Belize Bird Rescue

Nobody cares

2011-10-16T14:41:00.000-06:00

It appears that the Gift of Space that the construction of the Trekforce Aviary gave to these poor, unfortunate yellow-heads has come back to, quite literally, bite me in the Azkaban. I am trying to elicit a little sympathy from my Facebook friends, but it appears they have none to spare, so I am appealing to my Blog friends. Not that sympathy will fix the problem, of course, but it makes me feel a little better and generally more loved.

I already knew that Norman had issues with me – hence his stable name ‘Norman Bates’ but I honestly believed that space would be the solution to his psychosis. What I didn’t bank on was that during confinement in adjacent solitary cells, Norman and Sombrero the Slayer had formed a Kray Twin-esque alliance, and after only a few days in the new aviary had rehearsed a rather efficient pincer movement accompanied by battle cries of ‘You’re an Animal’ (cue maniacal laughter) and ‘Asshole!’ (in perfect Spanish) as they launch themselves at a random body part with extraordinary and uncanny co-ordination.

Thankfully, I only have to attend to the little burgers on weekends and holidays which means I usually have five whole days to come up with new strategies. I have tried defending myself with towels, sticks and my personal favourite, the laundry basket, all of which work once – rather like the octopus with a crab in a glass jar - me, of course, being the crab.

In a rare moment of solitude and reflection, it occurred to me that an umbrella could be a scary implement and an effective means of defence. That also worked once, and overnight the Krays planned their strategy for going around and under the pesky brolly to get at the fleshy bits. I tried switching umbrellas for one with more gaudy colours, twiddling it madly and singing at the top of my voice. Once was a charm for that particular innovation, too, before I got the old up-and-under. The worst is, I then find myself with two crazy yellow-heads trapped on the wrong side of my brolly, giant beaks snapping dangerously close to my face. I have to fling the brolly as far as I can and leg it, leaving the little darlings flying through the air on their crazy parrot-fairground ride, cackling hysterically, chewing and spitting bits of brolly as they go.

My original amateur psychoanalysis of Norman concluded that there must have been a female tormentor somewhere in his past and he now firmly believes that all women must die. My male workers walk in and out of the aviary as they please and last week I even had our friend Graham go in to test the theory and he too wandered around unscathed, emerging with a silly smug grin, which of course helped my mood no end.

Refusing to be outdone, I donned an over-sized shirt, Russian faux-fur hat, bandanna, sunglasses and leggings. Even I didn’t recognise me… but then, I am not a yellow-head with psychopathic super-powers and infrared vision.

I didn’t even get through the door.

I've now given up trying to enter the aviary. Norman and Sombrero slam against the wire of the door the second I appear and will not budge for anyone or anything.

I withdraw any previous declarations of yellow-head intelligence, since it is perfectly obvious to me that preventing the hand that feeds you from entering your dining room is pretty bloody stupid. Now, instead of beautifully presented meals, their trays are flung through a barely open door, occasionally landing upright, but mostly face-down in the mud.

More recently, my trusty helper, Jose has also been branded an asshole and the birds have not had fresh water for 4 days. I guess it’s time to construct some external feeding hatches like those in a maximum-security prison wing

All theories of racism, sexism, ageism and height-ism have been disproved. Norman and Sombrero are homicidal yellow-headed monsters and I am beginning to appreciate and understand the endangeredness of their species.

Roll on hatch day.

Something Useful Gets Done

2011-09-28T20:34:00.073-06:00

A quick email from Team Leader Mark, followed by an equally rapid site inspection to confirm our existence, saw Trekforce Expeditions piling onto Bird Rescue territory for a 5 day visit in which to “do something useful”.

Although I had compiled a mental list of such useful tasks, I didn’t actually reach the final decision until the day of their arrival. Seven eager faces smiled and nodded as I explained the Yellow Head’s precarious situation in Belize, and the Forestry Department’s sanction of a facility in which to hold and hopefully breed former captive birds. Seven wide-eyed, smiling faces remained fixed on mine as I explained that what we really needed was an aviary no less than 40’ wide by 60’ long by around 18’ high. Nobody moved. I guess they were waiting for the punch-line… or looking around for the cameras…

Armed with my very informative sketch (picture the illustration accompanying a 6 year-olds diary entry entitled ‘my house’) they trotted off into the bush to string up their hammocks and mull over their assignment during lunch.

As deaf, dumb and blind luck would have it, one of the Trekkers was a civil engineer. That qualification put Jeff in charge: I think we were all relived that someone was going to be.

Wobbling into day 2, we began to realise three niggly little details: 1) I had seriously underestimated the materials required, 2) the structure would be too weak to hold the weight of the wire, and 3) five days was about a quarter of the time we really needed to finish this project. There was a considerable amount of thinking-rum drunk that evening, I can tell you.

More luck: 1) On finishing my sums I realised the fundraiser we had in May brought in almost enough money to cover all the additional materials required. 2) Tito, who is a genius, turned up the very next day, giggled a bit at my choice of supports and then put his team of scaffold-scaling welders to apply cross beams and uprights to fix the damage. 3) The Trekkers held a board meeting and decided to forgo their scheduled R&R and stay on the project until it was finished. I vaguely remember we had some celebratory rum that night too.

Whilst Tito’s team got on with the strengthening work, the Trekkers made a nest in the garage and began the most tedious job in the world - clipping the rolls of wire together. With Radio 1 live-streaming and a barrage of British dialects singing along, I felt a tiny bit homesick -until I remembered how cold it was in the UK and then I was cured.

As days passed, tedium gave way to excitement as we realised this challenge may actually reach completion before the Trekkers had to leave.

With much cheering and fanfare, the final roll of wire was clipped together, hauled into place and secured to the frame. I think there was also a little bit of rum, beer, wine and Chinese food consumend that night… but don't quote me.

On the morning of Trekforce’s departure, a few finishing touches were required, and then confident that the enclosure was sealed – in fact, confident that this was the best aviary I have ever had built – I went about catching Norman, Sombrero and their happy band of psychopaths.It wasn't pretty so the less said about that, the better.

Cameras poised we waited to see how the birds would react to all this space. The result was better than I could have imagined: the cacophony of laughter, calls and swooping flight had every eye tearing up – especially mine. These bird had never known such freedom. My only regret is forgetting to video the event.

The Trekforce Team hurriedly planted the obligatory tree, posed for the obligatory photos, and with much hugging, crying and waving, departed Belize Bird Rescue, leaving behind a happy corner of yellow-head paradise.

Thank you Trekforce Belize 2011: Risky, Emily, Lauren, Jeff, Diamond, Gratton, Mark and my trusty volunteers, Kevin, Hayley and Sarah. You are all amazing!

About time too

2011-07-10T13:58:00.017-06:00

Blogging is a bit like that phone call to your mad Auntie. You know you should do it, but you keep putting it off until it’s way past the time when a simple apology will do. I’m just going to pretend I tried to blog a hundred times, but the power went out, or the internet went down, or there was a bird emergency…

Through no fault of my own, I have ended up with volunteers. Ordinarily the very mention would cause an outbreak of hives, but surprisingly enough they are rather helpful and quite pleasant to have around. What they think of me really doesn’t matter: as I have to constantly remind them, they are doing it for the birds. In my grudging, half-complimentary way I would like to say a public thank you to Amanda for her knowledge and practical administering amongst my indecisive ditherings, and Hayley who didn’t even like birds when she got here and only came for a holiday to visit my daughter. Thanks ladies – lovely job.

So, what have we been up to? Well, we now have 5 yellow-heads, all of them totally bonkers and I am pretty sure they are all different sexes (yes, of course there are 5 sexes of yellow-head). We released 6 red lored and 2 white-fronts in May, but even so we still have 43 birds in total, which is quite ridiculous. Thankfully, 16 of them are on the downhill slope to release. Another six are living in the house with us, for pity's sake, and three of those are cockatoos. Don't ask. And no, it's not funny. We’ve had broken things that, thanks to Isabelle-The-Vet, we've managed to fix, and some that sadly, we haven’t. We’ve had baby parrots and older parrots and some things that weren’t even parrots at all. The highlight of that category has to be Arnold, a baby armadillo who’s mother had become someone’s lunch and who in turn was destined to be an Early Learning toy for some bored children. Arnold came from Maya Center, a village adjoining Cockscombe Basin which is next on my list for a stern lecture on Wildlife in the Wild. Since his arrival at less than a week old, Arnold has stuffed himself on a mix of dairy, eggs and cat food and has doubled in size in a month. Even so, he still fits in the palm of one hand.

In May we had a 'Night Out For The Birds' fundraiser. A huge thanks to everyone who came, helped out, donated and supported and particularly to the British High Commission who donated so much including the fabulous venue. Final count was just short of $6000bz which got our broken aviaries up and running and should give us enough to make a good start on the yellowhead aviary.

Excitement this week as we tested out our new soft-release site. We decided that Bibi & Daphne would be first to go – not that they are good release candidates or even appropriate release candidates, but because they are so bad at being captives. Bibi is the red lored who had an argument with our neighbours’ sling-shot at the expense of his eye and Daphne is his inappropriate white-fronted girlfriend. Since they spend most of their day tying to escape, we figured they would be happier hanging out in the bush, miles from any humans with murderous intent. The owners of the property are fully aware that these are ‘parrots’ and that they will ‘make noise’ so I have high hopes for this relationship. It seems that researchers have observed parrots with eye issues doing very nicely in the wild, and since Bibi will be fed, watered and sheltered if he chooses, then this is the best option for a shot at a wild existence. I just hope the babies get Daphne’s brains.

The Iguana Fest

2011-03-31T09:54:00.005-06:00

I have tracked my path to my nest site: the location good, the soil moist, the river clear and swift-flowing. My excavations are almost complete. The eggs weigh heavy; it is time.

My tail is caught, I am hauled from my tunnel. There is strength; too strong for my writhing and flipping. My bite fails to connect, my thrashings ineffective.

Then, the pain is excruciating. My being centres on the blinding flash of agony in my claws. My limbs are drawn behind, shoulders burning. The pain returns ten-fold, a pin-like digging to my back. Just as I know it can go on no longer, the agony doubles, my hind claws scream, my shoulders burn, the prickling to the back once more. I am immobile. Every twitch causes fire throughout my body. My eggs! The urge to expel is overwhelming, but I am unable to push them from my body. I feel a tightness around my midsection, a band preventing breath or contraction. My mind dims, unable to comprehend what is happening.

I wake. Try to move. The agony returns, the tightness remains, my eggs press hard in my belly. There is now pressure from above; a weight on top not there before. There are human noises around me – a signal to danger, but I cannot run, cannot move, my limbs secured. I hear noises of my own kind; soft sounds of constricted agony. I twist my head as much as the pressure and pain will allow and there I see the awfulness of what is. I now understand the pain, the agony, the burning, the pressure, the futility of hope. Piles of bodies – my own kind, females, heavy with eggs, stacked like logs on the cement floor. Their limbs secured behind, the claws snapped from their feet, ligaments stretched to the limit and tied into knots – unbreakable bonds of their own flesh and sinew. A final insult - the useless claw dug into the leathery skin of the back as if agonies inflicted were insufficient. The bellies of the captives bulge with eggs that strain for escape against cords and bindings. Eyes wide with pain and despair, I know as I gaze upon these eyes it is as if I gaze at my own reflection in the clear pools of the river eddies.

Those eyes I watch blaze with hurt as her body moves, a blade flashes, the binding around the abdomen severs, eggs expelled in a flush of relief. Relief turns to agony, the final glint of a blade at her neck. I see blood, fear, pain and finally acceptance of death.

I watch purpose for life crushed as eggs are consumed; I watch hope for life diminish and fail in the eyes of my neighbour; I see disregard for sense in the face of my captor; I see futility in my own life and despair at its end.

And then I feel no more.

Those Ants Again

2011-03-21T21:19:00.005-06:00

Alarms sounded early this morning as waves of red solider ants attacked at Rock Farm.

At first light, the stealth attack went largely unnoticed: reconnaissance units were spotted around known food sources, but nothing unusual to cause alarm. Shortly after dawn, the attack began: and the wave of assault was overwhelming, reaching unprecedented levels before counter-measures could be employed. Food bowls throughout the region were rapidly overwhelmed.

Realising the full scale of the invasion, the coalition of Pump-Action Spray Bottle and cypermethrin were enlisted to combat the intense attacks. Lacking trained personnel and multiple-pump re-enforcements, the officers were unable to execute the proven ‘pincer movement’ resorting instead to the shock-and-awe wave of watering-can attack on the infiltrators. The initial Red Army attack was concentrated on the training facility, but it rapidly became clear that the focus of the invasion was on the First Airborne Flock in their final stages of flight conditioning in Aviary One. Eye witnesses report that it was ‘lucky’ that the trainees were skilled in flight-mode, as ground troops would have been unable to escape the viciousness of the attack.

A few moments into the battle, alarms calls were sounded from the perimeter. Preliminary reconnaissance reported that intense waves of incursion fighters had taken over strategic ration points around the outlying medical and quarantine facilities. Once again lacking trained support personnel, the coalition were forced to refuel and enter enemy territory without back-up. The Vice-Presidential feet suffered sustained attacks, and one or two Muscovy ground troops were caught in the cross-fire.

Sources close to the Presidential Staff admit that this attack had been expected for some time now: in the absence of President Jerry the sporadic preventative measures of covering fire had been abandoned in favour of a softly-softly approach. Vice-President Nikki admits that the Red Army is beyond negotiation, and reprisals must be swift and effective. This evening she was heard to comment that no black mound will go un-punished from now on.

Experts blame the latest wave of attacks on the recent heavy rains: “The Red Army rely on underground food stores” explained Morito Fushiyamo, head of the Fire Ant Research Team. “After heavy rains such as these, food becomes waterlogged and rapidly mildews, forcing the troops to turn to alternate food sources”

It is not clear whether the recent attack on Rock Farm was coordinated to take advantage of the readily available food source, or was an opportunist raid as it had become widely known that President Jerry was out of the country on a fact-finding mission.

Feathered locals grudgingly admitted that they were ‘happy’ that Vice President Nikki was in charge of operations as President Jerry was considered to be ‘over-zealous’ with his attack strategy, although many liked the ‘harmonious state’ that existed when the two of them were in power together.

But there is a sinister side to these red invaders. The recent trend in Fire-Ant-Eating amongst young geckos have resulted in a spate of deaths, causing consternation amongst Gecko Parents. Dried Fire-Ants have become a delicacy at Gecko Parties and some young geckos have died painful deaths as a result of ovedosing on fire-ants. The Ministry of Gecko Health has launched a national campaign entitled 'Don't Do Bugs' in an effort to prevent young geckos from attempting 'ant-sucking'. Grafic posters depicting the death throes of geckos are on display at known ant-suck venues in the hope that the teenage lizards will steer clear of the sport.

Finally, Rock Farm have issued an ultimatum to The Termite King, explaining that reprisals will be ‘swift and severe’ if they kill any more of the lime trees on the property.

Back to the studio.

Somewhat Embarrassing

2011-01-05T11:14:00.020-06:00

That Black & White Hawk Eagle from the previous post is actually a juvenile grey-headed kite.
Hey - I'm a parrot girl - could happen to anyone. The only difference seems to be that our boy has shorts on and the genuine hawk-eagle has long pants.

Anyhow, it's still uncommon, sling-shots are still Satan's Underwear, it's still a beautiful bird and it means that someone somewhere is having nesting success.

Thanks Ryan of BRRI for the correction and I've added some gratuitous bird shots for your viewing pleasure.

Incidentally - this is what he actually grows up into:

And this is what we thought it was:

Now, do you blame us???

View the release here

Busy Month

2011-01-03T08:59:00.014-06:00

I have shiny new wire on two of the three aviaries: Happy New Year to me. The first occupant was yet another toucan, this one was found wandering around Belmopan by the cable guy, who decided it would look great in a cage. Luckily for the bird, the cable guy was working on the home of a Humane Society member at the time, who assured him that toucan-capturing was a hanging offence. The nameless toucan got a quick vet check-up, good food, a place to leap around and practice flying and was released without fanfare on site on New Year’s Day. He hopped out of his cage, onto the ladder of the flight aviary, on to a support beam and then flew off into the bush.

We never did find out why he was walking: maybe he was a late fledgling that needed some flight training, or had been clipped by a car and bruised, or just fancied Christmas in the country for a change.

Jerry got a black and white hawk eagle for Christmas. He was another sling-shot victim ($2.50 in A&R - we should club together, buy the lot and burn them on the PM’s desk)
Thanks to a sympathetic local who convinced the idiot with the sling-shot not to ‘finish off’ the bird with his boot, this magnificent bird is rested, his bruises are healed, he flies just fine, thank you very much, and is more than ready to go back home. There is tremendous interest in this creature as it’s very rare in Belize. In an unamusing show of Mother Nature’s irony, one of its faves for lunch is the equally rare orange breasted falcon.

For the last month we’ve been nursing a sick cockatoo. After a lot of trial and error and help from vets, we have found a treatment that seems to be doing the trick and on Dec 29th we celebrated her first proper poop in 32 days: we really are very sad people. Amazingly, the weight gain and return to normal behaviour happened within minutes of that monumental poop. She’s going up 5g a day and screams like a B-movie actress, which is entertaining for about 5 minutes or so.

Poor Bibi who was another sling-shot victim back in August, eventually had to have his eye removed. His undoing was that he chose to roost near a building that is occupied by (comments have been removed by moderator). Whoever shot him was trying to recapture him, and even got the scissors to his feathers. I sincerely hope Bibi managed to remove some fingers before he escaped and found his way home. This particular ‘person’ is also attributed with stealing 4 recently donated bags of expensive parrot chow. Nice fellow.

Anyway, after this horrible incident I finally realised that my on-site releases are not going to work consistently enough to continue risking birds, much as it’s great for data gathering. Some friends have a 300 acre property that backs onto a protected area on the Coastal Highway, and they are now moved in and almost ready to receive the first batch of releases. Their Christmas present to BBR will be 50% of the funding for the pre-release cage. Bless you guys! That said, I did break under the pressure and released the white-fronts on site. They were going nuts with the wild birds passing over so regularly and were so ready to leave home. One pair scarpered over the hills and far away with the wild bunch, and the remaining 4 are back and forth periodically for a sunflower-seed fix. Good news all round there.

The final new arrival of the season: a cute red lored baby who flew right into a friend’s dining room during supper time. It’s obviously a lucky escapee: she had a leg injury which appears to be improving daily, she’s in bad condition with stress bars and malnourishment apparent in the feathers and she thinks that the horrible noise that red-loreds make when they’re frightened or in pain is acceptable speech. She’s had me running to her quarantine cage three or four times a day to see what monster has her in its clutches, at which point she’ll laugh at me. The things people do to parrots…

Well, that was windy.

2010-11-04T20:23:00.015-06:00

“My First Hurricane”. Hmm. Hopefully I won’t be watching that movie again.
Richard put on his category 1 hobnails and stomped right through middle corridor of Belize. Ironically, Belmopan, aka ‘first fall-back safety zone during a hurricane’, was hit the hardest. Guess where we live? Luckily no birds or animals were harmed during the making of this hurricane, but the roof blew off the home brewery (catastrophe) and a couple of trees collapsed onto our house (a minor inconvenience). The house I actually live in is so over-engineered I managed to sleep through almost the whole thing – eye and all, which is slightly annoying as a) I will probably never see another one again and b) when everyone is oo-ing and aah-ing over how spectacular the eye was, I have to just smile and nod. Seriously though, our little piece of forest was trashed, Guanacaste National Park just a couple miles from us is unrecognisable and all around we hear tales of woe from land owners, conservationists and resort owners alike, who will not see rejuvenation of the damage in their lifetimes. As always it’s the animals that suffer. A natural disaster it may be, but they are as good as a man-made disaster when it comes to knocking back a species. The monkey lady (Wildlife Care Center of Belize) is in bits about her release sites. I haven’t been to see mine since, nor spoken to the owners, but at least a bird has the option of saying “this restaurant is a bit rubbish, lets go somewhere else”. Monkeys find helicopters in short supply once they make the decision to relocate.

Returning just in time for Richard, I enjoyed a quick trip to St Maarten for a Humane Education Workshop, courtesy of WSPA. Tremendous fun and I actually did learn something (and not just that I am too old to drink an entire bottle of red wine and get away with bad karaoke). I learned that Belize is a pig of a place to get to and from - I mean, you really have to want to be here. Maybe that’s why I like it so much; when you can tell people it takes you two days to even get to a place where you can begin your journey, they may understand why you’re a hermit. But I think the best thing I learned was the definitive answer to that constant question “how can you do what you do?” Thank you Lisa for the reply: “how can you not?”

Having made the decision not to sponge off my lovely husband any longer, I bravely signed the lease on a small hotel in town. It is called (and will remain called) the Hibiscus Hotel and pledges to dedicate 50% of the profits from any stay to Belize Bird Rescue. Yay. In truth, it will probably be more like 100% of the profits since our entire life and resources are consumed by these blasted critters. Speaking of resources – you may have noticed I have gone awfully quiet about my new aviaries. We-el… I managed to raise enough money to finish them, only to discover 2 days after completion, that a second batch of wire I had purchased was going rusty. A week later, the whole lot was rusty. And now, 3 months later, I can actually put my fist straight through the wire. 9 rolls in all at $312 each. Aaarggh. So, here we are waiting for funding so we can replace and re-place the wire. So if anyone has a spare few thousand...

One great achievement for animal welfare is a successful grant application to start a Humane Education Programme in Belize. It's just the beginnings, but eyes are upon us (us being the Belmopan Humane Society) and hopefully this will be such a success that next year we can ease the programmee into the National Curriculum and end up with a country full of bunny-huggers in 50 years time. Scoff ye not: with 50% of the population still in school and a flexible, independent education system, it’s not an impossible dream. Hey –Belize could even become the Holy Grail of research into the efficacy of Humane Education. Stranger things have happened.

And finally, a sad event all round. During the hurricane a tree fell on the cage of a captive adult jaguar. He escaped and killed a man. The victim was a great character, big into conservation, he loved to work with animals and was loved and admired for his passion. The couple who had the cat in captivity have worked with wildlife all of their lives. They are amazing photographers and documentary makers and are responsible for setting Sharon Matola up in the zoo so many years ago. They are lovely, gentle people and wouldn’t hurt anyone for the world. The cat was your typical victim of human/wildlife conflict: orphaned, captured, exhibited by a resort and eventually placed in the care of responsible owners who had the misfortune to have a tree come down during a hurricane.
The final score: cat -0 (euthanized) victim – 0 (deceased) custodians -0 (mortified, persecuted, devastated…you name it – and possibly even facing prosecution)
So all of those who are sabre-waving, pointing fingers and blaming left right and centre, just stop and think about the root cause of this entire mess. Hunters. Poachers. And the idiots that buy the spoils. Don’t blame those trying to mop up this mess – look to the wound, not the bandage and wave your sabres at them for a change.

Changes

2010-09-09T19:45:00.004-06:00

When life is going as smoothly as life ever can, our priorities always begin with the animals in our care and everything else falls into line. It takes a family crisis to put our neatly aligned priorities into the virtual shuffle-machine.

There must have been a particularly vindictive moon this month, leaping up and down on that shuffle button, not just for me and my family but for several of my friends involved in animal rehab in Belize.

A particularly dramatic event over the weekend was the ‘angry mob’ torching of the ACES Crocodile Sanctuary in Punta Gorda. Vince & Cherie Rose had built an amazing facility: a clinic, education & research centre, lab, cabanas, croc pools and nursery, the beginnings of a humane society and of course, their home. In a few short minutes of misguided ignorance, Belize lost an valuable resource for these misunderstood and abused creatures and Vince & Cherie lost everything they owned in the world, and the beloved crocs in their care were chopped or shot. Thankfully the owners were out on a croc rescue at the time, or the story may have been tragic instead of disastrous. I have to confess retaliation such as this is something that crosses my mind occasionally (not a long journey, as they say). You can’t continually deal with people and their animals without considering the repercussions of your actions, however well intentioned. In the case of ACES, the mob were whipped into a frenzy by the village witchdoctor who convinced the locals that the Roses had fed 2 children to their crocs. Absurd to you and I. Perfectly logical to the parents of 2 missing children. Especially as they are still missing, have been for over a week, the police have no leads and the media seem to have given up on their story in favour of that of the ACES predicament. PG is one of the most insular regions of a country where even in the cities, everyone knows, or is related to, everyone. Two children, 9 and 11 – not babies - go missing in broad daylight whilst selling fruit on the side of the road and no-one knows or saw a damn thing?? Well, then you really do have to have to ask yourself WTF?
One of many versions of the story

A family medical emergency has forced me to relinquish control of my empire and hand over the care of the birds and the farm to my daughter and son-in-law. It was actually not as difficult as I thought it would be – once I drove across the border to Mexico, there was very little I could do to control from afar, being as my cell phone doesn’t work here and I spend most of my days in hospitals where Skype is somewhat antisocial. The birds are surviving without me, which is a bit of a blow to my control-freakery, I am getting fat on junk food and my feet are cleaner than they have ever been.

With time to look around (and actually being in a place where there is something other than birds and trees to look at) I have noticed the world is getting younger around me. It has come as something of a shock, probably because I’ve been a virtual hermit for 7 years and amazingly enough, time has not stood still in my absence. Do others have this sudden realisation, or does it simply seep gracefully into your perception when you live in the real world? Regardless of how it happened, it appears that in relation to my existence, there are now more younger bodies than older bodies. I have become a Senora, a wrinkly, this mutton now needs to be careful with her lamb-based wardrobe. Yikes. I know I’m a way off drawing my pathetic pension, but - Yikes! I have purchased reading glasses in readiness for the inevitable, and I even took 5 minutes to shake out the “menopause” t-shirt from that drawer in my brain labelled ‘never happen to me’.

So – things I have learned this week.

1. I should spend more time hanging around old-folks homes and post-offices to improve my self-image.

2. Belizean food is not so bad

3. I don’t miss TV one little bit

4. Lots of Mexicans have really short necks.

5. Life is a conveyor-belt. You get on at the start and if you’re lucky you go all the way to the end without falling off on the way.

6. I have always taken people I love for granted.

7. Smoking is devastating - for the smoker and for their family: In the words of someone very dear to me “it is simply not worth it”

Long Time...

2010-08-15T14:34:00.011-06:00

Where have I been? Well, my shiny new laptop arrived. Yay and big smileys.

I plugged in the various brain-sucking cables and my nasty, spiteful crusty old PC took one look at aforementioned Shiny and bit down on the cyanide pill hidden in its processor, never to recover. Not so yay. Those That Playeth Games poo-pooed my frustrations, barely grasping the concept of ‘sent items’ and ‘bookmarks’ lost forever, never mind the stockpile of web-page templates for my various website projects. My data was thankfully safe, but please don’t ask me to resend anything, all emails throughout May and June remain unanswered and if you are a sponsor – forgive me – but I haven’t a clue who you are anymore. If everyone I know would like to send me a quick hello, I may start to rebuild Rome. And please don’t even think about looking at the website.

In the meantime, what of my real life??

Well, Crazy Bird Lady appears to have taken over any remaining sane parts of Miss Nikki. What used to be a quiet secluded veranda outside my bedroom door now resembles the ‘parrots for sale’ section at the back of PetSmart. I agreed to watch over some exotics while the owner is on holiday for a month or so. That was probably a mistake. I hadn’t realised how much these companion birds would tug at my attention span. The grey is a hooligan, romping around the floor, biting men, falling in love with women and trilling a version of our phone ringing every ten seconds so we all look like a bunch of jack-in-the-boxes. The conure wants shoulder rides all the time, and is so small and light that we sometimes forget she’s there. And the eclectus just wants to sit on the T-stand and watch the world go by. They all say hello, shout for mummy and are totally adorable – except for the lorikeets, who have projectile diarrhoea and have turned my outside wall into a Jackson Pollock mural. Needless to say, Chilli is apoplectic most of the time.

Every so often I yearn for a real life. I was sat bored in the doctor’s office a few weeks back, waiting for a medical to confirm my suitability as a Citizen of Belize, when I happened across a year-old copy of Conde Naste. Oh, the luxury. The far flung places, the beaches, the yachts and private jets. Not to say my life was ever quite that luxurious or privileged, but there was a time when Jerry and I could stick a pin in the map and hop on a plane. I stole the magazine and burned it late that night crying ‘heretic’ and ‘Jezebel’. I shan’t be visiting that doctor’s surgery again for a while (although it sounds like I probably should)

Most of the releases are doing well – Paddington visits once or twice a week, Monty and Como once or twice a month. I haven’t seen last year’s releases for a good while, but the aviary got buzzed by two adults and a baby last week: I am totally convinced they were ours. Well, I would be, wouldn’t I?

Unfortunately, the mismatched idiots, Bib and Daphne have suffered a huge setback. I’m not naming names or pointing fingers, but when I get the chance to sort out the delightful neighbour that shot Bibi in the eye with a slingshot, there will be retribution. ‘An eye for an eye’ is the phrase, I believe. I knew something was brewing when I was informed that those ‘annoying birds are making noise near my house and waking me in the mornings’. Now, how dare jungle animals live in the jungle and make noise? It’s about time someone put a stop to that!! Oh, - hang on - lots of people already are… Anyhow, he’s in the excellent care of Natalie at CASA so hopefully he will be back up and annoying asap. I may have to take him out into the real jungle – he obviously can’t keep out of trouble without help.

And what of the fantastic new aviary? I would LOVE to tell you it is finished, but we have one more day of welding, and about a week of perching, planting and primping to go. So close…

We’ve also had to build a 5-man quarantine unit to house the newbie’s. That was an interesting exercise – I informed the carpenter that I wanted 5 units, each 4 feet square –that’s 20 feet in all. Due to the rain he decided to build it in the garage. In one piece! Then he went home to leave us to just “pick it up and pop it into place”. The bl**dy thing must have weighed several thousand tonnes. Thanks for that. I’m roping in all and sundry, including a shell-shocked, but willing son-in-law to help me finish the flooring for that that this week and then we should be in the quarantine business.

Speaking of which, we’re up to three on the yellow-head count. Not quite a breeding programme, but it’s an interesting start. One is beautiful and has gone from ‘600g Chunky-Monkey Too-Fat-For-a-leg-Band” to a svelte 503g. Another is still in love with a red lored, which is going to end in tears, and the third is so nasty we called him Norman (…Bates? …psycho?…get it??) I dread to think what the previous ‘owners’ used to do to him, but he hates women, will tolerate men, but generally speaking wants to kill everyone. He calls himself an animal. There’s a nice way to raise a parrot.

We got one!!!!

2010-05-15T14:42:00.016-06:00

Well, it's over a month since I sat here and typed - and has that much happened? Probably not…
I have been dreadfully disorganised. There are lovely donors who haven’t had their letters or sponsorship certificates (waiting on me), I have half finished food prep room (waiting on plumber) a half-tidy office (waiting on carpenter) and no new aviary (waiting on welder). I needed holes digging and roofs fixing before the rains came – (forget that, where’s my brolly and a mop?) And I have another month to wait before I am armed with a laptop and projector and I can get out into unsuspecting schools and listen to myself talk.

So – what do I have??? Sorry? Speak up – did you say "what do I have???" I’ll tell you what I have: I have my first yellow-head, thank you very much. No – not something that needs squeezing, but a genuine parrot. I am very grateful to ‘anonymous donor’ who gave up their beautiful bird for a higher calling – it’s really given me the kick I needed. Talking about these animals is one thing. Hearing “nope, didn’t see any this year” is another thing. But to see one of these beauties up close and personal is just breathtaking, and to think that the only ones left in Belize may be those in captivity is heartbreaking. So here I am, breathless and heartbroken, poised with cheque-book in hand to build the new aviary. The time for procrastination is over. Geoff has finished his quest – 475 miles in just over 33 hours. He managed to raise the best part of US$680, bringing our total to $2070 and there’s more on the way I am told. And what's more, Geoff is determined to do the challenge for real when he hits Belize next month, so watch out for the one-man Belize Bird Rescue Cycle Team as he flies around the country in his parrot suit (yes, of course I’m making him wear a parrot suit).

The dry season is taking its toll on the duck-pond. The island is no more and the water wheel clearly has a prostate problem, despite Joe’s best efforts with chains and whips and things. We need some good rain now, not that piddling stuff sent to interfere with hole-digging and roof-fixing.

In the midst of the dry, I spent a sweltering weekend at the Belize Agricultural and Trade Show. Temperatures hit 106 in the shade, but still people turned out to drink beer and look at horses and flowers. Amazing. We got a good pass through the Forestry Department display, and folks ooo-ed and aaah-ed at the wealth of information from jaguars to parrots to crocodiles and so many things in-between. It was well worth doing, but I forgot the golden rule: a bribe always clinches the deal. Next year I bring several large bags of lollipops and some free pencils.

Another bit of excitement: what we assume to be one of the 2008 barn owl releases is back and sitting on a clutch of eggs. Yes, Jerry is going to be a grandpa, how cute is that? Unfortunately there are also 2 chicken eggs under there. I am not going to be the one to fiddle about under an angry barn owl, so she will either have to hatch her happy meal, or hope the owl babies come first and shove the poor things out before they get chance to know what’s going on.

We hit huckleberry season last month too, that’s always popular. Not only do they taste good, but the parrots end up looking like extras in a zombie movie. It seems to amuse them – much head-tilting and chirping at each other. Unfortunately it gives me the unshakeable and totally awful earworm of 'Do The Hucklebuck' for several weeks thereafter. I’m most familiar with the Coast to Coast version, which is probably the worst of them all, and just talking about it now will have me wobbling like a duck for a good few days.

We had a couple of sick exotics pass through: a sun conure and an eclectus. Unfortunately the eclectus died soon after arrival, but the conure looks like it’s going to pull through. It brought to light once again the dangers of feeding peanuts to parrots, and parrot experts everywhere will be relieved to hear that I have served my birds their last peanuts. It’s left a small hole in their feed tray, which I am now filling with freshly-baked parrot bread. The lengths you have to go to.

And on a note that appears to amuse many, I managed to part company with the motorbike last week. A rookie mistake - braking too hard on dew-laden dry grass. In fairness, I was dodging 4 very naughty horse-chasing dogs at the time, so I should be forgiven. I now have a patch of missing skin that apparently resembles Queen Victoria and is about the size of the Isle of White; my days as a leg-model well and truly over.

Finally - if you want to pay up on Geoff's Quest, I promise not to use the money for reconstructive surgery.

Grey skies are going to clear up....

2010-04-06T12:39:00.017-06:00

I have been told to write a happy post to cover up that last one.
Well, if I must.

Last week I collected a parakeet from a neighbour. She heard squawking and found the poor little chap rolling around in the dirt battling with a chicken. I know from experience that parakeets are ballsy, but that's ridiculous.
I gave it two days of r&r and copious quantities of food, after which time I realised it wasn't eating and was getting thinner and thinner. Plan B: the baby food worked beautifully. Okay, so it's a baby. One of the first of the year I should say. It has full plumage and flies pretty well now that it's nourished, so the parents must have nested around early February. He's just started eating papaya - stage 2 - so we should have a releasable bird within a week or two.

You know about our pigeon - Jerry's legacy to me before he left for foreign shores. If we were in the UK we would probably be pilloried for raising a sky-rat, but we're not, so we raised it, and now we don't dare release it as it will certainly end up as pie.

My possum trap has captured yet more rats and the same ferrel cat twice now (last chance buddy), but no possums. They are still around - there's chewing and spitting and smelly evidence everywhere, but I guess it can't be bothered to wait in the trap queue.

And you know about all the sex, right? No - well gather round... First at it were Bibi and Daphne. Unfortunately, they are a red lored and a white fronted. It's a bit like a staunch PUP shacking up with a UDP activist: it can be done, but it's not a pretty sight. Next were Chac and Chell, except Chac is cheating on Chell with Prico, even though Prico has her eyes closed most of the time and has no idea what is going on. Michael is loved up with Nigel, even though Nigel is only one year old and thinks Michale is just playing. (The less said about that relationship, the better.) Iran is naturally ticked off that his brother is getting some and he isn't, but I guess that's the same in a lot of families (BTW, Omer, if you're reading this, I have the names the wrong way around, but I'm too old to change now) And the two remaining white-fronted boys are so jealous of everyone, that the minute they hear any sex-noises, they bounce around them trying to ruin the moment. As you can imagine I spend an awful lot of time being a voyeur.

There's also a one-way valve in the aviary somewhere. It's about the size of a cat-bird, and it lets them in, but not out. I have one smart bird that knows the secret human-operated release door will be open for 10 minutes in the morning, and he hops straight out of it. The others leap about wondering how he got out, and I arrive back at the aviary next day to find him back in there again. I have my suspicions he is like the child-catcher: he lures the unsuspecting birds through the gap in the wire, closes it behind him trapping his prey, and then exits courtesy of the kind human to do it all over again tomorrow. I now have no less than 5 cat birds in there. Nothing else. Go figure.

I shall end my happy post with my familiar chorus: "Don't forget Geoff"!! He's traveled 116 miles so far, leaving 358 miles to go. His bum is sore and he's fitter than ever, and we're now only $8355 short of an aviary (is that like 2 sandwiches short of a picnic??). Geoff is my hero!
http://www.belizebirdrescue.com/geoffsquest.html

Eeyore meets Victor Meldrew

2010-04-05T14:02:00.017-06:00

My friend really depressed me out today. She would be upset if she knew this, but she’s far to busy to read this missive, so she’ll never know.
And it’s not as if she told me something that deep-down I didn’t already know. But when someone actually puts it into words – well, it’s depressing.
She caught me on the way back from looking at a release site for our pigeon near Salvapan (an enclave of Belmopan, and the birds’ point of origin)
The pigeon and I had already decided that the site wasn’t suitable and more importantly, there were actually very few pigeons there. She was surprised I had even contemplated it. I cautiously asked her if they ate pigeons – she replied ‘yes, of course’ (as if I’m stupid) and then proceeded to tell me how her baby-sitter asked her if she would like any parrots: apparently the brother was going out this weekend to get lots. My friend declined – the girl persisted: “Are you sure?” she said “they taste lovely”.

So there you have it. It’s not enough that native Belizeans think it’s still okay to eat iguanas during nesting season, or make soup from the critically endangered Hicatee turtle, or take a parrot from the wild and put it in a cage. We now have a new generation of immigrants who think nothing of chowing down on roast parrot on a Sunday afternoon. They care to learn nothing from the fact that their mother country (El Salvador) has already managed to eradicate the white-fronted parrot, that it is illegal to touch them in Belize, that it is quite frankly, bloody rude to come into someone else’s country, as their guest, and systematically destroy their culture, history and wildlife, just as they have in their own country, without so much as a backward glance.

To teach a generation of children to respect and value wildlife rather than treat it with apathy and indifference is one challenge, but to convince an immigrant population of primarily Spanish-speakers that those free-flying creatures are not theirs for the taking – well, that’s darn near impossible. Couldn't this stuff be highlighted during the immigration process? Couldn't there be a form they sign to say they understand that wildlife is protected and they don't have a right to help themselves? Shouldn't awareness of the laws governing behaviour in your adopted country be as important as the National Anthem and the National Prayer?

Yes – I’m an immigrant too – so what’s your point?? (I told you I was depressed – I get cranky when I’m depressed)

I cautiously await the results of the 10-year population and housing census in late May. I suspect we are all in for a shock. The schools are overflowing and the current immigration and birth statistics are alarming. There’s only one way for this population to go, and that’s out into the forests with bulldozers and flame throwers.

Robin Brockett and I often talk around this subject. Most of those entering Belize now are catholic, which means future numbers cannot be controlled. The county can barely feed, clothe, house and educate the children it has now. Public sector employment is out of control and the majority of the poor immigrant field workers don’t earn enough to pay tax, and neither will their children, always assuming they can get a job.

How can we get ahead of these kids, convince them that wildlife is an essential part of the economy? How do you tell a family on the poverty line not to trap and kill peccary because it’s endangered, when their family is starving and this animal means nothing more to them than food on the table? What is the value in ‘rescuing’ 2 parrots, when just down the road a single family is trapping 10 for their lunch, or selling 20 as disposable pets, or shooting 50 because they might have eaten a bit of orange blossom.

If anyone has the answer, apart from sailing off into the sunset whilst trying to avoid the Pacific Garbage Gyre and the leaching tanker off the GBR in the process, I’d be very grateful.
Tomorrow I’m sure I will magically awaken as my old optimistic self. For today, I feel a beer coming on.

Births, Deaths and Money (again)

2010-03-28T13:23:00.009-06:00

Excitement abounds at Rock Farm.

As the Possum Wars continue, I had my first taste of murdering an almost innocent creature. Having never in my life killed anything larger than a very small and deserving bug, I came face-to-face with a nasty, snarling, spitting possum, cornered in a hole and threatening to rip the face of several of my dogs (who were of course too stupid to realise that this was a very real possibility) My only choice was to stab at the nasty, narrowly avoiding being sick as it took 6 or 7 goes to shut it up, at which point the dogs finished it off. I did not sleep well that night, I can tell you.
Okay, after getting mixed messages from those in the know: ‘they’re solitary” “there’ll be one more” “ there’ll be hundreds of the darn things” I commissioned a possum trap. The first night I caught a possum. A few nights later I caught another. Several nights after that I caught 3 rats – yes, in one trap. Either it’s an extremely good trap or we have far too many rats.
Anyhow, I shall continue to have things murdered until I am sure that my babies will be safe outside.

In keeping with the cycle of life, we had two recent births. Bonnie, the grey mare popped her foal at least 2 months before we thought she would, beating Pony the Whale to the delivery room.

Exactly a week later, and three months late by our reckoning, Pony had her little darling. Despite dropping 100lbs in one night Pony is still a whale: she may have to mail-order her jeans in future, unless of course there’s another one in there somewhere…

The aviary is alive with the sound of parrot sex. In case you haven’t heard it before, it’s the funniest thing ever – it sounds like two small children giggling and playing space-invaders. The wildlife laws say they’re not supposed to do it, but I don’t think they much care. I think I need more nest-boxes, or maybe I should just throw them out for lewd behaviour.

I still don’t have any yellow-heads, but that’s probably a good thing since I still don’t have my AVIARY (are you listening???) I need another $8500. Anyone??
Now is probably a good time to tell you about Marathon man Geoff, who is going to run, swim, cycle and row 475 miles in a virtual tour of Belize. You can get the full details here: http://www.belizebirdrescue.com/geoffsquest.html He starts tomorrow (Monday) with his row around from Mexico (or around the shores of Bournemouth since that’s where he lives) and will hit the streets or the gym, depending on the depth of snow, until he’s covered the whole country and back. You can download a sponsor form at the same link and go and annoy your friends, colleagues, guests, etc. Yes you can. You know you want to.
Thank you, thank you, thank you

Get away from her you B*TCH

2010-03-07T13:09:00.011-06:00

There are few moments in a girl’s life when she can truly know her primitive self (other than via the toenail-dirt of course) but the other night I was blessed with a taste of what our ancestors experienced on a daily basis. What a rush.

Having been on high alert since the untimely death of poor Timba (I can now name him, as the relatives have been informed) I was just about to crawl into bed when I heard the now too familiar screaming from the direction of the aviary. Fetchingly clad in shorts & PJ top I grabbed the torch and a machete and set off to slay the beast.

It was hard to miss the parrot – on the roof of the aviary in the jaws of a possum, literally screaming for its life. I yelled, I threw stuff, I rattled the wire, but the possum was not at all bothered by the puny human on the ground. Without thinking it through (thank goodness) I climbed as high as the ladder would allow and then shoving fingertips and toes through the wires, scaled the side of the aviary, machete gripped to my palm with one thumb. Once on the top I crawled frantically toward the possum along the sloping side and managed at full stretch to put my machete across his back and press down hard so he couldn’t go any further. Eventually, one hand on the parrot, one on the machete, the possum lost the stand-off and let go of the bird. I was now holding a struggling, injured, petrified parrot and had my nemesis pinned beneath my machete. I couldn’t raise the knife to chop him as he would have escaped, so I did the only thing I could think of and sawed across his back, pressing as hard as my full reach would let me (gross). It was at this point I realised I’d picked up the only blunt machete in the garage and was doing little more than giving the creature a rather nasty Indian burn. The bird was screaming, I was sawing and the possum was just looking at me as if to say “is that the best you can do” With a mighty roar, I raised the machete high in the air to deal the death blow, and the possum scuttled off. Swear words don’t cover it. Okay – but I rescued the bird. Half a hurray for me.

So here I am on top of the aviary, half naked, holding a struggling, bleeding, biting bird and requiring all four limbs to get down. I sat for a while, enjoying the view and the remains of the adrenaline rush, mildly curious as to where my stupid dogs were and wondering where I could trade them in for proper ones, when the bird solved my dilemma as it got free and leaped off the side of the aviary. It wasn’t a pretty landing, but it enabled me to clamber down and scoop him off to safety.

I am pleased to say the bird is doing well and I’m sure he’ll now make a full recovery. My battle scarred knees are slowly healing, oh- and let me tell you, you would think your big toe could fit through a chicken-wire hole without slicing skin off, but you’d be wrong.

So, lesson learned, all of the releases are back behind bars while I try and catch the little monster and send him on the holiday of a lifetime. They are not happy about it, but at least now I’m managing to actually get some sleep, albeit a dreamy sleep with scenes from Alien and Jaws "you either gonna kill this animal or cut off his food supply", "13 parrots went into the trees, 7 parrots came out, possum took the rest..." that sort of thing. Yes, I know you all feel sorry for me.

I welcome all possum-catching tips, by the way. I've constructed a crude trap: a box propped up with a stick and a piece of baited string hung inside the roof and tied to the stick. It works in theory, but every night so far the trap has been triggered but the beastie’s not inside. Maybe the box needs more weight... I shall persevere, and when I succeed, you will hear my primeval roar of triumph from there.

Warning: censored material ahead.

2010-02-28T15:58:00.007-06:00

I was terribly excited the other day to be told that my blog is banned in Myanmar. Slightly less excited by the fact that ALL blogs are banned in Myanmar, but nevertheless, I feel that I have achieved something. If I were a songwriter, I’d probably have an instant hit on my hands.

As Jerry has left the building for a while I have taken it upon myself to get rid of as many noisy, pooping domestic fowl as I can before his return. I am hoping that his memory will be impaired with time and he won’t notice their absence. I figure if I teach the last remaining chicken to walk in circles around the house all day, he’ll count that one 50 times and be happy. (the savvy ones amongst you may have guessed where he is and why I feel I can write such things with impunity)

I am also piling down That Rocky Road (fundraising) with my hobnail boots on. You may have seen my pleas for dosh on the website & Facebook– you may also have seen the fabulous total so far of $1,115US - already 10% of the cost of the new aviary. You guys are fantastic, gracias!! I have to put my money where my mouth is now as the birds should start arriving soon: there is no way I can have the rehab guys near that lot – they’ll be singing The Messiah before the week’s out. Yellow-heads really are barmy.

Talking of crazy things, Barton Creek Outpost have kindly donated a blue-head called Buzz. This guy is literally barking and will probably get on well swapping stories with the yellow-heads. He makes me realise that we are going to need two new aviaries, so that gentlemen like Buzz don’t end up teaching the babies rude words before I can knock the habit out of him. That rocky road suddenly just got a lot longer.

If you follow my “other blog” you’ll know that the recent releases are doing well - except for the other night when one became the victim of a possum attack. I hate those things, they are nasty critters. It’s not like we don’t have enough chickens for them to snack out on. I’ve got a sniff of a possum trap, so I’ll be dropping him off in your backyard as soon as I can catch the darn thing. It must be the ‘season’ as I had a friend bring her red lored in the last throes of life following an attack, and someone else brought in a wild pionus that will probably not make it either. All very sad. I guess every creature has a purpose and is precious bah blah, but I have a really hard time with possums. And slugs. And gophers. And fire ants. And those wasps that lay their eggs in live stuff. And very slightly with killer whales, although they are beautiful. Okay, I’ll stop now.

Dusting off the Soapbox

2010-02-07T11:00:00.027-06:00

It's been one of those weeks - you can only rub a person up the wrong way so much before the spleen requires venting. Aren't you lucky to be in the firing line!

The Belmopan Humane Society are having a valentine fundraiser this coming weekend, so I've been spending far too much time brushing up my DTP skills (sorry - is that an outdated phrase these days? Talking to parrots all day doesn't exactly keep you at the cutting edge of modern lingo)

It's a sad fact that too many of these funds raised are spent in putting dogs and cats "out of their misery" and far too few on rescue and re-homing. By the time these animals become apparent to us, it's often too late. Belize undoubtedly suffers from the 'humans first, animals hardly ever' syndrome of a lot of countries with limited resources. Allowing a dog to die on it's chain in the back yard is not uncommon, and kicking an animal out on the streets when it's nearly dead is even less uncommon: saves the trouble of dealing with the corpse. Animals are cheap to obtain and cheap to run: one family wondered why their dog was nearly dead until our Chairman pointed out that raw vegetable waste really wasn't really enough to sustain a dog. Even then, I'm not sure they got the concept of spending money on food specifically for their walking burglar alarm.

Anyway, the reason why I work with the humane society is not that I am particularly active in the dog and cat department, but given this fuzzy line of pet/wild animal status that parrots tend to straddle I work toward the same goals as they do: appropriate and adequate care leads to a better quality of life, therefore extended lifespan, therefore reduced turnover of replacement animals. With a side helping of encouraging interaction with your pet: oh yes, dogs can be caged and ignored just as much as parrots. On top of all the problems Belizean dogs may encounter, some of our younger citizens, impressed by TV borne gang-bling and prison-pants have allowed the creeping cancer of dog fighting to enter their world, with all the guts and glory that go with it. That is a very tough nut to crack indeed and needs a far bigger hammer than we have at our disposal. (Did I use enough cliches there, do you think?)

The web counter tells me that very few Belizeans read this blog compared to US residents, and I don't blame them. I sound like I'm on their case the whole time - which I probably am. But if you look at British history, we were bear & badger baiting, and cock & dog fighting with the best of them, but we moved on. I'm sure the pit-bull and terrier breeders in Merrie Olde England were kicking and screaming as their livelihood went down the pan, but they undoubtedly found something else to do - like beating up on old ladies, probably.

In much the same way, Belize will eventually have to move on (I call it moving on, others may call it damnable interference and a loss of cultural identity). This is no longer a world of isolation and ignorance, and countries like Belize that rely on tourism to boost their economy cannot afford to ignore aforementioned damnable interference, particularly when it's directed at something as visible as the state of their domestic/captive animals. Tourists really don't care if they have to drive through potholes or pee in the bushes - they probably find it quite quaint for a week or two. But show them a starving dog chained up in a yard, or a baby monkey who's mother was shot so her offspring could spend its life on a chain, or a croc dragged off and killed because the locals would not stop feeding it to raise a dollar, then they really take offense - and they vote with their feet.

On the bright side of humane education, and largely thanks to the tireless efforts of long-standing Humane Society members throughout the country, we are starting to see kids take to the concept of 'walking your dog' and 'training your dog'. We are seeing an increase in the purchase of good quality dog chow and of visits to the vet for shots. We get positive feedback from TV interviews with board members and we rejoice when movies like Marley & Me become blockbusters: it's what's missing for Belizean children. I don't care if putting human emotions into an animal is not the 'right thing to do', where children are concerned - it works. My friend has an excellent programme and is desperate for educators to champion her cause throughout Belize. Check out her page and give it a go!

Cultivating an attitude of active compassion amongst the vast majority of the population starts with domestic animals, and hopefully leads to respect for all living creatures, wild or domestic and once you have such a majority attitude, those that abuse or neglect will be shamed and bullied into changing their ways. Until then, it's like that 70's slogan: "Apathy Rules - and I don't give a sh*t.

PS I have to apologise for my sweeping generalisations. I've always done it. I can't help it - it's a compulsion. I don't really mean 'most' or 'all' but... well, more like: "quite a lot". Generally speaking, that is.

Wakey-Wakey!!

2010-01-25T12:18:00.022-06:00

There’s nothing like a wake-up call to motivate. And did we ever have a wake-up call. This is tough to admit, but I swore I would keep this blog as honest as possible so here goes: Chili got stolen again. Yes I know, I don’t believe it either. Yes, I know, I am crap - but really, what is up with that bird???

Anyhow, the story goes: on Monday morning she flew to the house while I was feeding the rehab birds, ranted and raved as she always does, and then silence. By the time I got back to the house, she was gone. Of course we feared the worst: hawk, iguana, boa… I told the neighbours, just in case by some miracle Chili had forgotten she was not allowed to leave the premises by herself, but there was no sight or sound of her (and believe me, that is one noisy bird!)

On Wednesday evening, day three of mourning, our trusty neighbour and Chief Grapevine Listener reported that a bird fitting Chili’s description – right down to the ring on her leg – was being offered for sale up and down our road by one of the more colourful local characters. Apparently, even comments like “isn’t that Miss Nikki’s bird?” did not deter our super-intelligent thief from his task. Heaven only knows how he got her; I can only imagine that something spooked her and she flew too near the road just as he was passing. Talk about rotten luck.

So, while I printed up posters and spread them all over the area, Jerry met up with our parrot-stealer. He denied all knowledge of any parrot, despite being told that one of the people offered the bird was at this very moment relaying the name, age and shoe-size of the perpetrator to the police.
Half an hour later and he tracked me down and admitted he had picked up the bird, but she bit him and flew away. (aaaarp, strike two).

Then just to demonstrate what a teeny, tiny place Belize really is, Cydie, one of our young volunteers doing a days’ work experience with a vet was taken out on a house call, and spotted none other than Chili the Wanderer perched on a roofing beam. Tan-ta-la-taaaar. Belize Bird Rescue to the Rescue. Enter Jerry The Very Scary and Chili is once again back home, minus the few feathers she had managed to grow since the last time she was rescued. The family that had her say they paid $50 for her. I wouldn’t want to be in the shoes of our thief when they finally catch up with him, but I’d certainly pay $50 to watch.

Okay, so motivated, we managed to get bands on 16 more of our little darlings. We have given up on the rest for a day or two. Word got around that we were creatures to avoid since every bird we touched screamed bloody murder and barely escaped with their lives. Man, we’re nasty. Spike was just about the last straw for me – as he latched onto my face with his claw poised neatly around my eyeball, I figured it was probably time for a rest. I love that bird.

So what other excitements has this year brought us?
Alexandra the termite muncher is still with us. So far the house has not fallen down, but I guess that will take a year or two. Like our house, her fate is still uncertain, poor girl, so she continues to dwell in bathroom-land.

The dogs had one of their regular arguments with a coatimundi this weekend: that was a happy 2 hours at the vet – he had us all in stitches. Hardyhar.

We also managed to get shot of the tinamou: it was a most unspectacular release. It didn’t wave, say thanks or anything. Another ungrateful creature on its merry way.

Oh – and excitement abounds, we had a visit from a wood-stork. I guess news of our little duck pond is spreading, much to the duck’s annoyance. If he’d come for a quiet stroll through the bulrushes, he’d come to the wrong pond. 60 angry muscovies telling “old long-legs” to “get lost” can be a little off-putting, so off he put.

And as you can see, my New Year resolution to blog more often lasted about as long as my ride on the January Wagon.
Resolution number 3 – must try harder.

Ants, birds and probably alcohol

2009-12-31T15:35:00.014-06:00

Alexandra the anteater has been back and forth between homes and has finally come back to roost at our place. Jerry spends 3 or 4 hours a day in the bush with her, which is inordinately peaceful for me. We also have some super friends who think it’s fun to bring termite nests into our downstairs bathroom where Alexandra lives, and we now have several nests full of termites who are happily exploring our block wall cavities. I sense that 2010 could be the year that the Bug Man cometh.

We had a new bird delivered a few weeks ago: Pepperito the Red Lored. He’s a charmer and toddles into the bedroom in the morning, shimmies up the bedspread and really, really ticks Chili off. I feel like a parent trying to referee the classic combination of ‘jealous child’ vs ‘cheeky wind-up-the-sibling’ child.’ Does anyone know what happens when you bang parrots’ heads together??

The baddest saddest news is that Penelope has been relocated. I wasn’t going to talk about its because I’m not happy about the result, but when she ripped out someone's earring, tearing a new piercing, and ran off down the road trying to remove a small child’s eyes, I figured she was not going to be a good rehab candidate. She is currently holidaying in the zoo: not the ideal choice for her life (no disrespect) but she loved to fly and she enjoyed her freedom – a little too much as it happens… Anyhow, I shan’t dwell on it, it’s better than being in a cooking pot I suppose, which would surely have happened if she had flowed the wrong pair of eyes down the road one day. To appease our guilt, we shall be visiting her with scrambled eggs next week, despite what the signs say about feeding the animals.

We’re also in the process of getting rid of a few horses: we have a friend (who also happens to be the most superb horseman I know) who is short of good riding horses for his trekking company, so Jack and Houdini have gone for a touring holiday for a while. By the way – if you ever want a safe, fascinating horse-trek to Barton Creek Caves or around Pine Ridge, I know just the guy.

It’s been party season in case you hadn’t noticed: my pathetic excuse for having done very little with the birds. Instead, I’ve done my share of “on the bank, in the river”, piñatas and musical chairs. I even persuaded some poor sap to dress in the Independence sweaty parrot suit for the Humane Society Christmas Afternoon which sacred the life out of some kids to the point where they never want to see a parrot again, let alone own one. Good job!

I have to say, introducing Belizean children to pass-the-parcel (which I find out is a very British game and hasn’t ever really crossed the pond) was not easy: they couldn’t believe the gift was theirs, they kept trying to give the parcel away to their younger siblings, and as for “rip the paper off, quick” - forget it. I suspect they were trying to save the wrapping paper for next year, something I vaguely remember doing before consumerism and a disposable society swept the UK.

So, there endeth the decade. New Year’s Eve afternoon and only a few short hours from the first hangover of the year. In my foolish youth, I recall scoffing at self-employed farmers, bakers, newsagents, milkmen: all those professions I would list as “jobs I would never do” because of the early starts and lack of sick leave. Well, I shall no doubt be up my ladders at stupid-o’-clock tomorrow morning with the rest of the self-employed idiots, feeding my ungrateful charges and wondering how on earth I ended up here.
Happy New Year!

Double Standards

2009-12-14T03:51:00.012-06:00

I have a list of stuff to do that is so long, I’ve decided to do none of it and Blog instead.

What a flippin week – my computer HATES me. I’m still not speaking to it for what it did to me and I’ve turned its speakers off, as no apology will be good enough. Sulk? Me? Hell, yes!

The excellent news is that the leg bands have arrived for our little darlings. Chili is sporting her shiny new bracelet and after the initial indignation, has managed to leave it alone for the most part. She has also decided it helps her to fly and has been experimenting quite a lot. I haven’t had to resort to ladder-rescues yet, but it’s coming.

Speaking of rescues, we were lucky enough (or not, depending on your point of view) to tag along on a wildlife raid this week. They needed our truck to transport what they hoped would be the haul of the decade of illegally captive wildlife. Unfortunately, somebody tipped off the offenders and by the time we got where we were going there was just one anteater, a spinning flip-flop in a cloud of dust, and an empty parrot cage swinging in the breeze. Darn and blast it. We heard that literally 5 minutes before, there was pretty much one of everything you could name, plus half a dozen crocs and several parrots- including a macaw- on display for the tourists. On the bright side, the tourists were told by their tour guides not to interact with the animals, which is great news: the message is getting through.

There’s a moral dilemma for me though. Here you have a bunch of people who’s sole source of income is to show tourists their parrot and ask for money in return for photographs. Is the parrot suffering any more or less than your average ‘pet’ parrot in Belize? You could argue that at least it has the attention of it’s owner and something to occupy its mind during the day. And because it is the owner’s livelihood, it is being cared for – no-one wants a picture of a sickly-looking bird. Of course, you all know if I had my way there would be no captive parrots at all, but for as long as we allow pet birds, what is the difference between one kept for the entertainment of a household, and one destined to make money for their owner? And what do you say to someone when their animal is taken from them because they charged money to display it, and they ask you ‘then how come it’s not free to enter the zoo’?

Hmmm. I could loose sleep over this one – but I probably won’t. The truth is, the majority of these animals are youngsters, caught when they’re cute and docile, and discarded for a younger model once they reach maturity. Apparently the anteater was number 19 on the guy’s list, most likely for this very reason, and one of its forelegs had been dislocated in the past, probably when it was pulled forcibly from its mother. Generally speaking, its a filthy business and it doesn’t benefit Belize in any way. And of course, there’s the health issues: in this litigious society, Belize’s tourism industry can’t afford to be responsible for an American tourist contracting rabies, or some child’s finger being removed by an angry macaw.

I shall now go and put flight-enhancers on the rest of MY birds, from which I derive tremendous pleasure, and have started the rocky road of fund-raising to support. How does that make me different from the aforementioned profiteers? Well, I get people to give me money and then tell them they can’t look at the parrot! Good wheeze, eh?

Gone, recovered, and Guan again.

2009-11-24T13:08:00.018-06:00

First things first. A resounding "Well done" to the ladies of the Belmopan International Women's Group who managed to claw in a gratifyingly large amount of money from their Annual Dinner Dance last week. This announcement also gives me cause to post a gratuitous photo in what had the potential to be a somewhat wordy blog. It's our George Price Center Cruise Ship. Aren't we brilliant?

Anyway, I had another one of these defining moments the other day. Having used mine an awful lot in conjunction with the aforementioned event, I realised that of everything I would miss when the lights went out for the last time on this overburdened planet of ours, it would be my computer. You can live without ice in your G&T, you can find other ways to make coffee, you can make music with pots and pans and a bit of cat-gut, you can even put up with bumping into door frames when you stagger around looking for the bathroom in the middle of the night. But electricity was invented for computers. Not the busy-body things that make life difficult – like the ones that stop you ordering a BLT without the bacon because there’s “no button on the register for that, madam” or the one that insists you fill in your zip-code when you’ve already told it you don’t live in the USA. What I mean is MY computer. My own personal magician that checks my spelling and makes my handwriting legible. The one that does sums for me, that keeps me in touch with my relatives and reminds me when it’s their birthday. The one to which I go running when I have a disagreement about which Sheen was in Loaded Weapon or what year Churchill was born – you know the sort of really gripping stuff that used to keep us awake at night before the birth of the Internet. Point being, I was just finishing my silent prayers of gratitude to the great god Pentium, when the bloody thing crashed on me. How ungrateful can you get. Actually – a crash would have been less heart stopping – what I actually got, as I reached for one of my thousands of precious photographs to insert into my equally precious website was a very cute message telling me that my C drive and all who sail in her was gone forever. Argh.
24 hours later, my precious Jerry managed to retrieve said drive and contents. I have spent the last 3 days christening the external drive I have had for 2 years and never actually bothered to use. Unfortunately, that's not behaving either: probably sulking over being ignored for 2 years. Lesson learned, and an abrupt end to unconditional love for computers, I might add.

So what about parrots? Not a lot, actually. We’re still waiting for the legbands and until we get them, all plans are on hold. Chili’s doing well but is at that unfortunate stage where 6 feathers are almost enough to fly with… but not quite. I can see me chasing around with a ladder before very long.

Speaking of ladders, Jerry spend most of Saturday up one trying to retrieve a lost monkey. A male howler had wandered off course and ended up at the mercy of a group of adolescent boys and a pile of stones. What is it about stones here? Dogs iguanas, owls, monkeys, other kids…? When I was growing up I must have heard ‘don’t throw stones, you’ll have somebody’s eye out’ about a million times (not from my mother of course – I was a perfect child). But here I see grown adults stoop to pick up a handful of stones as a Pavlov’s response to simply seeing a dog in the street. I mean, really, do that many people get bitten? Do that many monkeys leap from the safety of a tree to attack a human? Could an iguana care less who’s on the ground below them?
But how do you break that cycle? Do you educate the adults or the children? One is almost a lost cause, and the other you’re basically telling them their parents have irrational thoughts about their own safety. Maybe just a catchy poster campaign with a mother in curlers yelling “don’t throw stones, you’ll have somebody’s eye out” stuck on a million lamp-posts??
Anyhow, the monkey has spent a happy few days recuperating at the zoo and as I type is being released back to his troup with a couple of new scars and a story to tell. Hurrah for the Belize Wildlife Emergency Response Team. (BWERT) Sounds like the noise I used to make after a particularly good Friday night out.

Penelope (purpurascens) The Guan has unfortunately become our first ‘unreleasable' sanctuary bird. Ordinarily we would do our utmost to release birds back to their natural habitat, but Penelope became tame within 2 seconds of arrival - as we now know Guan’s are programmed to do. Everyone warned us that Guans are a problem. In fact everyone we know who have wild populations around, have at some stage needed to raise one, and without exception have all refused to take her on. “A guan? No fear. Never again”. Or less polite words to that effect.
With Forestry Department approval, we let her out of her aviary prison and it took her about half an hour for her to find the best seat on the verandah and another 10 minutes to work out which was the most effective window to knock on for warm offerings from the kitchen. She now has several new names: Penny the Elephant, That Bloody Bird, Poopy-Plop Monster… okay, we can’t say we weren’t warned. Guan for Christmas, anyone…?

Unpublished...

2009-10-25T13:57:00.014-06:00

As yet another week rolls around, my new website is no nearer completion - in so far as I have not yet managed to complete a single page. Just as I feel I am getting to grips with CSS it does something I didn't ask it to do and I have to spend another 2 hours working out what it is. Now, what else do I know that's a bit like that...? Frustration finally triumphs over intelligence and I slink back to my baby 'I can draw a text box' programme.
Anyway, if there are any philanthropic Expression Web 3 writers out there that would like to set up a template for me before my free trial and what remains of my patience runs out, I would not be upset.

In the absence of Pepe, Chili is blossoming, and I've had to start bulk-buying chew-toys and band-aids once more. Although enjoying the occasional trip to the aviary, she makes it very clear when she's had enough and wants to come home.

On the real bird front, we've had a bit of a cabinet shuffle in the Big House. 5 new arrivals have created much posturing and jockeying for position. Mind you, the new arrivals are from this years' brood so I suspect they have had to settle for whatever they are permitted to have - at least until they're a little more confident. They are very polite and well-behaved and a credit to those that raised them - I thank you.

Michael has been ousted by Bibi for some unknown reason, and is currently holidaying in the living room. He seems very happy with that arrangement as he clearly wasn't winning any rounds in the aviary. So grateful for sanctuary in fact, that he hasn't bitten either of us yet. Just biding his time I'm sure.

Sunflower seeds finally hit the stores last week. Amidst the frenzied panic buying so typical of Belmopan, I bought lots and I think they've run out again. At least Milo's happy for now: liver disease? obesity? pah!

I had a ticking off this week from some real rehabbers not very far removed from aforementioned new birds. Apparently I'm not supposed to give my birds names. I have decided, in that case, that I don't want to be a real rehabber: it sounds exceedingly boring. I shall be a Bird Shrink instead, reassembling little personalities and preparing them for the big wide world. I shall also give names to the 5 new birds. (sorry you know who, if you're reading this - can't help myself: ID numbers just don't give me that warm fuzzy feeling.)

So, on with the week, and if I put here in writing that we are going to release the remaining Tinamou before the next weekend, we might actually get out and do it. Of course, I could always sit here and throw rocks at my computer...

Doldrums

2009-10-15T14:10:00.009-06:00

It's one of those days.
I have a million things to do - and none of them are small things, so if I were to actually start to do one of them, I wouldn't get finished today. Incentive... meet window.
On top of that, Chili is being remarkably uncooperative. She shins down her T-stand every 10 minutes, grunting and squeaking and making me feel guilty for spending time with my computer. Having said that, it's a good thing: I feel she's getting her personality back somewhat and she's preventing me from turning my brains to mush with You-Tube and the like.

Whilst I'm having a downer on the day, there are still no sunflower seeds in Belize. The excuses are credible: the supplier ran out of supplies, the credit card payment for the supplier failed, the container is stuck, the container is here but there's no-one to unload it, manana, manana. I am promised Friday. Meanwhile, Milo is positively apoplectic, and the velociraptors have run out of unchewed arm-flesh to bite. I love this country, and ordinarily these mini-crises of sporadic availability do not bother me. The potato famine passed me by and the onion shortage was, well, short. But mess with my birds (and my gin) and I do get a little peeved. So, Friday it is.

We had a bird-chilipepper bush collapse on us yesterday (just shows how short of news I am). I pulled the entire thing into the babies' aviary then watched fascinated as half of the birds sat on the floor waiting for dropsies and windfalls. I have never seen them do that before. Is it a baby thing, or a bird-chili thing, I wonder? Could this be the subject of my long-awaited dissertation...

I promise - no more until I actually have something to say.

Calling all Parrots

2009-10-10T14:58:00.016-06:00

Pepe has gone AWOL.
There are times, every now and then, when I really hate what we try to do and feel like throwing in the towel. We have no idea where Pepe went and he was certainly not ready for the wild. After the latest kidnappings we can't help but fear the worst.

The overly-humanized beasties we encounter cause us considerable dilemma: they clearly love people far more than they love parrots and to throw them into an aviary full of strange green things whilst their beloved humans sip tea on the veranda is cruel and unkind and doesn't help their rehab. They respond so much better when they are allowed to adjust at their own speed. The pre-kidnap Chili would rant continuously if we dared to subject her to accommodation fit only for birds. Nowadays, she's not so fussy - just grateful to be home, I guess. But Pepe was a total home-body. He looked with disdain upon the aviary residents, and would dive-bomb the velociraptors if they dared to get too close to Jerry. Morning tea was a ritual and no day was complete without a ride on the motorbike.

We have our critics, and at times like this I find it hard to defend the logic. Yes, if we caged the bird it would still be here. Yes, if we clipped its wings we would still enjoy its company. But... birds are supposed to fly and humans are supposed to let them and we could not entertain that we exist to perpetuate the misconception that birds are better off in human care. Right? Of course right. Might as well change our name to Hattieville.

So, with Milo happily ensconced in the aviary and Chili grounded for a few more months, we are devoid of indoor aerobatics. Blue and the V-bombers still give us a display in the mornings, but my word, we miss Pepe. Maybe he'll find his way home, eventually...

In the meantime, if anyone encounters a rather precocious red lored that can whistle a bugle call and say "come on Pepe" in the same voice as the pea-soup girl in The Exorcist, please give us a shout.

That Sinking Feeling

2009-10-04T13:31:00.021-06:00

Amongst this week's more notable accomplishments are a Parrot Care leaflet I am finally happy with, and the much awaited installation of a shiny new concrete sink for my outdoor food prep.

The leaflet has been a monumental struggle. For a wordy body like me to cram 1500 words of 'look after your parrot, you moron' into a readable A4 tri-fold plus pictures, was somewhat painful. I cheated and used Legal, which gave me a precious extra few inches (yes, size does matter), and cut out some of the pictures and a lo-ot of text. What remains is a shadow of its former self, but this version stands a fighting chance of getting printed and actually being read (as opposed to the War & Peace version that required a wheelbarrow to distribute). I shall now test my webs skills by attempting to add a download-able version to the website.

The sink was entirely Jerry's struggle. For a very reasonable sum, we acquired one of those charmingly rustic 3-basin concrete sinks from the local concrete chappy. With unsurpassed ingenuity, several planks of wood and a neat little wheely-thing, we managed to wrestle the 4-ton monstrosity onto the back of the truck. It wasn't until we were halfway home that we began to question how we were going to get it off again. Our immediate thoughts are unprintable. It finally took 4 men, a block and tackle, a very sturdy orange tree and a lot of testosterone-laden grunts to swing it into place; and amazingly, with no raised voices and minimal bad language. I am now equipped to chop, scrub and distribute outdoors. Look at us: more and more like a real rehab centre every day.

Speaking of 'centre' I had an enlightening moment last week. I am lucky enough to enjoy the company of a wonderful band of ladies who comprise the Belmopan International Women's Group exec committee. At our last meeting the question of spelling was raised. Do we 'ize' or 'ise'? Are we a 'centre' or a 'center'?? Since first settling in the Caribbean 10 years ago, I have hung furiously onto my British spelling roots, despite the Americanisms (izms??) surrounding me. To actually hear a born and bred Belizean proclaim 'we were born of the British system, we spell the British way' gave me renewed courage of my convictions, just as I was about to succumb to pressure. Until I hear a directive from the Prime Minister to the contrary, a Centre we shall be (and that red line on this blogging programme can just jolly well check off)

"Land of the Free, but what about me?" Belize Independence 2009

2009-09-24T11:06:00.015-06:00

On Monday we paraded with the best of them. Young Michael, fashionably decked out in his newly constructed parrot suit, performed beautifully in his cage, turning somersaults and wowing the crow. I’m not sure the message was delivered completely intact, as the cute bird distracted the eye somewhat from the accompanying ‘let me out’ message (as cute birds tend to do). Still, we couldn’t have one without the other and it proved to be so popular that next year we intend to have several cute birds. We are eyeing up appropriately sized victims: parakeet, white-fronted, red-lored and yellow-head - you have been warned. All in all, a fun day, and a terrific, long-overdue, first ‘official’ parade for the true capital of the country. Here’s to many more.

In amongst the bad feeling of the Spike/Chili incident and the preparations for Independence, we haven’t managed anything spectacular with the birds. A comforting status quo reigns, but likely this will change once we get the leg bands and can start throwing a few grown-ups out of the Big House to make room for the graduating babies. Having said that, in order to band them, we’ve got to catch them all first…

Comfortable with our quiet spell, we rather stupidly offered to baby-sit a sick umbrella cockatoo - or U2 for those in the know – as I now am – smug smirk. Mr Cool had developed a bout of Delhi-belly. Don’t ask us what he had been eating, but it was appearing both ends – quite the most bizarre thing. Dr Isabelle gave him shed-loads of drugs and we gave him shed-loads of things to process for a repeat appearance from one or the other end. Two days after we first thought he was going to croak, we heard our first "I’m cool" from him, closely followed by hello, helloooo, HELLo, Helowo, HELLO, HELLO, HELLO, I’m cool, I’m, Cool, I'M COOOOL….

Okay, cute no longer.

Having made a complete recovery, the bl**dy thing fell madly in love with Jerry and chewed a large hole in our sofa to make a nest for them both. He also chewed a hole in my arm to make me go away, he terrorised our cleaner who now wants a pay-rise, he dive-bombed my mother and he rendered my own house a no-go zone for the best part of 6 hours. Even Pepe beat a hasty retreat whenever I’m Cool was loose.

Now – serious question. Who would have a cockatoo? No, really, I need help here: they are noisy, they’re destructive, and potentially very dangerous, they’re demanding, insistent, persistent and have an uncanny knack of making you feel guilty if you don’t give them attention every waking hour. They won’t allow you make phone calls or talk to anyone, they’re fussy eaters, they’re moody and unpredictable AND they’re expensive. There must be a 2-FanClub somewhere, staffed by nutters and subscribed to by lonely maniacs. If there was ever to be a list of ‘captive illegals’ - 2's are right there at the top along with tigers and grizzlies. Have a look at this and tell me I’m not wrong: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FxUo2YZorNY

Yes, I’ve finished ranting – here are more pretty pictures of our float (and apologies to any sane, happy 2-owners, wherever you may be.)

Before and After

2009-09-10T11:13:00.030-06:00

We had a huge setback with the rehab programme last week which I am now almost calm enough to write about. Our young neighbour was convinced he could hear Chili down the road inside someone's house. Sure enough, they had Chili AND Spike - wings chopped, spirit broken. We appreciate that Chili was a little too tame and we can trace the hows and wherefores of them trapping her. But Spike?? Are they mad??? Our money's on a glue trap, but in the absence of a shred of honesty, we will probably never know the truth. I have secured my place in hell as, not only am I gratified by the fact that the guy who had them is missing a leg, but I rather wish the other one would drop off as well. I can hear my mother Nikki-ing as I type, but I don't care. What is wrong with people? Everything that made those birds fascinating and special was destroyed with a pair of scissors and a cage. Idiots.

I think you need the before and after shots in glorious technicolor to appreciate the extent of my rage (yes, "sweet Nikki" is capable of rage!!)

Anyhow, after exactly 3 poop-free months I have my cling-on back. She's a nervous wreck and buries her head in my neck constantly. Returning home to find a Pepe-shaped interloper probably doesn't help much either. She'll be grounded for at least 6 months - in the meantime I only hope she has learned something about people.

Spike, never the sanest of birds, was so messed up it took us a day or two until we were absolutely sure it was him. But today - day 9 of his return to the fold - he rediscovered his love of lacrosse, which may mean he's on the mend. Since he can only jump about 4 feet, he's lost every game so far: I may need to let him 'win' a couple of times to give him some confidence back.

Learning from the Chili/Spike episode, we are planning on making our next release a multiple escape. We have 3 definites, 2 probables and Timba. We plan to ring our birds in future and have had a fabulous offer of some freebies (thank you kindly). We just need to decide what to put on the rings. My thoughts are along the lines of 'if you can read this you're too close' or 'the police are on their way' but apparently there's not enough room on the band. I guess nothing's going to deter the complete idiots, but it may make the half-wits think at least once. Of course, if anyone has any better ideas...

And at last the peanut shortage is over, closely followed by a dearth of sunflower seeds. I've managed to score some pumpkin seeds which are far healthier for the birds; on the other hand, when you crave a double-scoop chocolate-chip ice cream, then frozen yoghurt just doesn't do the business.

Milo has been unusually active these last few days, climbing all over the aviary and visiting every feed station. It took mothers' brains to work out he hadn't suddenly become a 'real' bird, but the poor chap was actually searching in vain for the double-scoop chocolate-chip shop.

...when a young man's fancy lightly turns to thoughts of lust.

2009-08-25T12:27:00.017-06:00

I'd like to say great things have happened since I last wrote, but that would be a lie. We've had a trickle of minor happenings, most of them I am ashamed to say, seem to have involved at least one crate of beer and a distinct lack of peanuts.

We finally let the veloceraptors loose on the world. Actually, we let then loose on an unsuspecting Blue. He is no longer permitted to perch just anywhere, only where the Little Green Gods allow. At first we though "ah, cute, Blue has flying-mates" but now I suspect it's more like "Run, Blue! Run for your life." Their most recent trick is to fly to the top of the ladders and bite the living *&!$ out of my arm while I'm changing the feed. That's always fun 20 feet up at 6 in the morning in a rainstorm.

Pepe is driving Jerry absolutely crazy (quiet snigger). Although they still have sex on a regular basis (sadly, pictured), the foreplay is getting shorter and Pepe's temper shorter still. I think Jerry is beginning to feel like he is being taken for granted. Pepe's also spreading the joy, canoodling with every male visitor we have pass through in the hopes of a better offer. Tart.
Speaking of canoodling, there's some pairing up going on in the Big House, which is going to complicate the carefully planned release schedules. Timba is still struck on the white-fronted female and has set up home in the dog kennel (hey, I didn't say anything about normal). Michael and Como are very cuddly and are measuring up the old bee-hive for curtains. Iran has been left in the cold by this relationship, so he's set his sights on Blue, who actually seems to be responding to the advances (picture scenes from visiting hour at Alcatraz). Milo has his own little fan club although none brave enough to ask him out on a date (thank God). He usually takes the soprano on the dawn and dusk chorus and may I take this opportunity once again to apologise to our neighbours. He still won't come down from the rafters and I swear he laughed at me the other day.

We had a bit of excitement with Prico who seemed to be seeing incredibly well. We threw him in the aviary for a change of scenery and within a day or two he was back to nearly blind again. The carefully thought-out scientific theories range from 'not enough to eat' to 'too much light and his vitamin A ran out'. Whatever, he's safely back on the tree trunk that passes for an ornament in our living room.

We had a flying visit from the Be Kind Belize students from San Pedro. They were delightful kids and their toy-making was so good I'm hoping it will become part of their curriculum for as long as I can keep them supplied with materials, although Rafi got more than he bargained for when he hung up his toy! This was one of the few groups of visitors we had this month that did not involve beer, by the way, in case you were wondering.

And finally, this month saw the first ever Wildlife Conference for Belize. I'm ashamed to say I'd never been to a conference before - I always thought you had to sell toothbrushes or something to get to go to those. Anyhow, it was a great success and we hooked up with lots of interesting souls. We had no idea there were so many enviro-crazies in Belize: when you operate in isolation, it's always a shock when you discover you are almost normal after all...

Santa's Little Helpers

2009-08-02T12:05:00.020-06:00

We were blessed with decent rains this week so we could get on with this year's planting. We finally made a much talked-about trip to the Mennonite nursery that sells some unusual stuff: peach, apple, red guavas, pomegranate, cranberry, raspberry, blackberry and mulberry (real blackberry - not the pretend Belizean blackberry that is actually a big tree full of black berries that only the squirrels will eat. We'd planted 6 of those before we cottoned on. Man, we're quick).

We were also blessed with 2 new arrivals. One came from a couple of local children who's mother was given the bird by a friend. She didn't want it and had obviously sent her boys out to get money for it. The kids received The Lecture (several times, poor things) and the promise of the reward of Bird Rescue T-Shirts on delivery of the bird. We waved goodbye never expecting to see them again. Next morning they were back with a red lored in a cardboard box. Miraculous! I did feel sorry for them though: I can imagine they faced a scene similar to Jack returning home with the magic beans.

The second bird was delivered by the owners of Thatch Caye - they in turn got it from a lady who had to return home after 5 years in Belize. Pepe is adorable - he is probably in the best condition of any bird we have ever had (apart from maybe Fiona) and he absolutely loves Jerry. I can watch and larf as poor Jerry is chased all over the house by this fully flighted and very willful bird. It's like Chili (and Mr P, Basil, Rosie, Midge, Beaky...) all over again. Except this time is Jerry that's not allowed to go to the loo by himself! At last and hooray.

I've also had helpers this week: a first for me. Dyanna is my toy-making helper but I try not to abuse her generosity. However, work-experience helpers needing to put in 40 hours to graduate are fair game. Thanks Andrew - see you next week. Seriously, it was tough for the freak to relinquish control, but I managed it. And they really did do a good job. Bugger. I guess it's not rocket science after all...

As well as constructing some amazing foraging toys, Dyanna and Andrew helped us get aviary 3 up and running so the little darlings occupying the house would have somewhere to day-trip. We still bring the babies in at night because they give us 'the look' and we are clearly a soft touch. And it means I can do the early-morning feed in my PJ's without frightening the horses. The babies are enjoying crunchy stuff, but still need the slop twice a day. Or is it that I still like feeding them??? Some mothers just don't know when to let go...

Jake must have read my last post and is behaving more like a real owl. He is no longer desperate to come in at night and has discovered that the ceiling fans on the roof-terrace make excellent hunting grounds. Thanks to BEL and a strange quirk of the wiring, every time there's a power-out, the lights come on, so Jake can be guaranteed to have a hunting light almost every night (I wonder if he knows that's illegal...?)

Where did June and July go?

2009-07-24T14:33:00.017-06:00

You know it's a long time between posts when you forget your password. "Little and often is best", says my father (not entirely sure what he's talking about and rather afraid to ask) and when a good friend accuses my blog-writing of 'not being that prolific', it's time to hit the keyboard.

From last post to date, we have had eleven new arrivals, (see - I'm busy and important). 1 of them is blind, 5 are perpetually hungry babies and 8 of them live in the house with us (see, I'm stupid too). They are all just too cute for words. So cute in fact, we have constructed yet another aviary to put them in: there's only so much cute you can wipe up off your sofa in one day.

Amongst the happy band of cute things is a white-fronted boy with a club-foot, and his sister who has splay-legs. They were hand delivered by two boys on horseback: apparently broken birds aren't de rigeur for Roaring Creek. It's an interesting indictment of stereotypes that the boy has a permanently clenched fist and the girl can't keep her legs together...

Another baby wandered into someone's garden. Escaped from goodness knows where, clipped wings, missing toes, a keel bone you could cut glass with. Lucky find. Lucky bird. Pippa is now chief sofa decorator and is first out the door when the aviary's ready.

2 baby red loreds and a crested guan were seized at a checkpoint. Apparently the guys that had them in the car said they 'fell out of the nest' and they were 'just taking them to Forestry'. I guess they 'fell out of the nest' and landed on a pair of scissors then. Those wings are at least a year off being useful.
Prico is blind and has discoloured plumage - the product of an inappropriate diet. Let that be a lesson to you as you shovel down that fourth plate of fries this week. We're hoping it's reversible, so our veggie bill has doubled overnight.

Blind he may be, but he still managed to locate and dismantle Jerry's laptop. As you will see from the photo, Jerry was working on very important Facebook files when this catastrophe occurred.

The best news has to be Spike. No, I haven't killed him. It was close once or twice though; I gave real consideration to swapping the lacrosse stick for a baseball bat. In the end, we threw him out of the door - closely followed by Blue. So much for the theory that they should go together to keep each other company - we didn't see Spike for dust. Blue's happy enough hanging out, getting extra rations of papaya and poking his claws up at the inmates he left behind. He keeps us company in the garden and visits his friends by the river when he's bored. Sounds a bit like some of the people we employ actually.

Jake seems to be a fixture. That wasn't supposed to happen. He left for a week and came back. He reminds me of a teenager who left home, got a lousy degree and now can't get a job. He's almost learned to knock on the door. (Knock on the door, crash into the door, whatever.)

Jerry confiscated an abused horse last week. The police never did arrive as threatened, which makes us think the lad was maybe feeling a little ashamed. Sorry about the picture - yes that it a recently gouged out eye - hope you didn't just have lunch... If it makes you feel better, he's currently servicing our mare. Obviously, in the horse world, it's all about inner beauty. Or maybe something else...

That's your lot. If you need more, go to the website (all together now) www.belizebirdrescue.com where you'll discover that whatever it is I've been doing instead of blogging... it's not updating the website.

Comings and Goings

2009-06-04T11:08:00.023-06:00

I am suitably embarrassed and chastised at the tardiness of this entry. I could blame it on many things - but instead will take it on the chin.

We finally found a home which filled our rigorous criteria for Bambi and Thumper: a private reserve 2 hours into the middle of nowhere on a bush-track of potholes dug by bored Cornish navvies. All we had to do was build a cage for the truck, catch and drug the deer (see dodgy photo) and take them on a day-trip: a very simple, stress-free week's work. Stress levels considerably tested as Thumper alternated between getting his head stuck in the carrier, and using the missus as a trampoline, and to top the lot Bambi popped her clogs just as we getting her out of the truck. Chalk up another first: successful mouth to mouth on a deer (Jerry did the kissy bit - you may tease mercilessly). Finally, at last, hurrah... resurrected deer safely delivered to Gallon Jug. Bless you Mr Zander.

A merry week flew by as an old school friend descended with hubby and 3 offspring. I have to say, not just a little trepidation preceded their arrival; 3 girls under 11 - not the usual variety of Rock Farm visitors. I suspected various bottle openers would be banished to the darker recesses of the kitchen drawers. As it happens, Joanna, Katy and Pippa were an absolute joy, a credit to their parents, and they may all add parrot feeding, poo-scraping and duck herding to their ever-growing CV's. If the experience taught me anything, I learned that should anyone ask about holidays for the little people in their lives, I can say with impunity that Jenny and Andy are the best parents in the world and I've no doubt you would have a lovely time at their house. (only joking girls - come back soon!)

Meanwhile, back in the aviary, Spike is on Red Bull and back to his old trick of flying at your face. We have become very adept at catching him on a stick and flinging him back into the tree - rather like a bizarre game of Parrot-Lacrosse. The long-awaited release of Timba and Chichi resulted in a disappearing Chichi. Obviously her frantic cries for escape were not so much 'let me out' as 'get me away from this maniac red lored'. I think I now know what "call the police" sounds like in white-fronted speak. Timba crawled back into the aviary and immediately hit on the only other available white-fronted female. I think something in his head may be broken.

Horrible Hounds

2009-05-10T10:01:00.015-06:00

This week has been one of sleep deprivation. In between the unseasonable thunderstorms, the (expletive) dogs have taken to nocturnal horse-bothering on a semi-professional level. I will shortly be getting t-shirts made - red ones for our lot and blue ones for the neighbours' dogs: please do not read political affiliations into the colours - they are just colours and they belong to everyone. (Always a tremendous source of amusement that immediately following a change of local government the public trash cans are over-painted with the new party's colours. In fact, 24 layers of alternating blue and red paint are probably all that's holding most of them together.)
Sorry - I have deviated from my complaint-track. Whilst the dogs are merrily chasing horses in that useless, floppy, grinning, oblivious way that only dogs can pull off, the local possum population have been advertising our hen-house as the latest KFC franchise. Feeling I had done my bit with the heron-proofing, I set the workers on possum-proofing the place. Wholly satisfied with their chicken-wire patches, I sent them home, waited til dark and, once all and sundry were safely roosting, quietly closed the door. Actually, I quietly pushed the door toward the door-hole, but there was no way it's warped little self was ever going back in that space again. Wouldn't you think they would have checked that...? I know, I expect too much. That cost me another chicken that night. No amount of gyrating and torch-pointing would galvanize my stupid canines into chasing it off. You could almost hear them: "no way man, it's dark over there". Useless lumps.

Anyhow, to happier things: the new aviary is at last finished. Woohoo. Its first resident was an aricari (Harry) apparently injured by a sling-shot. Lovely things, sling-shots. I think every child should be given one at birth. Very useful, not at all damaging to wildlife or the development of a child's sense of responsibility and morals. Harry recovered and was released yesterday. The aviary is now empty and ready to receive the Veloceraptors - who are now both flying, and biting, and nastier than ever. Veloceraptor 1 is rather adept at tucking into that area just below your shoulder-blades that you can't quite reach. Even though you know you can't reach it, it doesn't stop you spinning round trying - I don't know what I expect to happen - one day my head will stay still and my body will move to the front, so I can swat the little burger? Actually, no, that wouldn't work either because my arms would still face in the wrong direction...
Ah well, never mind - this time tomorrow they'll be safely behind bars. Better add little orange jump-suits to my shopping list.

Farewell to Ben

2009-04-26T10:07:00.019-06:00

Jerry left for India last week - not his favourite place but needs must. In his absence the dogs managed to kill the agouti. Having grown up with birds, it wouldn't occur to them to touch the feathered creatures, but small furry ones have always been fair game, which is why we always vowed never to have any. I'm trying to be philosophical about it, but truth is I do actually miss the annoying little pee-machine. Jerry is devastated; Ben was his baby. Although conscious of the fact that dogs don't understand grudges and sulking, I managed to make my 'I hate dogs' mood last the whole day, and amazingly enough they got the message and slunk out of my way when they saw me coming. One night's sleep though and all is forgotten - they are back to their usual ebullient, clueless selves. Doggie brains don't retain a whole lot of information. Bit like some humans I know...

Rat-murdering apart, it's been a busy couple of weeks on the bird front. We have received 7 parrots and an injured aricari, and we finally got around to building the new parakeet aviary. It should be ready for occupation on Tuesday which will be a big relief as velociraptor number 1 is getting rather too proficient at buzzing a bemused Milo, a furious Chili and any unsuspecting humans. He's also far too fond of his over-sized cousin; Milo seems to enjoy the attention, but one can never be too sure. Roll on Tuesday.

As if our 'man verses beast' lifestyle needed reinforcing, on a recent stroll down to the chicken-house I witnessed my favourite blue heron with an almost full-grown chicken flapping around in its beak. Mystery solved as to where they are all disappearing to. "Just a couple of strings, they can't step over them, simple as that" they say. So, armed with drill, string and wire I set about proving the theory. Satisfied, I retreat for a beer and watch through binoculars as the heron swoops over my wires and gobbles up another chick. Okay then, I guess I need to put some higher up. Finally I have horizontal strings decorating the hen-house from floor to ceiling. Beer number two, chicken number three and aghast as the heron flattens himself out to fly neatly between the strings. Ok-aay, I guess some vertical strings are required... Anyhow, several chickens later and a long story short, we now have the equivalent of a football goal surrounding the chicken house, with a bungee-cord door for us. I am now an expert net-weaver and the heron finally got the message and has given up. See - still the smarter species. Yes, I know it would have been quicker with chicken-wire, thank you very much.

On a final exciting note, some very reliable eye-witnesses have reported a mountain lion in the area. How likely is that, I wonder? Still, if the mountains are devoid of food and habitat, why not head for the valleys. Maybe the rat's days were numbered anyway: cold comfort, I think they call that.

Deer Walkers

2009-04-05T16:21:00.006-06:00

We are turning into the sort of odd-balls that make other people shake their heads and tut. Not that I care - tut away. We finally bit the bullet and let the deer out. Bambi & Thumper resplendent in his & hers collars now accompany us on our daily walks with the 5 dogs and a parrot.

Ben (the agouti) has her own rat-flap; a hole in our bedroom fly-screen. We only really see her when she's hungry or it's too hot outside. Even then we don't actually see her; we just hear the grunts and squeaks - vaguely reminiscent of a chipmunk trying to imitate a gorilla - as she gnaws her way through the door frames and book cases.

One of the parakeets has got a thing for Milo, the Moluccan cockatoo. Not a great idea given the size difference. Milo seems to enjoy the attention, but it seems somehow perverted so being spoilsport humans, we tutted and brought Milo outside.

The parrot shower is operational - just in time as Mother Nature recently turned up the thermostat in her Belize oven. The hydroponics, however - is not operational. Nag, nag, nag...

This week, I am not proud to announce that I helped perpetuate the illegal trade in live iguanas. I purchased 4 lovely specimens that were hitching a ride over a villager's shoulder. Overcharged, I spirited my prizes back to the farm, only to find that hog-tying iguanas involves snapping the middle claw of each foot, pulling the legs behind the body, tying the tendons in a secure and effective knot and digging the dangling and bloody claws into the body - just in case one of them were named Houdini. Somewhat sickened, we released the unfortunate maimed creatures to an uncertain fate. Cultural, you cry? Bollux say I.

The Birds and the Bees

2009-03-24T13:30:00.008-06:00

The excitement of this week came in the form of a swarm from our bee-box. Not the first, but definitely the biggest. I watched them regroup on the usual tree before slapping forehead and running for camera. Hoping for dramatic shots of a swirling cloud, I waited, trigger poised. 20 long minutes later we were treated to a very blustery rainstorm, which failed to shake off the bees but instead encouraged them to cling on for hours whilst they dried out. You may be fascinated to know that during adverse weather conditions, tree-hugging bee swarms form very tight balls and layer their little bodies in a totally uniform direction, rather like furry wing-ed thatch. Clever little B's, aren't they? Anyhow, boredom eventually set in and I was miles from the camera, pinned to the sofa by a demanding cockatoo when they finally decided to take to the air. Cockatoo's are not something you can just fling off and apologise to later, hence the lack of bees-in-action photos.

I have my trustee assistant Jerry installing a shower for the parrots this week. And when the dry season decides to show it's ugly face, I'm sure they will be very grateful. We have also broken out the fag packet for the design stage of the veloceraptor enclosure (fags are British cigarettes, by the way - always have been, always will be, despite what the New Dictionaries say) We've watched the pertinent bits of Jurassic Park 3 times now and are weighing up the merits of an electric fence -just in case they manage to chew their way through the steel in the night. Speaking of which, if anyone knows the whereabouts of the container with the steel fittings in, could you please alert Builder's Hardware.

This has also been a week of discoveries:
We discovered that Belizeans still like to eat iguana meat, iguana eggs, hickatee, gibnut, deer... all protected, some endangered, some critical. We also discovered that no-one wants to make a fuss about such illegal practices as it is 'part of the culture'. As Jerry says, human sacrifice was part of the Maya culture, but you know, times change, roll with it.
We discovered that the survival rate of newly hatched ducklings by our lake is not good: a clutch of 20 can disappear at the rate of 4 or 5 a day until they are all gone.
We discovered that the Great Blue Heron has a penchant for newly hatched chicks. (repeat after me - all birds have a purpose, no bird is more important than another, every bird has to eat)
We discovered that TACA, our new dog gets lost easily. Those 3 hours were nearly as much fun as watching the chicks being eaten.

Jerry has still not finished construction of his hydroponics. I am writing this in the hopes that he is shamed into a rapid conclusion. I shall keep you posted. Literally.

TW3

2009-03-12T14:26:00.011-06:00

This week we are minus one horse. A bullet to the brain definitely does the trick; the old boy went quickly, quietly and happy in his state of blissful unawareness. A set of dentures would have given him a few more years, but at 27+ his day was done. Miss you, Rocket.

We are up one dog. Tucker arrived a week or so back, an ex-rescue dog who's rescuers needed to return to the US. Their sad loss is our happy gain. He goes by the name of Tucker. Cue great hilarity as our Spanish workers make aeroplane noises and point gleefully at the dog. We have given up correcting them, so - TACA he is. He's a little ray of sunshine, and can outrun Jerry on the motorbike. That surprised the hell out of our lot, who thought they were fast runners (as my friend's teacher once scathingly said to her - "my dear girl, one’s performance rather depends on with what one makes the comparison." Aren't teachers great? How to make ambition wither and die). Anyhow, a happy balance of madness restored to the pack.

We were given a magnificent hawk, courtesy of Looey who hiked the poor soul all the way out of Mountain Pine Ridge. It couldn't fly, could barely stand, and on close inspection...oh, guess what? It had been shot. I'm sure it was imperative that this bird should die: wild, in the bush, miles from ‘civilization’, it was obviously causing immense problems. It survived 3 days before succumbing to its injuries. I wish I could say the same for the moron with the gun.

The agouti is growing fast. She has free run in and out the house (lovely) and comes and goes to her favourite drainpipe as if she owns the place. She is still sucking milk from a syringe and can down 10ml in 6 seconds flat; a course record. The dogs are leaving her alone - mostly - although TACA has an unhealthy interest in her nether regions. I'm not surprised - she stinks - and the house is not the place for a rat, Royal or otherwise. (Don't know why I'm wasting my time, Jerry never reads this anyway).

We got two new parrots last week - red loreds - courtesy of an expat headed home. Iran & Michael (yes, of course we renamed it Iraq). They have a long way to grow with their freshly clipped wings, but they are otherwise physically and mentally healthy so it shouldn't be an uphill struggle. The veloceraptors are finally taking flight. They can make the length of the living room in a single bound. Chili has become an expert fighter-pilot with advanced training in mid-air veloceraptor interceptions. Belize Bird whatwasit now?

There we are - that's us up to date. Don't worry, I'll be back to my usual verbose self next time, making an otherwise short story very long.

Three steps forward...

2009-02-24T08:04:00.009-06:00

Good news/bad news continues. The best news is that Mick and Titch had a glorious release and flew off into the wide blue yonder. They haven't returned to our knowledge, but no surprise there; they're off in a hurry to make babies. Interestingly (don't yawn) Timba and Chichi, who usually camp out in the lower branches of a single tree, have moved up to the top platform. Hierarchy at work. Chichi is definitely making sex noises - dare we give them a nest-box...? And today we successfully released a dove we had been nursing for a week. Oh come on, every bird is important!
Buster (Hunter's son) is sick with tick-fever again. It's his second bout in a few months, the consensus is that we discontinued the antibiotics too early the last time. If you're interested, the symptoms are rapid onset of lethargy and appetite loss, usually with pale gums. Treatment with doxycycline for at least 2 weeks, but better for 3 we hear. We give 200mg twice daily for our 80lb dog, but check with a vet. Without treatment the dog will pop his clogs in very short-style. We noticed Buster under the weather on Saturday and by Monday morning he was on a drip (much on the mend today though, thanks for asking).
Rocket, our 200 year-old horse is getting skinny again, poor old fella. We've brought him out of the scrubby pasture for some yummy lawn-grass and a tonne of vitamins. Probably get colic now, knowing our luck. And finally, the agouti has discovered the joys of teeth - hers mostly -and is using them to good effect: nuts, sweetcorn, my favourite bookcase... great. She's going on Ebay if she keeps that up. All we need now is for the remaining 7 horses to discover that the electric fence is broken, and make a bee-line for the bananas.
Ooops, too late.

RIP Hunter

2009-02-12T08:17:00.006-06:00

It's been good news, bad news lately. Monday morning, we awoke to find our trusty pack leader, Hunter, had died peacefully in his sleep: so peacefully he hadn't even disturbed his blanket. Heart attack or stroke, we guess. He was probably only between 7 and 10 years old - as a rescued street dog we can't be sure of his age when he first joined our happy band. Following so close on the heels of 2nd Lieutenant Wilson's death late last year, it leaves us with a somewhat dysfunctional and leaderless pack. Buster is now in charge, God help us.
On a brighter note, Klientjie (the Third Stooge), who I thought had disappeared for good, came sailing over the horizon with Mr P. What a wonderful sight - not least because I can now look Dr L in the eye and tell him all his birds are safe and well. Mr P is quite a strapping fellow whereas Kleintjie is a mere slip of a girl - a very distinctive couple in amongst the crowd. It would have been a tear-jerking sight: Little and Large swooping toward the aviary, greeting long-lost friends then flying off into the wide blue yonder - were it not for the dead dog at our feet...
Good news, bad news continued: On Tuesday, Mr Forestry Officer invited us to join him in a Q&A session at one of the local universities. A very productive exercise, all in all. Later that day he presented us with a badly injured barn owl: broken wing, fractured skull, damaged eye. Unfortunately it did not survive the night. By coincidence, Wednesday we bumped into the Audubon Society representative who found the bird. Not content with the extent of injuries sustained when it was hit by a car, the local youth were trying to finish it off with stones; Belizeans believe that barn owls are the soothsayers of doom, death and disease, which brings their average survival rate down from 'not great' to 'not a chance'. We have another busy season of orphaned baby owls in various states of disrepair to look forward to. Ah well, out with the soapbox and the bullet-proof vest and let's begin the happy task of eradicating a thousand years of superstition.

Busy doing nothing...

2009-02-08T11:25:00.011-06:00

Forgive me Blogger, for I have sinned; it has been a week since my last post. I have spent the last seven days putting up Parrot Propaganda posters on every available notice board around town; thanks for the help from those unsuspecting individuals who didn't run away fast enough. It remains to be seen whether anyone reads them or not.
We received an update from the owl's new parents. He's now officially called something unpronounceable that means 'Night Eyes' in Latin - or Nox for short. We have been promised a written account of his life so far, as soon as young Bruce makes it to civilization to send his email. The good news is though, that Nox is doing well and has learned to perch on a human arm without ripping chunks off it, which is always a plus. Shame he didn't learn that level of restrain with his own arm...
I daren't tell Dr L, but the Three Stooges are now the Two Stooges. And I think the one that has gone AWOL has been led astray by Mr P, who is also conspicuous by his absence. Talk about the blind leading the blind - I hope they found some helpful flock-mates. The remaining two are behaving as a pair. They share their food and roosting space and fly in mad circles around the house and through the orchard together. Nox's new dad kindly made us a parrot nest-box which we'll put in one of the taller trees near the aviary. Yeah, okay, but you never know, oh ye of little faith. We did contemplate putting it in the aviary, but we are likely to get inter-species breeding if we did. They don't seem to be bothered with this prospect, but we are not about to encourage a psittacine melting pot in our back yard - it doesn't exactly complement what we are trying to achieve. Speaking of which, to round off a perfect week of achieving very little, we also acquired a baby agouti. Our mother-dog brought it back in her mouth, probably thinking it was a long-lost puppy. Of course now she will have nothing to do with it - thanks for that, Judy. We'll add it to our very long list of 'Things that Waste a Lot of Time' and hope it grows up quickly.

(BTW, want to know more about the Stooges, Nox et al? www.belizebirdrescue.com)

Up the Ante

2009-02-01T13:40:00.013-06:00

My self-imposed Sunday chores include bleaching the parrots. Not the actual birds, just everything they may touch, or eat out of, or stand on. You can keep your fancy disinfectants; bleach works. And it degrades in sunlight (plenty of that here) and doesn't smell of lavender or 'potpourri' or some sickly throat-grabbing lemon-like olfactory assailant. Some clean-freaks advocate alcohol, but I believe this substance has a higher purpose. Anyhow, bleaching parrots gives one time to think (as does vacuuming or mowing the lawn) And my thought for the day as I was been bitten every 10 seconds was "what use are fire ants?". Wikipedia wisely tells me "not a lot".
Naturally we can't use any form of poison or insecticide; can you imagine the headlines? "Belize Bird Rescue poisons 160 domestic fowl, 12 parrots and thousands of wild birds". Who am I kidding. Headlines? Ha. You have to be a machete-wielding maniac or a politician to make headlines these days (yes, there's a difference). As a fire-ant killer, Ms DuPlooy (www.duplooys.com) recommends degreaser, molasses and warm water - but this acts only as a topical murderer, knocking off the top 2% of the nest. We tried dousing them in boiling water, but this offended my sensitivities toward these innocent helpless creatures. Only kidding - didn't really work either. A friend suggested white lime, but this will burn unsuspecting bird-feet and probably isn't too healthy as a midday snack. It seems to be one of the few battles we will not win in Belize (plus I am supposed to support the 'share the planet' theory). The best we can do is confound the enemy. Parrot food is neatly arranged in plastic chip baskets, with threaded bar and cabinet knobs screwed on for legs: these little restaurant islands live in a baking trays full of water. Regular cleaning of the tray is required as the crafty little beggars use peanut shells as boats. Honestly! Human feet are usually encased in wellies and the perches we position between the trees and the feeding platforms have to be moved regularly, or they become a route-march for the clean-up team. I once witnessed a parrot fall off a perch as it tried to pick ants of both its feet at once. I know it shouldn't have made me laugh, but I don't get out much.
I am reading about phoridae, a wonder-fly that eats fire-ants. Get this: the 'ant-decapitating' fly reproduces by laying eggs in the ant's thorax, the larvae migrates to the head and starts to eat it. After about two weeks, they cause the ant's head to fall off. The fly pupates in the detached head capsule, requiring a further two weeks before emerging. Now where can we get some of those from?

Thin ice? Where?

2009-01-29T11:23:00.020-06:00

Well,we finally did it: the Three Stooges are officially free. Mr P was remarkably calm throughout the whole episode - even when his platform was invaded (yep, all that expense to install new launchpads and they make a beeline for the old one). Still, they had a good feed, executed a couple of victory laps above the house, and settled into the serious work of destroying next year's orange crop. Oh yes, I do believe the farmers when they assure me parrots can do that. Yep, if around 10,000 of them put in a 10 hour day for about a fortnight, I think that the yield from one particular farm may be affected by parrot damage. A financial loss equal to employing 3 men with shotguns and ammunition enough to shoot them all perhaps? God forbid we try and share this planet with anything. Actually, while we are exploring that rocky road to hate mail, it may interest someone, somewhere, to know that we have a mandarin-type citrus tree which is particularly attractive to parrots. Here we were thinking that our green-feathered visitors were just dropping by because we're nice to them, when it turns out that they've been demolishing these mandarins. (They're welcome to them, by the way, they're sour and horrible). But, wouldn't it be an interesting idea to make it compulsory to plant one of these for every 100 oranges - give the birds something to snack out on that didn't matter, leaving the real crop alone? Maybe even implement a decoy program where more attractive non-citrus fruits are cultivated alongside the oranges? ... Or maybe it's just more fun to shoot them.

Man v Parrot (match in progress)

2009-01-22T13:45:00.008-06:00

I know I've been quiet of late. The truth is I'm a little embarrassed that my plans have been thwarted by one stroppy red lored parrot. January was supposed to be the big release of The Three Stooges (Bonnie, Kalie and Kleintjie) with all the media attention it deserved (well, 5 lines on our website at least). Unfortunately, every time I climb the ladder to open the door to freedom, I am dive-bombed by Mr P who regards the release door as the entrance to his personal fortress, and all those who dwell beyond it as potential intruders. I have to confess, I did not see that one coming.
However, not to be outdone by a mere bird, at this very moment our Chief Aviary Constructor is busy welding up two more doors complete with feeding platforms and ladder. Let's see Mr P guard that little lot. Ha, see, still the smart one. For now...

Black & White Owl Rescue.

2009-01-14T08:50:00.008-06:00

On Saturday a family in the Cayo District called us to collect a black & owl owl which had been caught on their barbed wire fence all night. Unfortunately, during its time hung up he had chewed at its own wing to get free and removed all soft tissue down to the bone around the mid-section of the wing. We were forced to have the wing amputated - a really sad event for us, as a one-winged raptor is not an awful lot of use to itself. However, he is turning out to be a resilient little chappie. He's alert, he's eating everything we offer and as of today he can hop onto a low perch and feed himself from a tray. We are not sure what we are going to do with a flightless owl, his quality of life as it stands is not great. The family who found him are keen to have him live on their veranda, and with time he may lose his wildness and get some psychological satisfaction from the deal: we are certainly impressed with his tolerance for humans so far.
We are resisting the urge to call him 'Ollie' or 'Stumpy'. I am leaning toward 'Minstrel', although it seems you have to be British and over 40 to get that one.

Reptile-Birds: the missing avian link?

2009-01-04T08:26:00.014-06:00

It is the general consensus of the household that we have a pair of Veloceraptors in our midst, masquerading as parakeets. Actually they are more like those little things that swarmed all over the girl on the beach, but no-one knows what they are called. Anyhow, I'll admit it, we created the monsters ourselves by allowing them prime position in the living room - master and commander of their 2-cage condo; one for sleep, play and launching at the sofa, the other for fine dining and ambushing the unwary. Like all parakeets they are noisy, scrappy and believe themselves to be 10-feet tall and bullet proof. With flick-knives. And Kalashnikovs.
Pinky & Perky (aka Kray Twins, Little BarStewards...) were donated by a local family some 6 months ago. They arrived pathetic and nervous in a shoe-box minus one complete set of wing feathers each, but were soon reveling in the joys of the BBR theme-park style open prison. They rapidly worked out that somersaults off the sofa didn't hurt and once on the floor, they could go absolutely anywhere!!!
Sitting quietly with my TV dinner on my lap and the omnipresent Chili snoring quietly under my chin, I realised there were 2 small green creatures tucking into my baked potato. Astounded at their impudence, I (and Chili) watched fascinated as they moved rapidly onto my ankle. Several chunks of flesh and much shaking of feet later, they divided forces; one moved onto that tasty bit of skin of the inner arm, whilst the other headed for the sofa and Jerry's eyeballs. Hmmm...
Ungrateful little barstewards.
They can't go into the aviary as they will bust through the wire in milliseconds (no, not on a motorbike, thank you) and a small-cage lock-down is not an option here (even though they more than deserve it). So it appears we are destined to be subjected to the nightly gnawing of the little green monsters until they can be permanently released. Of course, before that happens, they will have to learn to fly... Gulp.

Christmas in Paradise - is basically bl**dy nice!

2008-12-26T10:01:00.003-06:00

Christmas came and went with copious quantities of food and drink for us, and extra rations of goodies for the birds: sugarcane, green beans, precious yellow corn on the cob, papaya... And were they grateful? Not a bit of it.
Chili has enjoyed the attention of visitors: so many extra fingers around to bite. Chili is our current resident cling-on. Every so often we get a bird that fixates on one of us and refuses to be separated. Rather like a encouraging a child to say its first words, then spending the next 18 years telling it to be quiet, we will encourage a clingy bird to fly by standing just out of reach until it makes that first flight to our shoulder. We then spend then next couple of months tiptoeing past the cage or tree, or running into the house for five minutes peace before he spots us. Chili is now at the stage where he will fly the 500 yards to the river to get to me, so there is very little escape time in the day. Typing this post he 'helps' by dismantling my pen collection and decorating my shirt with chewed corn, and worse... He insists on cuddles all evening and flies onto the bed the minute the bedroom door is opened in the morning. This may seem contradictory to the aims of our programme, but in fact this behavior doesn't seem to effect their release - to the contrary in fact. Mr P was our last cling-on, and Basil before him. Both are now wild and free. It's almost like the affectionate child - loves mum & dad but still ends up leaving home as a well-adjusted little creature.

A rainy day in paradise

2008-12-22T12:38:00.005-06:00

And with the rain comes the noise. Anyone who has been to a zoo or bird park on such a day will know what I mean. A day of screaming and squawking for all concerned; 12 parrots, 8 guinea fowl, 6 geese, 17 turkeys and around 120 assorted ducks and chickens. Yes, we are quite mad.

Yesterday I noticed great improvement in Spike - he spread his wings for a shower and almost all of the tattered shafts have disappeared - replaced by glorious new pristine growth. A dumbed-down version of Spikes' liberation can be found on http://www.belizebirdrescue.com/CH2008.html. This picture is of Spike a couple of days after we got him. The condition of his feathers are the result of neglect and ignorance. For 2 years he was forced to sit on the floor of a tiny cage. Above him, on the only perch, sat two other parrots. Naturally Spike took the brunt of what came from above and was unable to keep himself clean (or sane). Now, 5 months later, apart from his sporadic bursts of 'excerpts from Nickelodeon' you would almost think he was a normal red lored. We witnessed a flight attempt a week or two ago - there is still a definite downward curve, but little by little he improves. It's the simple things that keep us going. We are planning to release two of the white-fronted this week. It's the perfect time of year and they seem to be keen to be off. We shall see...

Somewhere in the Middle

2008-12-20T14:01:00.000-06:00

I wish we had started this blog at the very beginning... but we had no idea that our lives would take this turn. Instead, the story will start 5 years on and we will probably regurgitate lumps of the past whenever events of the present day are too dull to recite.
To bring you up to date: we moved to Belize in 2004, started with 2 parrots (red loreds, for those of you that care) and realised that we loved parrots, that parrots love us (or our food, probably) and that, given sufficient time and care a captive, miserable wretch of an abused dying parrot can be returned to the wild as a healthy, happy, procreating specimen of its species. 5 years later we have cared for and/or released 34 parrots, 8 owls and several other wild birds and we are now just getting serious.
What can I say? Watch this space... and in the meantime check out the website: www.belizebirdrescue.com