Newby’s Notes #2

Alan, the young Tawny Frogmouth, has been in residence here for a couple of weeks now.  We have a mutual understanding: I wait on him like a loyal servant, he glares, swears, refuses to fly, looks constantly disgruntled and occasionally squirts poo in my general direction to express his displeasure.  (I bet that the removal of squished mouse from a shoe is not a design feature Jimmy Choo’s ever had to contemplate.) Funny, the things that become part of our bizarre routine…

Alan is free range in my garage overnight.  He has the space and opportunity to fly; but where do I find him every morning?  Wherever I left him.  

One recent callout was for a pied currawong with a suspected broken wing.  My (sometimes-trusty) satnav screamed at me until I found the place: (I swear she was muttering ‘Rerouting AGAIN’ at each of my wrong turns.  Bitch.) I was met by a charming MOP who appeared to be intensely concerned for the bird and asked what he could do to help.  Throwing caution to the wind, I didn’t think twice about following him into the shadows. 

We had a cunning plan! Determined MOP would continue to look through the undergrowth, trees and shrubs with his flashlight (at least I think that’s what he was doing) as I hovered about on the pavement side ready with my net, box and towels.  The busy dual carriageway right behind me (Friday evening rush hour traffic) slowed, stopped, hooted or, like the wary pedestrians, pretended not to notice in case I made eye contact with them as I crouched poised with the white netting in my hands.  Mental image: ‘Yvonne Goolagong at the net, Wimbledon’; but I probably looked more like an old friend’s cousin who had ‘episodes’ and was last seen running naked along a highway, wearing nothing but a shower curtain and with just a cigar for company.  

Whatever floats your boat, sister…

Another TFM came to stay for a while this month: she was nicknamed ‘Deirdre of the Sorrows’ and a very troubled young soul she was too.  I must admit that when she was released my relief at not having to handle her anymore outweighed the joy of watching her fly away.  Sorry, Deirdre, you were definitely ‘One Flew Over the Cuckoos’ Nest’…

‘Holly Polly’ on the other hand (my left hand, that is, covered in scratches and nicks from her fast-growing talons) is an absolute delight!  She is a 6-7 week-old orphaned Rainbow Lorikeet who is teaching me so much.  Her specialties include: steam train noises, strangled squawk and reverse, the side-step funk, break-dancing on the kitchen floor and an incredible face-planting/carpet- pushing routine to wipe banana from her beak.  Holly rocks.

Then there were the cute fluffy, but apparently suicidal, chicks: who’d have thought?  Two fledgling masked lapwings were playing ‘chicken’ with the cars in Coles’ car park, not the best playground for tiny, feathered folk.  MOP had taken them home in his pockets because they appeared to be in imminent danger of being squished.  The parent birds were, understandably, not impressed with the abduction of their offspring.  Fortunately, the parents were still patrolling when we returned the two fluff balls to their rightful home (albeit on the other side of the fence, away from any further temptation to play chicken.)

Possums have recently begun to feature more frequently on my call-outs.  One little ringy joey was brought to me around 10:30 pm on a cold, blustery night.  The MOP who drove her here was rather an exotic creature: an artist with an air of ‘crystal ball’ and leopard print about her.  Her neighbour’s cat had killed the little ringy’s mother. Said neighbor then apparently kept little ‘Ewok’ for an hour or so, fed her a milkshake (what the..?) and decided she should go to her exotic neighbor, who put the orphaned Ewok on a heat pad and took her to the vet.  Great job.  

It was a night of discovery.  11:30 little Ewok was re-hydrated, warm and as comfortable as she could be, without her mum, so I went to bed.  I was up 3 hours later, worried that the little one might be getting cold and lonely.  She cuddled up and climbed on me as I prepared her next feed.  A sudden excruciating pain in my neck, that I didn’t dare react to for fear of distressing Ewok, revealed that the little ringy’s powerful instinct to survive had led her to a mole on my neck.  It was perfect possum teat size.  She latched on and suckled with a mixture of frustration and determination, until I managed to distract her with the prepared warm feed she was supposed to be enjoying. It was a huge relief for us both.  I wore a scarf at her next feed time, and for the following two days, to cover the possum ‘love bite’ on my neck.

Alan update:  Great news!  I’m happy to report that Alan, the TFM, made huge progress this week and was released yesterday evening.  Yay!

Good luck, my fellow rescuers!