It was a scenario like a Shakespearean tragedy . An electrical storm was sweeping in accompanied by thunder and lightning . The adult resident Curlews were screeching at me like the witches out of Macbeth as I stumbled about the yard like silly Bottom with a camera , hoping to snap some bolts of lightning .
Why all this screeching ? . Surely they were not not afraid of the rumbling thunder, the wind increasing in intensity? One Curlew flung itself near my foot and screeched blue murder. Looking down , instead of up at the heavens, an egg was spotted.
Accompanied by a great clap of thunder , the news was broken indoors that the Curlews have an egg .
During the overnight tempest and the following windy next day , many leaves and branches were blown down. A visual check of two cup shaped nests high up in palm trees was made to see if they were still intact , had not been blown down . They seemed okay . Surprise - a Curlew was sitting on two eggs.
On reflection, there had been strong indications for weeks that the Curlews were once more about to breed. The two chicks, now quite big, had been severely pecked at times by their parents as they barged in at feed time and gobbled up most of the tucker.
With apologies to the Bard , it could be said the chicks were becoming double toil and trouble
Wildlife carers say that when chicks, nearly as big as Harlem Globetrotters , are beaten up it is a sure sign another brood is on the way and the offspring are being told to hit the road, leave home .
However, the chicks did not get the message . There seemed to be no end to their hunger, barging in like Kiwi All Blacks, knocking the parents out of the way . Typical hungry adolescents, they join their elders early each morning at the kitchen door , wanting to be fed .
