Blanche was released two days ago and haven't seen her since. Opened the aviary door in the morning. She left sometime between the 3 and 5pm feeding. Edgar was a bit upset at first but didn't leave. In fact he's a bit cage bound. He has learned, very quickly, to hop on a free standing perch. I've started to take him, on his perch, out of the aviary. It makes him nervous but I am hopeful that if we increase *trips* incrementally he'll gradually gain confidence.
Had another look at his wing. The keratin still covers the shaft of his secondary feathers. I can't see why he hasn't removed them. The wing is about 6 inches shorter than his other wing because he has no primary flight feathers. If he hasn't got them now, when he's fully and beautifully feathered, it is doubtful whether he'll ever get them. It also tends to confirm why he was booted from the nest. Once he was old enough for his parents to sense or see his deformity, he wasn't worth their time and energy.
Whether he'll ever be able to fly is questionable. I have seen him hop/fly upward from the ground to a low hanging perch. The perch was about 18 to 24" from the ground. Saw him try on a second occasion and miss. He still exercises his wings but not as much. He tends to flap more when he's out of the aviary. Can't have him give up. Crows are way too intelligent to live alone in a boring old aviary. He needs to get out and explore the environment.
Have started a large pencil sketch of Natalia. After the rather sad watercolour attempt of a cat I need to do something that has a chance of turning out well. And I need an ongoing project. The drawing is taken from a photo I took with the phone (not many years ago this sentence would've made no sense at all!). Copied the photo which has turned out rather blurry but is okay to use. So I'm doing a sad (at least for me) copy of a photo drawing. Would much rather be doing something out of my head but at least, if this turns out okay, Richard will be pleased. Haven't seen him so besotted with an animal since Caruso.
Showing posts with label deformed wing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label deformed wing. Show all posts
Saturday, February 20, 2016
Monday, February 1, 2016
I should write two separate posts as what I want to write about today are unrelated, but as I don't always get here when I want to (or should!) I'll combine the two.
First of all, Edgar. He continues to thrive. He has supermodel legs. They go on forever and are comically topped with this scruffy pin feathered little (in comparison) body. There are photos of baby crows in Pinterest; all black and fluffy in duck-like down. He's nothing like that. He has adult feathers, most of them still encased in keratin somewhere along the shaft. His eye is pale blue and as he grows and grows stronger, he is more responsive.
Two days ago I was present when he had a wing flap. It was then I noticed one wing is noticeably shorter than the other. Not only shorter but some of the flight feathers are partially turned outward rather than lying flat against his body. Don't know whether this will affect his ability to fly or not. Don't know whether it was the reason he was screaming in the long grass. For such a vocal baby there wasn't a crow in sight - and we have many local crows. Was he kicked from the nest because he was imperfect? Nature is not sentimental. Staying alive is too hard. Anything that is compromised from birth is ejected/rejected without moral reflection.
There was a reason he was found by us. He put everything he had into that metronomic squawking and there was very little left to live upon when he was found which is why he was so weak and ill to begin with. But I thought Rupert (the rainbow lorikeet) and Lionel (the galah) were fostered by me for a reason too. I thought they would live - and they did until they were released and then, in a longer or shorter time, they were killed. No use pondering why (he was found) or if (he can fly), best just do my best for him and see what happens. In the meantime he makes me smile.
The other thing I want to cover isn't nearly as jolly. Much of Tasmania has been on fire. World Heritage areas on the west coast have burnt to a crisp. Thousand year old pencil pines gone forever. An interviewed scientist (just tried to find the article and can't) said it was a sign of 'system collapse'. Another article (http://www.abc.net.au/news/2016-01-29/glikson-the-dilemma-of-a-climate-scientist/7123246 ) states that up to a third of climate change scientists believe the situation is far worse than what is fed to the public and that if we don't stop using fossil fuels now we are doomed.
This kept me awake most of the night. Not because I'm doomed. I'm 60. I'll probably eke out another few decades before the planet becomes unlivable (or perhaps, in an effort to save the planet, everyone over 60 will be euthanized). What kept me staring into the darkness was the plight of all those that don't have a voice. From the unborn to all the creatures; land, sea and air, which will die through no fault of their own. It breaks my heart. If we want to destroy one another, so be it, but must we drag everything else down with us?
So it started me thinking. Despite the human capacity for self-sacrific, despite our intelligence, our urge to beauty, our creativity, spirituality, generosity - we are a species seemingly doomed to failure. In the scheme of things, meaning the Infinite Universe, it's not a big deal. Other beings no doubt have come into existence, shone for a while and dimmed into oblivion for various reasons. Inborn hubris leads me to think humans are rather special. We have the ability to ponder, to reflect, to learn and to know joy. It would be lovely if those attributes were the ones that carried the day. For us and every other living thing. Unfortunately it seems greed, hubris, selfishness, fear and short-sightedness carry the day. And the earth.
On the other hand, if it's only a dream of Maya, we'll all wake up and shake our heads at the strangeness and overriding sadness of the dream. I wonder which reality is true.
First of all, Edgar. He continues to thrive. He has supermodel legs. They go on forever and are comically topped with this scruffy pin feathered little (in comparison) body. There are photos of baby crows in Pinterest; all black and fluffy in duck-like down. He's nothing like that. He has adult feathers, most of them still encased in keratin somewhere along the shaft. His eye is pale blue and as he grows and grows stronger, he is more responsive.
Two days ago I was present when he had a wing flap. It was then I noticed one wing is noticeably shorter than the other. Not only shorter but some of the flight feathers are partially turned outward rather than lying flat against his body. Don't know whether this will affect his ability to fly or not. Don't know whether it was the reason he was screaming in the long grass. For such a vocal baby there wasn't a crow in sight - and we have many local crows. Was he kicked from the nest because he was imperfect? Nature is not sentimental. Staying alive is too hard. Anything that is compromised from birth is ejected/rejected without moral reflection.
There was a reason he was found by us. He put everything he had into that metronomic squawking and there was very little left to live upon when he was found which is why he was so weak and ill to begin with. But I thought Rupert (the rainbow lorikeet) and Lionel (the galah) were fostered by me for a reason too. I thought they would live - and they did until they were released and then, in a longer or shorter time, they were killed. No use pondering why (he was found) or if (he can fly), best just do my best for him and see what happens. In the meantime he makes me smile.
The other thing I want to cover isn't nearly as jolly. Much of Tasmania has been on fire. World Heritage areas on the west coast have burnt to a crisp. Thousand year old pencil pines gone forever. An interviewed scientist (just tried to find the article and can't) said it was a sign of 'system collapse'. Another article (http://www.abc.net.au/news/2016-01-29/glikson-the-dilemma-of-a-climate-scientist/7123246 ) states that up to a third of climate change scientists believe the situation is far worse than what is fed to the public and that if we don't stop using fossil fuels now we are doomed.
This kept me awake most of the night. Not because I'm doomed. I'm 60. I'll probably eke out another few decades before the planet becomes unlivable (or perhaps, in an effort to save the planet, everyone over 60 will be euthanized). What kept me staring into the darkness was the plight of all those that don't have a voice. From the unborn to all the creatures; land, sea and air, which will die through no fault of their own. It breaks my heart. If we want to destroy one another, so be it, but must we drag everything else down with us?
So it started me thinking. Despite the human capacity for self-sacrific, despite our intelligence, our urge to beauty, our creativity, spirituality, generosity - we are a species seemingly doomed to failure. In the scheme of things, meaning the Infinite Universe, it's not a big deal. Other beings no doubt have come into existence, shone for a while and dimmed into oblivion for various reasons. Inborn hubris leads me to think humans are rather special. We have the ability to ponder, to reflect, to learn and to know joy. It would be lovely if those attributes were the ones that carried the day. For us and every other living thing. Unfortunately it seems greed, hubris, selfishness, fear and short-sightedness carry the day. And the earth.
On the other hand, if it's only a dream of Maya, we'll all wake up and shake our heads at the strangeness and overriding sadness of the dream. I wonder which reality is true.
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