Saturday, January 11, 2014

MEANWHILE , BACK AT THE CURLEW CRECHE


Chicky  playing  dead...little rotter . 
The stress and  strain  of  protecting  the cute  baby  Curlew, Chicky, from   the   killer  Barking Owl  at  night  is  taking its  toll . Chicky is  not  helping  things  by stretching out on the grass  in  odd  postures   from  time  to  time as  if  dead.  Oh , No!  Poor  Chicky!  Then  it unravels  an  ungainly   leg  from  a  difficult  yoga  position  and  jumps  to its  feet ,  no doubt expecting to  be  fed.  It was   thought  that  in 10 days’ time  Chicky   would   be too  big  for  the owl  and other  predators  to  attack. However, word  came  through  from a  wildlife carer  that  another  month would  have  to  pass before   Chicky  would  be  safe. A month !

Already I am starting to  look like a composite   of  the  Portrait   of Dorian Gray  and  a  Police Gazette  sketch  of   Jack the Ripper  because of   lack  of sleep  and worry  about   Chicky. At night, I toss about fitfully   in  my  bed  , from which  one of the wooden slats   has   fallen ,  the  slightest  move  generating   a  noise  as if  I am on  a  sailing ship  bound for  Botany  Bay , listening to  the  assorted  sounds,  trying  to detect the  distinctive wuk-wuk of  the owl. This  dog bark- like sound has also been described as the call of  the Screaming –woman  Bird and  the  Murderbird . No  wonder  my eyeballs  are  hanging  out  , with associated   dark  rings.

 Chicky’s  parents   have  added   to  the  harrowing ordeal.  They  foolishly  took  Chicky  (I am  not  aware of  its sex)  out of  the relative safety of  the backyard, down  the side of  the house , into  the cruel , cold  (40C plus ) world. I shoo-ed  them  home and built  a  Berlin wall  which  would  allow  the  parents to  hop over, but  keep  their sibling   inside.

Unable  to  sleep , about   2am , I could hear plaintive  beeping  outside  my window on  the verandah  and found Chicky , all alone, his parents  apparently out  cavorting  in  the Pope’s Land.   The   parents   had parked Chicky  outside  my window , knowing I  would guard  it   while  they  were  away . When long  awaited  rain  fell one night , I  went  and sat out  on  the verandah , rejoicing ,   and discovered Chicky, once more alone , a  bedraggled   figure  on  the  lawn . My wife  complained tha t the noise made by  my squeaking bed , especially when I  jump  up  with the  torch to  see  if  the owl  is   in the yard,   interrupted  her  sleep.  An  examination   revealed   that  most of  the bed end  screws were  loose  and  when  tightened  up peace  and  quiet  returned .  
Chicky, centre, with wayward parents
But not  outside . Frogs, flying foxes, possums, real dogs and other strange  sounds  fill the night air, making  it  hard to slumber . At 5.30am sharp  the  parents  peck  at  the kitchen sliding door , demanding to be  fed, Chicky, not  far away.  One morning I opened   the door   and went  ahead  preparing  the  porridge  for  the human occupants.  In  marched  the Curlew   parents ,  hissed,  picked  up  a  few  flakes of  instant oats     dropped  on the floor, and  were ordered  out.  Chicky  now   joins   its  parents   each  morning tapping  on  the  door .  And  recently Cockatoos  showed  an  interest in  the  lemon tree  , despite  it having  been  wrapped in  netting , and  I chased  them away . Between Barking Owls, Curlews, Cockatoos  and  senile decay , Cyclops  is  not  a  pretty sight .