,Native gardens attract birds of every size, but it seems strange, that this mismatched choir is so enticing. There really isn't one bird I would sign up for a position in a musical, not one singer holds a tune, completes a song, or even has a catchy ditty that gets stuck in my head. They seem blissful in their ignorance, singing makes them happy, and that is enough. It's happiness I hear, like children giggling, so infectious it makes me smile. Birds chatter away about the delights of the day, as they busy themselves, poking their beaks into flowers, or picking around the windows, looking for spiders lurking in the wooden cracks. Yes the magpies warble in the morning, warbling their same chorus line, the wrens gossip all day about absolutely everything, and the crows have a long ah-haaaaaaaaaaaw on a lovely hot day. The Joe Wickies sing out to their mate and she replies, "Yes I'm over here." If you mimic the call, you get a reply, and so a conversation with a new bird friend has begun. Perhaps it's about singing as they work, gathering food for themselves and their young. Singing makes light work.
I cared for a Currawong chick who had fallen out of his nest, a tiny ball of fluff. I searched for worms and brought them back. It didn't satisfy my new baby, whom I called Merrick. I searched for more worms using a spade, it didn't satisfy my ungrateful fluffy child. I dug up a garden bed gathering worms on an hourly basis, but it didn't satisfy this demanding squawking child. This gathering of worms was a full-time job, and I was exhausted. I had only one tiny fluffy baby to feed, but the squawking of complaints after every feed, said my efforts were simply not enough. I had a new found admiration of bird parents with twins and triplets. I certainly wasn't singing as I worked, I was muttering and grumbling, a worn out exhausted new mum. To satisfy my ungrateful, squawking, complaining child, I cheated and went to the supermarket. I followed a recipe in a bird book, using mince and eggs, and it worked a treat. He didn't cry after feeds, no complaints, just a beautiful happy child. With a happy mum. Merrick grew, and he grew. His fluff turned to shiny black feathers, which he showed off, flying around the kitchen, this massive budgerigar, with a wing span of half a metre. We learnt to duck quickly when we heard a woosh woosh of flapping wings behind us, and gave him room to land and take off, in his cramped airport kitchen. He chatted to us, and we chatted back, a bird conversation of sorts to a much loved child. As with all children, he flew the nest, but with his departure, I realised he had written his musical score on my heart. For me, the most endearing bird song ever sung.
I cared for a Currawong chick who had fallen out of his nest, a tiny ball of fluff. I searched for worms and brought them back. It didn't satisfy my new baby, whom I called Merrick. I searched for more worms using a spade, it didn't satisfy my ungrateful fluffy child. I dug up a garden bed gathering worms on an hourly basis, but it didn't satisfy this demanding squawking child. This gathering of worms was a full-time job, and I was exhausted. I had only one tiny fluffy baby to feed, but the squawking of complaints after every feed, said my efforts were simply not enough. I had a new found admiration of bird parents with twins and triplets. I certainly wasn't singing as I worked, I was muttering and grumbling, a worn out exhausted new mum. To satisfy my ungrateful, squawking, complaining child, I cheated and went to the supermarket. I followed a recipe in a bird book, using mince and eggs, and it worked a treat. He didn't cry after feeds, no complaints, just a beautiful happy child. With a happy mum. Merrick grew, and he grew. His fluff turned to shiny black feathers, which he showed off, flying around the kitchen, this massive budgerigar, with a wing span of half a metre. We learnt to duck quickly when we heard a woosh woosh of flapping wings behind us, and gave him room to land and take off, in his cramped airport kitchen. He chatted to us, and we chatted back, a bird conversation of sorts to a much loved child. As with all children, he flew the nest, but with his departure, I realised he had written his musical score on my heart. For me, the most endearing bird song ever sung.
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