was very concerned, and put a bandage on the broken part.  However, when I took him to his new carer, the carer said, “Oh that should be right, I’ll use DUCT TAPE to hold that together.”  I’d never thought of using that, but apparently that is the latest treatment.

 

A small parrot was brought to me that had sustained a nasty injury to his beak, cracking it.  I rang the vet, and he said, use SUPER GLUE, but make sure both you and the bird are in the fresh air when you apply it.  Perhaps he was concerned that the bird wouldn’t be the only one flying……

 

Another patient was a pelican, and he was tangled in fishing line and hooks had pierced him in several places.  One had left a nasty gash in the soft underpart of his bill….that marvellous part that can hold more than his belly”.  Off he went to the vet, in a large box, with his head poking out the top, and a sock over his beak and head to stop him being frightened (and also poking the driver in the eye with the beak).  I was surprised when the vet again used SUPER GLUE (even though in this case it was the medical equivalent), but I suppose that was the quickest and easiest way to fix it.

 

A joey came in with an injured tail.  It had a bump in it, but had movement in it, so I made it a splint out the cardboard centre of TOILET ROLLS and sticking plaster.

 

 

 

PS  All the patients survived….

 

Last Tuesday, I had planned to go to Mudgee, but my body had different ideas.  I had had a late night the night before, and my body said, REST! REST! rather loudly.  So I listened.  Unfortunately my animals didn’t listen..  I managed to stay in bed till about 6.30, and dragged myself out and fed them, and then organised some brekkie for me, hoping it would kick start my brain.  It didn’t, but I enjoyed it anyway!

 

Around lunch time I was still in my jarmies, and thinking I was about ready to have a shower and do something about facing what was left of the day, when the phone rang.  A lady had found a kookaburra sitting in the middle of the road, and could I take it please.  She thought it was a baby.  We made arrangements that she would bring it in…she thought it would be in about half an hour, so I decided I’d better delay the shower…

 

She was a bit less than that, and after she delivered the kookaburra, I gave it a quick inspection.  There didn’t seem to be any damage, apart from some ruffled head feathers, and a wild eyed stare.  It was definitely NOT a baby, but it looked to be a young adult, possibly a female.  So I put it back in its box, and went and soaked some dog biscuits.  It would need to be force fed, and hopefully would recover in 24 hours or so.  After I had my shower, the dog biscuits were softened sufficiently, and I gave it a small feed.  It was quite passive, and let me push the food down its throat.  I then stroked its throat to encourage it to swallow, but it didn’t seem to do much of anything.  This was the pattern for the rest of the day.

 

The next day I had decided I was going to Mudgee, and I would leave early before anything else happened!  I knew I had a fair bit to do, but reckoned if everything went ok, I should be able to be home by lunch time, or a bit after.  Of course, nothing went to plan, and I arrived home about four oclock!  I had fed the kookaburra before I left, and it seemed a little more with it.  I was concerned about leaving the kookaburra so long without a feed, but he ate twice as much as I thought he would.  He was still being force fed, but he was showing a bit more spirit with this feed, and actually seemed to want more.  Good, I thought, he seems to be coming good…  Just before I went to choir practice that night, I fed him again, and this time struggled when I went to get him back in his box, and actually flew to the top of the curtain rail!  Apart from the fact having to round him up made me late for choir practice (although when I told everyone why I was late, they forgave me….and had a giggle) I felt it boded very well for his future, and his release was imminent.

 

The next morning after I fed him, he flew through the house, so I dragged him down from the curtain rail again, and took him outside.  The place he had been found was only a short distance out of town, and I felt sure he would find his way back there without too much trouble, so I perched him on the hand rail next to my steps.  He needed no second invitation, and headed off into the wild blue yonder!  I went inside, and finished my brekky.  Or tried to.  I was having my cuppa when there was a knock on the door.  Outside were two young men tenderly carrying a rather large lump wrapped in a jumper.  The lump was wriggling.  We looked at each other and they said, we found this little guy next to his dead mother.  We were concerned he would get run over.  The little guy turned out to be a juvenile wombat.  He would have weighed about 10 kg, or 22 pounds.  He was too big to be trying to give bottles to, so I knew I would have to find someone who could take him with an appropriate yard, where he could live in a burrow till he was big enough to leave for the bush.  In the meantime, we got him into a pouch, and I put the pouch into a cat carrier.  He settled off.

 

I then finished my cuppa, and rang a friend whom I thought would have the appropriate set up for him.  She was happy to take him, but wouldn’t be home till after lunch.  Could she swap him for a magpie she had found stuck in her fence?  She thought he would have to go to heaven…he had a badly injured leg.  So, with that arranged, I had a shower.  No sooner had I got out of the shower than the phone rang.  It was the local school, and they had an injured red wattle bird.  It couldn’t fly, and its beak was injured.  However, just before I left, Nolan decided he needed a wee walk.  He came back, and unknown to me, the wombat had got himself out of his pouch, and was sitting there observing us all from the cat carrier.  Nolan of course decided he should inspect the wombat, but the wombat took exception to this behaviour and started growling ferociously.  Nolan was completely unfazed, and kept sniffing.  I thought the easiest thing to do was to put the wombat, still in the cat box, in the spare room, where I could shut the door.  I covered him over with an old sheet.  After I shut the door Nolan lost interest and went off to have a snooze…

 

So, disaster averted, off I went to the school.  I found a rather distressed bird in box.  The immediate concern was the beak, which appeared to be broken, and in such a position that he couldn’t retract his tongue.  As disadvantaged as he was, he attempted to make a break for it…but, not being able to fly meant he wasn’t that hard to catch again.  I took him to the vets, and the assistant and I examined him.  The beak injury was nasty.  She rang their head office, and asked was there anything could be done for him.  After talking to one of the vets there, we decided the kindest thing was to send him to heaven.  He wouldn’t be able to feed himself with his beak the way it was.  After we euthanased him we examined him further and found a break in one of his wings as well.  We thought it was highly likely he had been hit by a car.

 

Back home, for a quick lunch, and then deposit the wombat.   When I went to take him to the car, he was fast asleep….I hated disturbing him….but I had to take him to his new home.  Then I picked up the magpie, and the lady said his leg was a little better, but it was still in a very strange position.  He had also made a break for freedom and had flown through the house, but had great difficulty perching with only one working leg.  So back to the vets, and more assessing, and more discussion with the vet about what could be done.  This fellow was sent to heaven as well.  We had decided he had probably dislocated his leg from his pelvis, or even broken the neck of the femur.  He also had nerve damage to his leg.

 

I went home, completely emotionally drained.  I decided I needed a nanna nap, and sat down in my recliner, and fell asleep.  About an hour and three quarters later, I was woken by an agitated Nolan, wondering who on earth was going to feed him!  Not only could I hear him pacing the floor, he came and breathed on me (oh that dog breath!) and put his wet nose on my bare arm!  I had no choice, I had to get up and take notice…and feed the poor starved dog….  I was still feeling a bit drained after being Doctor Death….but I knew that would pass.  I had done what I had to do, and sometimes the only way we can help these injured animals IS to send them to heaven.  It’s a fact of life.  I gave myself a good talking to, and reminded myself that even though I’d lost two, I’d helped two…so good odds really.

 

The next morning, I went off to Bible Study.  We had our Christmas party, and ate all sorts of naughty things, including mud cake, with cream.  We enjoyed each other’s company, sang songs and watched a short dvd.  We discussed our various plans for Christmas, and exchanged gifts.

 

So….even though the week had started badly….it finished well!

A few years ago, I (with my family) ran a video shop and mixed business.  I used to arrive fairly early each day to accept deliveries from the milkman and baker.  However one day, I arrived at work ready to unlock the front door, and a found a parcel leaning up against it.  It was wriggling, and as I watched, a head popped out.  The parcel turned out to be very insecurely fastened…..and I rushed inside to find a tea towel, a towel, anything I could use to secure this creature before it wreaked havoc.  I didn’t really know what it was.  By the time I returned, I had an audience…..the baker had arrived, and he was wisely standing back…..the creature had wriggled further out, and there was a wing free now.  On the end of the wing was a huge talon (called a thumb, and roughly equivalent to ours), and the head was absolutely beautiful…..like a miniature fox.  I had seen enough to work out it was a flying fox, or fruit bat.  I had no idea which variety, there are several that we find in our area at the appropriate times of the year.  They are not aggressive creatures but this was not a happy camper, so would be likely to cause problems.  I was able to throw the towel over the critter and manage to contain him before he harassed the baker…..or any customer that came in.

 

I left the baker in charge of the shop, and rushed next door to the vets…very convenient place for the vets to be….and borrowed a pet carrier.  I didn’t know much about fruit bats, but I knew it would need to be hanging upside down, so it would go to sleep until I could work out what on earth was going on with it.  They are nocturnal, and many of them fly into barb wire fences, damaging their wings.  So I managed to get it into the pet carrier, and get its feet to hang onto the lid, which I then secured, leaving the creature hanging upside down, wings wrapped round its body and looking much happier.  I felt happier too, because it meant it was confined to barracks and could be attended to in due course.

I put the carrier and contents out the back of the shop and covered the whole kit and kaboodle with the towel, so it was in the dark, while I attended to the baker, and thanked him for his patience.  After he was gone, I had a quick look at my charge.  There appeared to be a tear in his wing, which consisted of a leathery membrane, but it didn’t appear to be a huge one.  I thought the best thing to do was to ring the flying fox/bat lady, in Mudgee, so I managed to get onto her and discuss the problem.  She thought he would be worth a chance, and asked could I get him up to her, so I said I would see if I could find someone going up her way.  (I had some very co-operative customers at times….)

 

About half an hour later, a customer and her young son came in for a video.  In the course of conversation, she mentioned her husband was going to Mudgee later, so I explained my problem, and she volunteered the poor man.  We arranged that he should drop the animal at the vets up there, and the carer would pick him up.  In due course her hubby turned up, looking rather worried.  I think he had thoughts of vampire bats hanging off his throat as he drove along.  I assured him that one……it was safely secured in the pet carrier, and two…..it ate fruit, and drank a bit of nectar from flowers, not blood.  He put the carrier in the back seat of the car and off he went.

 

In due course he returned, and told me he had made the delivery.  Shortly after that I received a phone call from the “Bat Lady” telling me it was a juvenile Grey Headed flying fox, and she thought it had a good prognosis, but would take a while to recover.  I was just pleased it was in good hands, because I really had no clue what to do with it apart from getting it to hang upside down….

 

I heard some time later that he was released.  He had been taken to a “creche” and introduced to some other young flying foxes, and they had been released together.

A short time ago, one of my friends from church was telling me she had found what she thought was a paper wasp nest on the porch near her back door.  At the same time she was being swooped by a pair of willy wagtails and she couldn’t understand why.  The next time I was talking to her, she was very excited because she had found what she thought was a paper wasp nest contained four tiny birds, and they belonged to the willy wagtails, which explained their protectiveness.  She then told me she wasn’t getting any work done, because she was watching them all the time!  I told her they would grow pretty quickly, and they wouldn’t be there for that long, so she could get on with her work later….

 

However, only a few days after, she turned up at my front door quite distressed, because the nest had tipped over, and two of the babies had been dumped unceremoniously on the ground.  She wanted to know what to do, and after a bit of discussion we decided I should go to her place and check it all out, and work out a plan of attack with her.  When we arrived, we were bombarded on all sides by the parent birds, who were absolutely distraught.  I could see the nest, sitting on a stay under the porch roof, but at a crazy angle.  Two of the babies seemed wedged inside, but one had fallen onto a bag of potting mix, and the other was just a little bundle of pinfeathers on the ground.  We had a look at the nest and decided there wasn’t going to be a lot we could do to reinforce it.  We found a hanging basket, and placed it near where the nest was.  We were able to unhook the nest from where the birds had fastened it, and place it in the basket.  Then I took my scarf off, and picked up the two fallen birds and placed them in the basket as well.  I used the scarf so I wouldn’t be transferring too much human smell to them.  One little bird seemed fine, and sat on the edge of the nest as though it was all in a day’s work, but the other little fellow was very wobbly, and I told my friend I wouldn’t be at all surprised if his mother didn’t reject him.  They concentrate their efforts on the fittest, after all.

 

Having put them in their new home, we retired, and hoped the parents would accept this new arrangement, and I knew they certainly wouldn’t if we hung around.  So I came home, and an hour or two later, I got a phone call telling me mother had inspected the nest, and after a bit of carrying on, settled everyone down, and was back on the nest with them all under her wings.

 

I was fascinated with the little nest.  It was made from dried grass and leaves, then covered all over on the outside with spiders webs, and lined inside with feathers and animal fur and hair.  I did a bit of research and discovered it’s quite normal for them to have four babies, and they will have two or three broods in a season….they’re industrious breeders!  The willy wagtails themselves are only small, but very dapper.  They’re black and white, and look as though they’re wearing evening dress.  They have conspicuous white eyebrows, which can be expanded.  The males, instead of actually fighting over territory etc, expand their eyebrows at each other until one gives in and shrinks his to practically nothing, this indicating submission.  They eat insects, which they catch on the wing, and when they land on the ground, on a post, wherever, they “wag” their tails, hence their name.  They have a lovely song:  they whistle “sweet pretty creature”.  However, the males are likely to find a bush near your window, and whistle to each other in the middle of the night, so at times like that most people would consider them a pest, not a sweet pretty creature….

 

A few days after that, I called on my friend, camera in hand, to see how she was, and to take photos of the birds.  “They’ve gone!”  said she, “but they’ve left one….I think the weak one.  What should we do?  Will the parents return?”  I have no experience with willy wagtails, but plenty with magpies, and I thought there wouldn’t be a lot of difference in the parents’ behaviour.  I told her I thought it was unlikely the parents would return, and I also told her I didn’t think it likely this little bird would survive, because he wasn’t strong enough to keep up with the others.  We discussed our options, and I came home with the nest, the hanging basket, and the remaining baby.

 

I found a cage to put him and the nest in….I thought Max would find him too much of a temptation left unprotected, and prepared some food for him (the bird, not Max…).  He ate, but being so tiny it didn’t take much to fill him up.  Then he got out of his nest, and sat on the perch in the cage.  I had to feed him roughly every half hour to an hour, and that afternoon, and the next morning, he seemed to hold his own.  I wouldn’t say he was going great guns, but he seemed comfortable, and was coping.  However the next afternoon, he “faded”.  He didn’t want food, he just wanted to sleep.  I put him back in his nest, and waited.  He didn’t wake up;  it was a peaceful passing for him.

 

Mean time, back at my friend’s house, the remaining willy wagtails junior are attending to their flying lessons, and though still dependent on their parents for food, will soon be catching food on the wing with the best of them.

 

And my friend is now able to get on with her work….