Birds of a Feather
I am certain that birds have a communication system far superior to any sophisticated human, but a lousy sense of direction.
The local magpies have worked out that our son lets the dogs out for a feed at 6am, and that he will throw a handful of dog nuts in their direction, next they’ll raid my neighbours’ dog bowl and later in the afternoon, they’ll prance around on my neighbours front lawn. The little devils have us all on a string.
Another magpie family tried to join in recently and there was an air battle worthy of the Battle of Britain.
However, they and others need to learn that birds live outside! Recently there have been some indoor incursions that have caused dilemmas.
A magpie flew into the house then up and down the room before colliding with the bookcase and eventually falling down behind the couch.
The dog made a grab. I threw her to one side while yelling to my husband for help, appearing to add to the din with his shouting.
I grabbed the bird and got pecked, it didn’t matter.
I carried it out to make sure it could still fly and thank goodness it could.
A few days later, a Willy Wagtail flew in.
Every door open, towels waving, dog bent on a kill, until finally after an hour or more it finally found the opening and swooped back out.
Enter the Pardalote, or the peep-wren, a tiny creature that caused havoc when it left the bed of Salvia where it had been feeding and flew into the office.
My fault, I was working and the perfume from the garden was lovely, so I left the door open.
As usual, dog gone crazy, towels flapping, and two antique people equally determined to save its life.
We waited at each end of the window, and when it dived behind the curtain my husband grabbed its terrified little body and at the back door released it into the air.
All this bird invasion made me think of my deepest shame.
We had a big paddock block up at Rushworth and were quietly burning off. My job was to control the front.
But, in next door’s paddock, the Brolgas started dancing. And it was so beautiful, I forgot what I was doing. I stood, entranced.
Oh, the shame, next minute, my Husband yelling at me, the fire had escaped, the local CFA came, sirens blaring, it’s MID-WINTER! They lectured me. They didn’t appreciate it was the Brolgas fault.
Mea Culpa, I will never forget.
My dearest friend made me a plaque which I cherish—the ‘I Burnwell’ award.
My feathered friends have caused me much trouble, but I still love them.