Windy Sunday. Howling wind Sunday. I knew the exact minute this change came through. We were outside with guests yesterday. A friend, her husband, their daughter. She is a vet at at the clinic where I work. Showing them the aviaries with the galahs, greenies and rainbows when this hot sharp wind charged in the from the west. It burnt all hint of moisture from the air. The tiny leaves of the poinciana shot into us like rat shot, driven by this ferocious wind. My skin seemed to frizzle and even my eyeballs dehydrated.
The wind continued through the night. A hot summer night in late August when officially we're still in winter. This is the second heat wave this month. What is happening with our weather? Could it be, can it be, global warming? The pundits are still out there saying global warming is a huge conspiracy. I don't know. Every spring our storms are fiercer, more damaging. We're getting less rain in the summer when we need it and now this. I know two hot spells don't make a catastrophe but I think we're naive to assume we are not making an impact on this planet.
If I could operate a computer with any kind of grace, I'd be able to upload photos (I can hear the guffaws from here, thank you very much, but it's true I am completely bamboozled by the simplest of technological tasks). Someone sent me an email entitled The Universe, How Big is It? It starts with a comparison of earth to the other planets, then the earth to the sun, the sun to Arcturus, which is relative to comparing earth to the Sun, then Arcturus to Antares, which might be comparable to comparing the moon to the sun. In the last shot of the sun and Antares, the sun was one pixel, so not visible, to this huge ripe tomato of a star called Antares. It was huge and earth and all of us, only a memory of matter. In the scale of things earth, and me least of all, to quote Joni Mitchell, did not exist. The last shot is of galaxies made up of billions of suns (stars from Arcturs' to Antares') in deep space. It does tend to put things in perspective.
One time, when I was really depressed about how we were slowly but surely crapping over this miracle of a planet, my sister reminded me that although we may be destroying one miracle, there are billions of other miracles in the universe. It would be a catastrophe for this living ecosystem and all the things on it but just because we got it wrong does not mean creation and change and opportunity would end. We would just be one little experiment that went wrong.
I try and remember that. Everything dies. I'll die. Hopefully having done something life-enhancing and creative while I'm here. It won't be the end of creation if Earth dies. Energy means change. Everything changes but energy is not lost. The next experiment of sentient intelligence might get it right.
Don't want to spend this day whinging and whining about how bad things are. That just pepetuates the problem. Just watched 'Who Do You Think You Are' on SBS. Ian Hislop researching his great grandfathers who came from Scotland and fought in the Boer War, among other things. Then I think I know nothing of Dad's dad, whose name I share. My middle name is Boyer. He died when I was an infant so I never new him. Dad didn't talk of him but then being a self-involved teenager I didn't ask either. Now that I'm older I am curious about my relatives. There are question marks about my maternal grandfather, that he came into Canada being born on the 'wrong side of the blanket' in the UK. My sister and I think he has a resemblance to the late Lord Mountbatten, Prince Philip and less so, Prince Charles in the shape of his head. So it's a tiny romantic notion that means nothing. Just had a quick look at some genealogy websites. One could spend a heap of money, which I'm unwilling to do at this point. My third cousin once removed sent over reams of paper detailing her side of the family tree. She was a diligent researcher. Unfortunately most of it was double greek to me especially as we were so distantly related. I'm ashamed to say that after years of shifting it from one disused drawer to another I shifted it into the bin. Perhaps it's wiser at this point in my life to look where I'm going rather than where my forefathers (and mothers) have been.
Sunday, August 30, 2009
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
shame and anger
Shame. Even the word is ugly, it starts with a hiss and ends with a sneer. Ugh. I don't like the word. Nevertheless I find I am never too old to feel it. Which brings up another problem. Regret and letting go. I find it's easy to say 'what's done is done, now move on' but moving on is a little more troublesome. Certainly one has to feel the shame, to know that it isn't something one wants to experience, so that it can be learned from. No point in rolling it around and around, reliving it ad nauseum. That doesn't help. So I am hopeful that in writing it here I will have finished with it and will actually move on.
And the shameful act? I lost my cool, my temper, my equilibrium. I raised my voice. I ordered someone to leave the building. I was very angry.
Anger. Such a dangerous state of being. I want peace in the world. I want peace in my workplace, in my home, and especially in my soul. Anger, such sudden anger, overwhelms me, reminds me that I am only as civilized as my self-control. It has been many years since I've been that angry. That I was verbally abused and accused is no excuse. Others may resort to shouting and comments arising from emotion, but not me. Or so I thought. It was a very humbling experience. The veneer is thin. I've coasted along not because I'm such a *good* person but because I've not really been challenged.
I am hopeful that if this sort of experiences arises again I will remember the shame I felt afterwards and behave differently. And that I'll remember to breathe! So much for yogic breathing in times of crisis. I completely forgot. I was breathing all right, more like hyperventilating. A co-worker, who was also being verbally abused, said the skin on my face was vibrating. A real visceral experience. Wore me out. Adrenaline rushes are one thing, uncontrolled emotion quite another. I know people who are always angry. Maybe one gets addicted to that sort of emotional rush. I don't know. I don't think anyone ever seeks out shame though. Live and learn. Live and learn.
And the shameful act? I lost my cool, my temper, my equilibrium. I raised my voice. I ordered someone to leave the building. I was very angry.
Anger. Such a dangerous state of being. I want peace in the world. I want peace in my workplace, in my home, and especially in my soul. Anger, such sudden anger, overwhelms me, reminds me that I am only as civilized as my self-control. It has been many years since I've been that angry. That I was verbally abused and accused is no excuse. Others may resort to shouting and comments arising from emotion, but not me. Or so I thought. It was a very humbling experience. The veneer is thin. I've coasted along not because I'm such a *good* person but because I've not really been challenged.
I am hopeful that if this sort of experiences arises again I will remember the shame I felt afterwards and behave differently. And that I'll remember to breathe! So much for yogic breathing in times of crisis. I completely forgot. I was breathing all right, more like hyperventilating. A co-worker, who was also being verbally abused, said the skin on my face was vibrating. A real visceral experience. Wore me out. Adrenaline rushes are one thing, uncontrolled emotion quite another. I know people who are always angry. Maybe one gets addicted to that sort of emotional rush. I don't know. I don't think anyone ever seeks out shame though. Live and learn. Live and learn.
Saturday, August 22, 2009
a different perspective
Sometimes you see something, while not unusual in itself, touches you in a surprising and unexpected way. I was driving home from town this morning. We are having a heat wave in the middle of winter so the quality of the light was hazy and hot. If I was plonked down in my air conditioned car at midday and not told what season of the year I would've guessed summer even though the sun is still too far north. The light bleached colour from the paddocks, from the sky, from the bitumen streaming to infinity from the front of the car. There was a flash of white to the west. I looked and it was gone. Then it came again. I watched and saw a column of birds spiraling up a thermal. White then blue, white then blue. When the sun wasn't reflecting off their whiter than white wings, they were invisible.
For a moment I was with them, silent and still, riding a current of air with the vastness of the earth diminishing beneath me. The vision didn't last long. I was driving after all.
I have often played the shifting of perspective game. There'll be a blowfly touring the rooms like a fat house detective, on the hunt for contraband food. In those idle moments I'll pretend I'm seeing what the blowfly sees as he buzzes from one square bordered space to another. Or one of our cats, or an ant or even trying to sense the consciousness of the poinciana tree outside this window.
There's something about trees, that slow steady life, their experience of time. Humans must look like film on fast forward to them, scuttling about in seconds before the vastness of their existence. Of course, one could argue that trees aren't conscious. They're alive but dumb, having about as much consciousness as a fence post. I can't explain why I feel differently but I do. It's a feeling. Like trying to define love. We know love exists but we can't prove its existence in a lab. It's a feeling. With the same faulty reasoning I know that trees are so much more than mere trees. Trees know the answers to the big philosophical questions. It's there in their shape, their bark, the movement of their leaves, the roots hidden beneath the ground. Trees are deep.
For a moment I was with them, silent and still, riding a current of air with the vastness of the earth diminishing beneath me. The vision didn't last long. I was driving after all.
I have often played the shifting of perspective game. There'll be a blowfly touring the rooms like a fat house detective, on the hunt for contraband food. In those idle moments I'll pretend I'm seeing what the blowfly sees as he buzzes from one square bordered space to another. Or one of our cats, or an ant or even trying to sense the consciousness of the poinciana tree outside this window.
There's something about trees, that slow steady life, their experience of time. Humans must look like film on fast forward to them, scuttling about in seconds before the vastness of their existence. Of course, one could argue that trees aren't conscious. They're alive but dumb, having about as much consciousness as a fence post. I can't explain why I feel differently but I do. It's a feeling. Like trying to define love. We know love exists but we can't prove its existence in a lab. It's a feeling. With the same faulty reasoning I know that trees are so much more than mere trees. Trees know the answers to the big philosophical questions. It's there in their shape, their bark, the movement of their leaves, the roots hidden beneath the ground. Trees are deep.
Thursday, August 13, 2009
The Quarry
August 13, 2009. We won! We won! We won! I haven't written of this long time battle (since 1993) before probably because it has gone on for so many years and I'm sick of talking/writing/thinking about it. Still, today is a day of celebration. It may be short-lived but enjoy the moment is all I can say.
We live in the country on a dead end dirt road, half of which is bitumen, the other half dirt. When you drive along the straight toward our house you can see in the distance what looks like a miniature volcano, a perfect cone. It is a basalt plug. For years we have fought to keep it from being dismantled and quarried. The basalt plug supports remnant vine scrub, an endangered habitat in SE Queensland. To quarry for basalt the vine scrub, all 23 hectares of it, would be destroyed.
When we first began fighting this it was all about protecting our lifestyle and the ambiance of the country. Now, 16 years later, it is so much more. Certainly I don't want 80 + trucks a day hurtling up and down our road. I don't want the dust, the noise and the traffic but more than that, far more than that, I want that remnant habitat preserved. There is nothing like it around here. I've ridden Balthazar past it many times. It can't be ridden on, even climbed as it is so thick and steep. But even from the ground it is mysterious; dark dark green, a source of birdsong and flashes of colour as king parrots and other birds fly in and out and around it. Heaven knows what else could be there. The important thing is, whatever is there is safe for the time being. The developer may decide to appeal as he did all those years ago when Council approved it providing he met with certain conditions. We don't know why he didn't proceed, why he waited so many years he had to start the process all over again. Perhaps it's a tax dodge. Whatever it is, council voted 3 to 2 against the development. Due in no small part to my submissions but especially to my tireless husband who worked the phones, who buttonholed councillors and the mayor at every opportunity, who never gave up when everyone else did.
We're going to enjoy our victory, savour it, treasure it. And enjoy as long as we can the respite from that black cloud which has loomed over us for so many years. We may have to take up keyboard, pen and telephone again if the developer appeals but for now....We won!
We live in the country on a dead end dirt road, half of which is bitumen, the other half dirt. When you drive along the straight toward our house you can see in the distance what looks like a miniature volcano, a perfect cone. It is a basalt plug. For years we have fought to keep it from being dismantled and quarried. The basalt plug supports remnant vine scrub, an endangered habitat in SE Queensland. To quarry for basalt the vine scrub, all 23 hectares of it, would be destroyed.
When we first began fighting this it was all about protecting our lifestyle and the ambiance of the country. Now, 16 years later, it is so much more. Certainly I don't want 80 + trucks a day hurtling up and down our road. I don't want the dust, the noise and the traffic but more than that, far more than that, I want that remnant habitat preserved. There is nothing like it around here. I've ridden Balthazar past it many times. It can't be ridden on, even climbed as it is so thick and steep. But even from the ground it is mysterious; dark dark green, a source of birdsong and flashes of colour as king parrots and other birds fly in and out and around it. Heaven knows what else could be there. The important thing is, whatever is there is safe for the time being. The developer may decide to appeal as he did all those years ago when Council approved it providing he met with certain conditions. We don't know why he didn't proceed, why he waited so many years he had to start the process all over again. Perhaps it's a tax dodge. Whatever it is, council voted 3 to 2 against the development. Due in no small part to my submissions but especially to my tireless husband who worked the phones, who buttonholed councillors and the mayor at every opportunity, who never gave up when everyone else did.
We're going to enjoy our victory, savour it, treasure it. And enjoy as long as we can the respite from that black cloud which has loomed over us for so many years. We may have to take up keyboard, pen and telephone again if the developer appeals but for now....We won!
Friday, August 7, 2009
Crop Circles, UFOS, Sasquatch
While researching Bigfoot/Sasquatch for my novel (not the main focus but a part of the mysterious occurrences in the country town of White Cedar) I was led to You Tube videos of crop circles (something I have been interested in and have found simply stupefying) and UFO footage. Naturally some of the UFO footage is CGI (and very well done too. Full kudos to the creators), other footage is questionable, is it real or created? Ditto the crop circles.
Crop circles. The very phenonemon is strange. Why would other world beings choose to communicate in such a strange way; making images in fields of grain? Surely, with their technological advantages (if they can get to earth they are obviously technologically advanced) why not communicate directly into the Internet or make huge Sky signs or write on the moon or have a world wide vocal communication, similar to the loudspeakers at a footy match. Crop circles seem such an unwieldy way to communicate. But. And it's a big But. The circles are far too complex now to be the product of an overnight effort by uni student pranksters. Yes, I'm aware there are people out there who say they can duplicate crop circles. Perhaps they can, the more simplistic of the designs. But can they duplicate the very intricate, detailed and large crop circles which are a factor of the crop circle phenonemon in 10 or 12 hours of darkness? I doubt it. Then again, if we suddenly had a global communication via ET loudspeaker or simultaneous TV coverage, there would most likely be mass hysteria or, in this era of complete cynicism, mass yawning. Perhaps crop circle communication is the cleverest way to introduce us to the idea
that there is something out there besides ourselves.
Another interesting factor is the complete silence of mainstream media regarding crop circles, UFOs, ghosts, telepathy, ESP, Cryptozoology, the list goes on. We're given pablum, the powers that be obviously deciding that either a) we're too immature and excitable to cope with the truth, or b) we're best left in the dark in case we start demanding that our leaders behave in a responsible manner, ie stop making war on each other, ensure everyone has enough to eat and a roof over their head and most importantly, ensure that the earth will be viable as a living planet.
It's not so much to ask, is it? In my own tiny corner of the world, with the environment being on the six o'clock news night after night after night, the local council still chooses to rape and pillage the environment. It is unbelievable. Is there someone out there with balls enough to stand and say STOP? Stop with the focus on money and profits? Stop with the aggrandizement of power and prestige, stop with the BS? I'm waiting.
I have no children of my own yet I am appalled that people that do have children and grandchildren make such godawful decisions. Maybe we need a shake-up of an extra terrestrial intelligence, a stern ET to make us grow up, play politely with our toys, to share our toys, and clean up our play space afterwards.
Crop circles. The very phenonemon is strange. Why would other world beings choose to communicate in such a strange way; making images in fields of grain? Surely, with their technological advantages (if they can get to earth they are obviously technologically advanced) why not communicate directly into the Internet or make huge Sky signs or write on the moon or have a world wide vocal communication, similar to the loudspeakers at a footy match. Crop circles seem such an unwieldy way to communicate. But. And it's a big But. The circles are far too complex now to be the product of an overnight effort by uni student pranksters. Yes, I'm aware there are people out there who say they can duplicate crop circles. Perhaps they can, the more simplistic of the designs. But can they duplicate the very intricate, detailed and large crop circles which are a factor of the crop circle phenonemon in 10 or 12 hours of darkness? I doubt it. Then again, if we suddenly had a global communication via ET loudspeaker or simultaneous TV coverage, there would most likely be mass hysteria or, in this era of complete cynicism, mass yawning. Perhaps crop circle communication is the cleverest way to introduce us to the idea
that there is something out there besides ourselves.
Another interesting factor is the complete silence of mainstream media regarding crop circles, UFOs, ghosts, telepathy, ESP, Cryptozoology, the list goes on. We're given pablum, the powers that be obviously deciding that either a) we're too immature and excitable to cope with the truth, or b) we're best left in the dark in case we start demanding that our leaders behave in a responsible manner, ie stop making war on each other, ensure everyone has enough to eat and a roof over their head and most importantly, ensure that the earth will be viable as a living planet.
It's not so much to ask, is it? In my own tiny corner of the world, with the environment being on the six o'clock news night after night after night, the local council still chooses to rape and pillage the environment. It is unbelievable. Is there someone out there with balls enough to stand and say STOP? Stop with the focus on money and profits? Stop with the aggrandizement of power and prestige, stop with the BS? I'm waiting.
I have no children of my own yet I am appalled that people that do have children and grandchildren make such godawful decisions. Maybe we need a shake-up of an extra terrestrial intelligence, a stern ET to make us grow up, play politely with our toys, to share our toys, and clean up our play space afterwards.
Thursday, August 6, 2009
Blog Search and Pinning Broken Wings
I would like to do a search on this site for bloggers of interest to me. There is, of course, the Blogs of Note feature (Tach is standing on his cage door showing off with wings outspread. He does this squeak when he's annoyed. I haven't put in his seed yet - he's on pellets and does'nt really need seed anymore but I do give him access for 30 minutes or so in the afternoon). Anyway! The Blogs of Note feature is fine. As many subjects as there are people -- so many interests out there and people writing about them -- but not quite what I'm looking for. I am following a blog and that's fine but it seems that there would be some way to type in a few key words in a search box and come up with some likely blogs. People title their blog and put in labels. What for if not for the rest of us to do a search?
Maybe there is an obvious way to do a search and I'm so technologically illiterate I can't see it. That's a very real possibility. I need the bleedin' obvious set out in neon sometimes. What I'm really doing of course is procrastinating. Finished work yesterday (an hour late. Helped K while she pinned a galah's wing. I do the anaesthesia while she pins. It's a horrible thing to watch. Always thought orthopedics would be delicate and finicky and precise but it's not. Even with dainty little bird bones. First she has to pluck the feathers around the affected area. This is of course after the bird is gassed by placing its head in a punctured surgical glove which is wrapped around a small animal mask. When the area is plucked she isolates the break more precisely than when the bird was first assessed. Then a thin wire is entered into the hollow bone at the break and pushed in. The bone and wire has to be lined up with the bone on the other side of the break. It's not always pretty to watch as it can be a matter of controlled strength and force. The excess wire is cut and the skin is sutured over the access point. It writes out more neatly than the surgery. It's not through lack of skill. K has done hundreds of successful pinnings. I've released birds she's saved. It's a miracle. After a couple of weeks, usually 2, the pin is removed and the bird is rehabilitated. It needs to heal, build up muscle and fitness for flying.
While the bird is on the table it is given antibiotics and kept warm. The wing is taped in place around the body. The tail is also taped closed so that the affected wing is kept immobilized. It's amazing that these delicate wild creatures cope so well with capture, captivity, injury, illness (they often succumb to coccidiosis and must be treated) and the long rehabilitation afterwards. But what a buzz when they are released. Naturally not all succeed. Some die during surgery or worse, afterwards. If they live through the surgery and anaesthetic you kind of expect them to make it so it's very disheartening for them to die when they've already come so far.
Which is a long way from the original subject of blogging. Such is the way my brain works!
Maybe there is an obvious way to do a search and I'm so technologically illiterate I can't see it. That's a very real possibility. I need the bleedin' obvious set out in neon sometimes. What I'm really doing of course is procrastinating. Finished work yesterday (an hour late. Helped K while she pinned a galah's wing. I do the anaesthesia while she pins. It's a horrible thing to watch. Always thought orthopedics would be delicate and finicky and precise but it's not. Even with dainty little bird bones. First she has to pluck the feathers around the affected area. This is of course after the bird is gassed by placing its head in a punctured surgical glove which is wrapped around a small animal mask. When the area is plucked she isolates the break more precisely than when the bird was first assessed. Then a thin wire is entered into the hollow bone at the break and pushed in. The bone and wire has to be lined up with the bone on the other side of the break. It's not always pretty to watch as it can be a matter of controlled strength and force. The excess wire is cut and the skin is sutured over the access point. It writes out more neatly than the surgery. It's not through lack of skill. K has done hundreds of successful pinnings. I've released birds she's saved. It's a miracle. After a couple of weeks, usually 2, the pin is removed and the bird is rehabilitated. It needs to heal, build up muscle and fitness for flying.
While the bird is on the table it is given antibiotics and kept warm. The wing is taped in place around the body. The tail is also taped closed so that the affected wing is kept immobilized. It's amazing that these delicate wild creatures cope so well with capture, captivity, injury, illness (they often succumb to coccidiosis and must be treated) and the long rehabilitation afterwards. But what a buzz when they are released. Naturally not all succeed. Some die during surgery or worse, afterwards. If they live through the surgery and anaesthetic you kind of expect them to make it so it's very disheartening for them to die when they've already come so far.
Which is a long way from the original subject of blogging. Such is the way my brain works!
Sunday, August 2, 2009
The Galah and the Bald Man
Sarah's gone. The balding man with missing front teeth came to get her today. I knew she had to leave. I've no room for her and she couldn't stay where she was, all alone. She only lived with us for two weeks but in that time I saw she was a sensitive and intelligent soul. I think she'll be all right. The bald man wasn't pretty but he assured me that the other bird living with him is well looked after.
Sarah is a galah. She came into the surgery with a fractured wing, broken beyond repair. It had to be amputated. She is an adult wild caught female. Well, caught because with a useless wing it was either be captured or die. She also had a bad case of coccidiosis. I've had her on coccivet since she came home with me. The first two nights she spent in the spare room with the terracotta heat lamp. When she coped well and seemed stronger I moved her onto the verandah with Tach and Cornelius. She improved steadily until it was obvious she needed more room to exercise than is provided by a cocky cage. We moved her out into the spare aviary then. By herself still as I didn't want her to bond with any of the other rescued galahs. A foot separated her aviary from theirs so she did have some companionship. She could watch the wild galahs at the feeder as well.
Still, it was hard to let her go. I put together a care package; Coccivet and a 1 ml syringe for her coccidiosis, a single typed sheet of basic granivore care, two vegetable skewers (one for her mate as she's going to live with another bird, a male) and a corn cob. I also provided a cover sheet as they were going to transport her in an uncovered cocky cage. That is such a common mistake. Don't people see how stressed birds are when they are subjected to every visual stimulus?
Some adult wild galahs come into the surgery and you just know they will never adjust to being in captivity. We humanely euthanise them. Sarah, happily, was hissing and frightened but also showed a steadiness of character that indicated she would be a good candidate for rehoming.
While she was inside or on the verandah I had to change her food, water and papers daily. She naturally didn't like it and hissed and moved away from my hand but she didn't panic either. Outside she was quite brilliant. She soon ceased moving to the other side of the aviary when we walked past. She stayed calm while we put food and water in or took them out. She was even good to catch this afternoon. I had to towel her of course and she didn't like it but again, she handled it well.
Despite his missing teeth and kind of male attitude I think he'll be kind to her. It says something that he wants a companion for his resident male galah. He also has a ringneck which goes for car rides with him. He understands it will take many months before she trusts enough to accept overtures. I know she'll be okay and it's arrogant to think I'm the only person who can look after birds properly. Still, I miss her.
Sarah is a galah. She came into the surgery with a fractured wing, broken beyond repair. It had to be amputated. She is an adult wild caught female. Well, caught because with a useless wing it was either be captured or die. She also had a bad case of coccidiosis. I've had her on coccivet since she came home with me. The first two nights she spent in the spare room with the terracotta heat lamp. When she coped well and seemed stronger I moved her onto the verandah with Tach and Cornelius. She improved steadily until it was obvious she needed more room to exercise than is provided by a cocky cage. We moved her out into the spare aviary then. By herself still as I didn't want her to bond with any of the other rescued galahs. A foot separated her aviary from theirs so she did have some companionship. She could watch the wild galahs at the feeder as well.
Still, it was hard to let her go. I put together a care package; Coccivet and a 1 ml syringe for her coccidiosis, a single typed sheet of basic granivore care, two vegetable skewers (one for her mate as she's going to live with another bird, a male) and a corn cob. I also provided a cover sheet as they were going to transport her in an uncovered cocky cage. That is such a common mistake. Don't people see how stressed birds are when they are subjected to every visual stimulus?
Some adult wild galahs come into the surgery and you just know they will never adjust to being in captivity. We humanely euthanise them. Sarah, happily, was hissing and frightened but also showed a steadiness of character that indicated she would be a good candidate for rehoming.
While she was inside or on the verandah I had to change her food, water and papers daily. She naturally didn't like it and hissed and moved away from my hand but she didn't panic either. Outside she was quite brilliant. She soon ceased moving to the other side of the aviary when we walked past. She stayed calm while we put food and water in or took them out. She was even good to catch this afternoon. I had to towel her of course and she didn't like it but again, she handled it well.
Despite his missing teeth and kind of male attitude I think he'll be kind to her. It says something that he wants a companion for his resident male galah. He also has a ringneck which goes for car rides with him. He understands it will take many months before she trusts enough to accept overtures. I know she'll be okay and it's arrogant to think I'm the only person who can look after birds properly. Still, I miss her.
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