Show for the birds of all shapes and sizes

Mike Street's favourite, the pink and grey Aussie galah. PICTURE / MIKE STREET

MIKE. My focus this week is on matters avian, mainly because I was recently reminded that Saturday, March 7, is when the annual Whanganui Bird Society sale takes place in the Mathieson Street Hall. Last year I thoroughly enjoyed my visit, squeezing my way through the crowd, some buying, some selling, others looking. Birds of various shapes, sizes and colours , sitting quietly in their cages, curiously watching the throng pushing past. It's a real treat, an occasion not to be missed, if you're a fan of our feathered friends.

Joan and I derive a great deal of pleasure from the birds which visit our back lawn on a daily basis to snatch up the bread, seed or other tit-bits thrown out for them. There are none of the spectacular colours of the aviary, of course, but their antics are both funny and endearing. Mainly sparrows, a few blackbirds and thrushes, with the odd representative of other species — strutting mynahs, startled starlings, fluttering fantails, delicate wax-eyes. Food for the soul. Watching the routine of mothers and their demanding babies is hilarious. Ma goes off to forage, baby waits impatiently, chirping loudly, ma returns with some goodies and, as she pops them in, the chick's body vibrates, fluttering its wings rapidly in hedonistic anticipation of the gourmet meal. As well as a bird bath, we keep a couple of plant pots topped up with water, and never cease to wonder at the scrupulous cleansing techniques of the visiting bathers, as they sprinkle water all around the area.

As for the aviary…! I really enjoy my weekend sessions there, deriving genuine satisfaction from the mundane tasks of cleaning up the previous day's rubbish and hosing down all tiles, concrete paths and wooden railings. The latter is particularly important, as visitors often lean on the rails . Hands or clothes covered in guano does not leave a good impression, only a smell! People regularly ask how often this is done, expressing surprise when I say it's every single day of the year. When you consider the number of birds in residence, very few of which have even the remotest idea of how and where to dispose of their waste, it is easy to understand the need for a daily refresh. (There's a fortune awaiting the person who can invent a method of toilet training for birds!)

Feeding out brings both its rewards and risks. The former are in evidence when fruit, bread or veges are put out on the branches in the enclosure. Within a few seconds, birds settle on their favourite item, and you can soon see a colourful string of a dozen or more of them pecking away contentedly. I always forget to take my camera! Next time. As for the risk element, I need only say the two words — cockatoo cage! They are malevolent blighters, whose beady eyes light up with glee at the possibility of a tasty bit/bite of flesh! They may be sitting quietly as I pass, then make a quick grab with a beak. After two unpleasant bites, I've learnt to keep away from the wire, perches and logs, thus minimising the space for bodily manoeuvres. They still try to lull me into a false sense of security with a raucous "Hello!" or "Polly wants a cracker!" (Recently I'm sure the latter has sounded like "finger"!)

Luckily, none of the other inhabitants pose a threat to my safety. The guinea fowl are just the opposite. No matter that they are fed daily, and should be used to a human presence, they still scuttle off, cackling quaintly, if I get too near. The numerous doves, on the other hand, are relaxed and laid back. Multi-coloured varieties of parrots, especially lovebirds, look on curiously as their food is delivered, then attack it with gusto. There are two glassed cages near the lower entrance. One contains a few tiny, delicate finches, which perch on nesting boxes or branches, as I prepare their abode. They eat so little. In the other, four lorikeets, proudly displaying their team colours of vivid red, blue, green and yellow, greet me boldly when I enter their domain. Being the only birds who do not eat seed, their major treat is a daily dish of porridge, a fine oatmeal mixed with water. They love it, often trying to dip their beaks in before I have put the dish down. People sometimes ask why there are blackbirds in the aviary. Well, if you can get a good food supply, in ease and safety, wouldn't you try to sneak in?

The piece de resistance, of course, and my personal favourite, is the glorious galah. She is such a lovely, social lady, bobbing her head up and down while I stroke her neck as she clings to the wire of the entrance gate. Some mornings, as I walk through from the shed, I will feel a "thwack" as she lands on my shoulder. That's what happened on Saturday when I went to take her photo. I continue to the wire, where she graciously dislodges herself from me, in preparation for a little affection. When I clean the grain hopper, she will land on the lid, waiting to walk on to my arm. She tentatively puts out a claw, then edges up on to my shoulder. At times she will swoop down to me from a high wire, or fly the length of the aviary when I call her . Occasionally she will utter a strangled squawk, sounding vaguely like "Hello!", though lacking the clarity of her sulphur-crested colleagues. She gives me so much pleasure.

Birds are such lovely creatures. Yet I must admit that, as a young lad, I was a collector of eggs, like many of my mates. I would look for nests, then take an egg, if there was more than one there. I never left a nest bare, nor would I have dreamed of "ragging" it, as some did — pulling it to pieces. Why would you want to do that? Even then I could never understand the mentality behind such an action. My own logic was that, as long as the mother had at least one egg left to sit on, that was alright. Gaining an approach to a nest could involve pushing your arm through branches armed with thorns, a venture I steered clear of, preferring more accessible targets, with less menacing defences. There was an additional reason beyond my natural caution. Each Monday morning during the nesting season, Joe Flowers, senior master at Mapplewell Junior Mixed, would line up all the boys in his class, at the front. They were required to roll up the sleeves of their shirts and jumpers, thus exposing bare arms. With an eagle eye (very apt!) Joe would stalk along the line, examining the arms for scratches, a sure sign of an injury from a thorn-protected nest. I'm not sure whether Joe really was a bird lover, or simply a man who enjoyed wielding power, but any guilty party would receive two mighty strokes from Joe's cane, one per hand. Let me state that, being sensible and careful, I never felt the wrath of that cane.
Don't forget the bird show on March 7.

Comments and suggestions to mjstreet@xtra.co.nz