Edgar the Free, sort of

Edgar is a free bird ... sort of.  He hated being confined to the aviary at night.  As soon as the door closed he grumbled, whined and called continuously until dark and began again at first light in the morning.  Of course he isn't free as he hasn't shown the slightest skill in food foraging and is completely dependent upon me for food.

He is growing in confidence and skill with flying.  I think he's almost got it and then he demonstrates he hasn't by flying into the side of the house this morning.  Otherwise he is going from tree to tree, from tree to top of aviary and top of aviary to ground to be fed inside the aviary.  (I think it is worth keeping that habit going as,  if we were to suddenly sell the house, he has to come with us when we move). 

Edgar is a handsome and healthy bird.  The right wing droops a little when he is relaxed and is still about 6 inches shorter than the left.  He flies well but hasn't shown the desire to fly high and long so don't know whether it's because there's no need or because he cannot.  I do feel sorry for him as he should be with other crows and here he is on his own with us.  I tell him every day what a marvelous little being he is and try to convey how much I love him but I'm not a crow so what value is that to him?  I'm not outside all day every day either so most of the time he is on his own.  If I'm outside he hangs around, even running after me sometimes which is a bit dangerous as he's so quick and tends to get too close to my feet.  Other times I'm outside doing things and he is doing his own thing elsewhere so he's not emotionally dependent upon me in a clingy sort of way. 

Heck, I just don't know what to do with him.  I can't teach him crow and he can't learn human so guess we'll just bumble along as best we can.

Edgar the Crow,

There's something quite different to knowing a crow and knowing a galah.  The most obvious thing is the face which gazes back at you.  Parrots are granivores.  They don't prey on other creatures.  Rather they flee from those who would prey on them.  Their eyes are on either side of their head.  When Marvin, for instance, looks at me, he looks with one eye.  When he's checking out a possible predator overhead (and galahs have an uncanny ability to spot a hawk circling so far above that he is the merest speck to my weaker eye), he checks with one eye.  He might double check by switching and looking with the other eye.  I assume in flight galahs have a greater range of vision behind and above them rather like the placement of a horse's eye.

Edgar, on the other hand, has eyes more towards the front of his head.  When he looks at me he is looking with both very blue eyes.  He looks with both eyes down the long pointer of his black beak.  It is a gaze both direct and discretionary.  There's a keen intelligence in those blue eyes.  I've noticed Edgar does share the excitement factor with parrots of pinning his pupils.but whether they pin when excited or relaxed will take more observation.  Something happens, that's for sure.

Later:  Took him out twice today.  The first time under the poinciana tree where he has been more than a few times, starting when he was still confined to his babycontainer.  He's fairly relaxed there although the open mouth breathing does make an appearance sooner or later.  In the afternoon, he hopped on his stick and accompanied me to the horse yards.  I squatted down near the tank overflow.  The air pressure must have dropped since yesterday for the overflow was dripping much to the delight of mud dauber wasps who quequed up for a sip and a dab of mud.  Edgar took some time to have a look around before he felt bold enough to leap off the perch stick. 

He couldn't understand why he was getting lightly splashed with the water hitting the concrete overflow.  He watched the water flow off the concrete onto the mud but thankfully didn't try and catch the wasps.  He did bring me another leaf.   And another.  He's quite affectionate in his grumbling complaining way.

But crows must be genetically wired not to trust long thin sticks held by humans.  I was 20 feet away when I picked up the manure fork.  Edgar panicked.  Had to take it to the far side of the yard and scrap ineffectually at nothing before he was convinced it meant him no harm.  Even in his panic he could not fly. 

He never relaxed in the yards but it was his first visit.  I put him atop the wooden part of the fence which stands between the horse yard and the enclosed veggie garden.  He did relax enough to squat down like crows do when resting while I finished the yards.  That was enough of an ask for him.  Tomorrow is another day.

Edgar and Natalia Sketch

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.

Crow update, Edgar, Blanche and Blackie

Yesterday I released the two wild crows.  They had been here a week, had had long vocal discussions with the local crows and were flying as well as they could in a limited aviary.  Opened the door and Blackie flew out straight away.  He flew heavily but competently and didn't stop until he'd made a tree across the creek.  Whitie however snagged at the door.  I'd pushed the door open as wide as it would go but he still got stuck behind the door.  I went to the front of the aviary to herd him out of the dead end he'd got himself into.  By the time he was clear he couldn't fly.  He got to the garden around the deck and lost momentum.  I caught him again and put him back in the aviary where he seems to fly quite well from one end to the other. 

Nevertheless I'll hang onto him for another week as Edgar has graduated from the spare room to being Whitie's (should rename him/her Blanche) roommate.  Much better for him to be out in the world with lots to interest him while still having the protection of the cubby built into the aviary.  I'd put him in a cocky cage the day before as he'd discovered he didn't have to stay in the container.  Life was much more interesting from atop the stored boxes.  That was fine except for the copious amounts of poop Edgar generates.  The cocky cage was a short term solution.  Poor guy, he sat in one spot on one perch for 24 hours.  Not scared, just not knowing how to get around and onto the other perches.  In the aviary he soon worked out how he could climb along the branches to get from one end to the other.  I put gum tree limbs from the ground to the perches in case he falls so he can climb up again.  He's old enough now to start tackling some of the physical aspects of a crow's life.  Flying is another matter entirely but one step or crow hop at a time.

Seeing the two crows together, despite the difference in age, they appear quite different.  Edgar's head shape is rounder and fuller than Blanche's head.  Whether it's baby fluff I don't know.  His eyes seem smaller too.  Blanche's eyes are paler while Edgar's are definitely blue.  Of course the white feathers of Blanche throw off identification as well.  Looked up crows and ravens in the bird book today and don't know whether they are Australian Ravens or Torresian crows.  The immature descriptions aren't much help - and they all seem to be distantly related anyway. 

Edgar, coiffed and ready to go.

Just a quick post so that I can attach the latest picture of Edgar - who is, after all, entering his cute fuzzy crow stage. 

He actually took food from my fingers twice today.  At his choosing  If I hold a tidbit of food out to him he does the baby crow routine; head back, mouth agape, accompanied by the Baby Crow Grumble, a continuous complaint which is not at all displeasing.

Notice the flight feathers of his deformed right wing break off half way up the shaft and that he has not removed the keratin sheath on any of them unlike his left normal wing which is flight ready. 

The two wild crow juveniles are flying well enough to be released now.  Not sure what the benefits are of keeping them caged.  The local crow population, or a representative of the local crow population, stops in the nearby silky oak tree at dusk for a good old chin wag.  Is he welcoming or warning them.

I lean toward releasing them sooner rather than later.  If they are still obviously youngsters perhaps the adults will see them less as a threat and more of something needing their protection.  Not sure the juveniles will benefit by keeping them in captivity but have come up with a plan.  Edgar is close to being too big for his carrier.  He can't fly (and I'm not sure he ever will) but he is so tall now that he sometimes poops over the edge.  If he decides he is ready to leave 'the nest' than he will have to be removed to the snake safe aviary.  A cocky cage is too small and of course he can't just wander around loose.  So the day he stumbles into the adult world, the resident wild juveniles will be released (after a hefty breakfast and lunch),

Two more crows arrived today.  They are flighted, wild and very skittish.  Karen has been looking after them for a few weeks.  I'll keep them for a few weeks, let them strengthen their flight muscles while they panic trying to get away from me.  The resident wild crows have already been talking to them which is great.  The galahs, sharing the other half of the double aviary, absolutely panicked when the crows were let go in the other half.  I'm sure they thought they were hawks put there to devour them.  They've settled down since this morning.

One of the crows has white in some of his flight feathers.  Hard to get a good look as they are so wild and panic fly/crash when I enter the aviary.    Have been in twice, once to put in a bowl of water and a second time to leave some food.  The black crow gobbled up most if not all of the food.  Not sure if the other one got any or not.  Will put out more food soon.  They have to get used to me at least to the point where I can put food and water in.  Don't want them injuring feathers or wings in their effort to get away from me.

Karen had a look at Edgar.  Thinks the wing might be deformed.  As I thought there is no broken bone to account for it.  She has no more idea than I whether he will fly or not.  Asked if the droopy wings are normal and she said yes, her crows also had trouble keeping them folded to their body when they were his age.  They are much older and look like adult crows save for a certain gangliness. 

Karen and I worked on a couple of art projects.  She is drawing a pencil sketch of one of her daughters.  I started another watercolour project involving a cat.  Am not using the techniques taught in the watercolour pencil book partly because I'm not using any pencils.  And I'm sure the way I'm doing is not the way watercolour should be used.  Nevertheless, so far so good.  I do like the subtlety of watercolour, the palest of pale shading.  Because it's so slow (I'm using the smallest brush - what is the number?  See, I never remember details like that) I can work the details.  So far, in mistakes I've made (and they've been legion) I've been able to mop up the offending bit with paper towel. 

Fun!

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.

Edgar, I am relieved to say, is without doubt getting stronger.  He  is standing more without splaying legs (I cover the bottom of the box with leafy twigs to provide traction), can eat on his own with food just dropped into his mouth rather than having a finger shove it down, and his attempts at walking are more frequent and better controlled.  He has a long way to go yet improvement is obvious and welcome.

He is starting to grow into his black fluffy stage.  Very cute.  His eyes are fully open with bright intelligence and curiosity.   

I have agreed to take Karen's three baby crows for four days while she goes to the coast.   A couple of days ago she texted me that she had them and did I want them to which I said no - too much work and smell and IF we had an inspection I doubt I could mask the crow smell successfully.  Did text back that perhaps, when they are older and nearing the time when they would fledge, they could come and live in the aviary with Edgar, form a bond so all four could be released together.  That seems the best way to introduce them into the wild.  Even wild crow babies don't always make it through their first year I read.  Forty-two percent die.  What are the chances of hand raised crows?  I don't know but will just have to try our best.  There is no other alternative.

Taking these three crows for a trial four days will be excellent for Edgar and perhaps I will find that I can manage them quite all right and can keep them until they fledge.  They will entertain each other and behave as crows should behave rather than having their personalities warped by interacting with humans.  (I find myself wanting to kiss Edgar's fuzzy black head, NOT conducive to keeping emotional distance from this wild creature). 

On the home front - not one iota of interest since dropping the property price to $399,000.  On Monday Richard, Anthony, Cameron and their families met at Laidley cemetery to affix the bronze plaque over David Anthony's grave, fully 44 years after he died.  They also dug a small hole on his grave for Glynis' ashes.  A major loose end finally tied off in a fitting manner.  Richard is kind and very family oriented.  Can't begin to imagine how David Anthony being in an unmarked grave all these years felt to him.  But now he has done what any loving father, and he is a loving father, would do. 

Now can we sell the house and move?  Crass of me I know but there you go.  I try not to want but I want nevertheless.  Try not to feel guilty about wanting and feel guilty anyway. 

Every day is a goulash of gratitude and guilt.  Was reading up on the various species of Buddhism.  My loo book is An American Pilgrimage by Paul Elie about four Catholics; Dorothy Day, Flannery O'Connor, Thomas Merton and Walker Percy.  It is subtitled, The Life You Save May Be Your Own.  The book details their Catholic conversion and their struggles with themselves,  philosophy, the nature of good and evil, poverty, war, writing and much else that pertained to being alive as well as what it meant to be Catholic.  One thing is for sure, none of them really had the answer.  Even Thomas Merton, a Trappist monk who lived the penultimate Catholic life of seclusion and reflection, even he was riddled with the angst which is part and parcel of being alive.

I don't think the 'isms have it.  Perhaps I just am not evolved or disciplined enough to understand what they offer yet it seems as soon as reality is filtered through the prismed opinions of someone else I am lost.  Reality is so immediate.  I sense that even if I don't know it.  It is as close as my next breath and the universe behind my eyelids.

Oh, yes, read a report on how some people have negative reactions to mindfulness meditation.  How interesting as sometimes I have felt, and I think I have written about it, this mild sense of panic, that if I don't open my eyes and move NOW.  It is irresistible.  There is a sort of external pressure which confines and frightens me.  Am glad I'm not alone.  Also glad it doesn't happen all the time.  In future, if I experience it, having read of these bad experiences, I won't fight it or berate myself for being weak-willed and undisciplined. 

Just starting to sprinkle.  Was thinking this morning how we are slowly but inevitably contributing to the desertification of the Lockyer.  Yes, it rains.  Yes, there is the (dwindling) underground aquifer, but with continual land clearing and burning, the continual hoovering up of the underground water supply to irrigate the factory farms, it is turning into a desert.  If I had photos of our drive into town from 1991, when we first moved here, and compared them to now, the changes would be significant.  Little by little, slowly yet inexorably, patches of bush or entire swathes of bush have been cleared or burnt.  It makes a difference.  Having trees, lots of trees, attracts rain.

One hobby farmer down the road removed every tree from his one flat paddock so on the days when the temperatures sore, his cattle have no relief.  It beggars belief.  Doesn't need much in the way of common sense to know that cattle are happier and put on more weight if they are comfortable.  He doesn't need to know, and obviously didn't, that the trees he removed are legumes and fix nitrogen in the soil, all great for growing grass.  Tree prejudice is pervasive. 

But this is an old and battered drum I beat and no one listens because I am living in the wrong place among the wrong people at the wrong time.  Climate change doesn't exist here or if it does it's someone else's problem. 

Going home to the Tweed, and it does feel like going home, just confirms my ardent desire to move there.  Driving from the Tweed Art Gallery towards Stokers Siding or from Nobbys Creek to Cabarita I was struck by the amount of, the colour of and the lushness of trees.  Green filtered light.  How long since I've seen green filtered light?  And I didn't have time to stop and just look at it.  One day....

Edgar update:  He's eating better, seems a little less weak (head not lolling backwards so much) and I don't worry when I open the door in the morning whether he will be dead or not....yet something doesn't seem right with him.  Perhaps the weakness goes deeper than I thought.  Perhaps his screaming when we found him was the last hurrah before he died as it is taking a long time for him to recover.  He grumbles and calls when he's being fed but there is no crying out for food as I would expect.  Magpies that I have raised scream the house down for food.  He sleeps all the time and doesn't move much except to find a corner where he feels more secure and perhaps supported.  So, it's wait and see.  His eyes seem a little more open than previously and I think they will be blue which indicates he is probably a Torresian crow.