Grey skies are going to clear up....

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

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)

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

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.

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

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.