Dusting off the Soapbox

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fundraiser this coming weekend, so I've been spending far too much time brushing up my DTP skills (sorry - is that an outdated phrase these days?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!!

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

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

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.

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...

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

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.