Notwithstanding the havoc wreaked on my fruiting plants, it was lovely to see a little nestling birdie hoping around on the lawn on Xmas day, having just got back from a festive walk with the doggies.
We knew that the wee adolescent was likely to be under the watchful eye of its parents, and there was no benefit to be had with us interfering and trying to be helpful.
Earlier in the day it had been loitering around, peeping cutely, while my brother in law was doing bicycle maintenance around the back, so it seemed to be on track to making a successful transition from baby to adult sparrow.
(I expect the more experienced readers can see where this is going…shame you weren’t around to warn me at the time!)
As I was making my way back inside to grab another zero alcohol Asahi that afternoon, I was surprised to see Catdog chewing on some fresh meat. I hadn’t given her anything that day. When I looked closer, the lump was nothing other than our wee baby sparrow. At first I was too aghast to do anything but cry out in horror, which then necessitated an explanation to surrounding family members. When I looked back at the scene of the crime, I couldn’t see the bird anywhere. Maybe it had taken advantage of the commotion and flown off? But no, my daughter helpfully pointed out that the dog had it in her mouth. I extracted the poor thing from the devil’s maw, and saw that it was still moving. There were no visible injuries but it was clearly far from well, so I wrapped it up and put it on my lap for the rest of the afternoon, while I read my book (a festive Agatha Christie), expecting it to perish shortly.
However, it was still alive as we were ready to sit down for Xmas dinner, and seemed if anything to be perking up a bit. So, in spite of a lifetime’s experience of similar tragedies, I began to feel hopeful, and with the help of our most animal loving offspring, who nevertheless was shaking his head and warning me not to get my hopes up, made a plan to feed and look after the fledgling overnight.
My dreams were all of the little guy’s bright future, reintegrating into the wild while remaining tame enough to feed, and perhaps being able to explain to his feathered friends that some of our fruit trees were off limits. But when I awoke on Boxing Day, the dreams all came to nought, as he was cold and stiff and well dead. Into the compost bin he went to complete the circle of life, and we’ve all been calling Catdog “bird killer” under our breaths ever since.
But, it’s not all been doom and gloom on the bird front this week. I finally got an answer from my Canadian son in law on what they call Canadian geese over in his home country (answer: geese. Not too surprising.) Also, the famous Kotuku white heron remains at large in the nearby lagoon, Catdog not yet having had the opportunity to murder it and thus reach international notoriety.
Also, my previously mentioned brother in law provided me with a solution for my fruit tree bird problem. I have purchased, at no small expense, this assortment of bags to place over nearly ripe fruit and keep the hungry avians at bay.
and this is them in action ( a bit hard to see as they are camouflaged, not sure why?)
Of course, you could say considering the time, effort, and money I’ve put into this, I’d be better off abandoning my fruit to its fate and buying all the fruit my heart desires at the supermarket. But that’s not the point, is it? Might as well say, why persist with your own flawed but adorable pets and children when you can….actually, I can’t think of a good way to end this sentence so I’m just going to stop there.