Before and After

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.

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

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?

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

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.