Comings and Goings

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

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

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

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

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

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...

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.