Doldrums

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

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

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

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

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...?)