Thursday, 16 September 2021, was apparently #PloverAppreciationDay. And never have I appreciated a day or an animal more.
Plovers are lovely, long-legged Australian birds which can fly, but which choose to nest on the ground. During August and September, a certain plover family have been a regular backdrop in our daily lives, and I may have become midly obsessed with them. Here's how (and why).
In mid-August, while taking my LittleOne and Indi-girl for our usual evening walk, we walked past the nearby primary school grounds, which includes a lovely green oval. Some people use the oval to play cricket or football with their kids, or go jogging, or walk their dogs - the usual sorts of things people use big green spaces for. As we walked past the oval, I realised there were two plover on the oval cackling their warning cries. We weren't close to them and in fact, Indi was far away enough to have not even registered their presence, so I couldn't understand why they would be cackling warnings. Then, as I squinted and stared, I realised they had three tiny little babies with them!
I was awed and baffled to realise there were babies. Ok, so the oval is fenced in, which makes it a good place to avoid some basic predators. But, plovers, why make a nest here?? It's a high-people-traffic area!
As soon as I registered the babies, we resumed walking and the plover parents calmed down right away. Then, to my dismay, I saw another regular dog walker whom I know by sight (enough to wave or call hello but never chat) had just taken her little dog into the oval. I hurried over and from outside the oval, waved her down. Luckily, Indi picked up on my energy and didn't try and bark furiously at the woman, as is her usual wont. I hurriedly told the woman about the plover family. The woman replied promptly that her dog never reacts to birds even when he gets swooped. "Oh," I said faintly, wondering how to spell out that it's not only the dog not reacting, it's also about how the dog's very presence can be a stressor to the plover babies and parents. "I'm very pro-nature," the woman continued, and proceeded to tell me all about baby birds that fell out of trees last year, that she wanted to help, but you can't help all of them. She then told me how impressed she was with Indi sitting there quietly, seemingly oblivious to the unfriendly look on Indi's face. I recovered my voice enough to reply that Indi is very protective of her family and unfriendly to strangers. The woman said it was a good thing, then resumed her walk with her dog. Unleashed. Inside the oval. As the plover parents cackled angrily. I watched her helplessly. At least, I clutched at straws to myself, she was sticking to the side of the oval while the plovers were in the middle.
After that, we looked for the plovers everyday that we walked past there. And I quickly realised there were not three, but four plover babies!
Then, a week later on a Monday evening, we did a very late walk. I got home from work late and it was 5.30pm, nearly dark, and there was an icy wind cutting through. We came past the oval and the plover was cackling in huge distress. As we came into view, I saw two children in the middle of the oval. As the girl watched, the boy was holding a stick that he was actively swinging at the plover as it swooped them. The other plover parent had retreated with their young to the bottom of the oval.
I couldn't believe my eyes. I'm the most non-confrontational person in the world and can't find words easily at the best of times. But I stood at the edge of the oval and yelled with all my might. "What are you doing? Leave the bird alone. It's defending its family. Get away from there and leave the birds alone." The boy made 2 or 3 more swings and I got my phone out. Then he stopped and they started to saunter away. The boy threw the stick on the oval as he walked.
I stayed where I was and called the Queensland equivalent of the native animal rescue service. I was desperately worried the kids would return to harass the plovers again if I left. As my poor LittleOne in the pram was asking what had happened while the icy wind cut through to us and the dusk folded into darkness, I spoke to the rescue volunteer and explained what had happened. The chap said they wouldn't get involved in that side of things, but confirmed I was allowed to use the emergency line to report the incident to the police.
As I spoke to him, the kids rode their bikes around the tennis/basketball court attached to the school for a while and then rode past us on the side of the street. As they rode by, I raised my voice and described them. "Two kids, on bikes, dark raincoats," letting the kids know I was talking about them. Once he was a bit away, the boy turned his head back to call something rude. They disappeared into the darkness. I didn't resort to bad language, which under the circumstances, I think, showed good restraint.
I was still worried they would return. That they would do that to the plovers, in the middle of a school oval, which had houses on two of its three sides, and where anyone could see them, showed either a thoughtlessness or a brazenness I found troubling. I called the police emergency line and reported the incident. They took it seriously and noted all my details. They said a squad car might get dispatched if one was available. LittleOne kept asking me what were the kids doing and I had to say that they were being baddies trying to hurt the plovers and I was telling them to stop.
It was all I could do. It had gone dark. I needed to get my LittleOne and Indi home and warmed up and fed.
Before I went to sleep that night, I drafted an email to the school principal. I wasn't sure it would be of any use, but I had to do something. I didn't sleep well that night. My brain kept replaying the horror scenario of the plover parent being hit by that kid's stick and dying a slow, horrible death, and the other parent then needing to try and look after and feed four babies on its own, unable to leave the oval to get sleep or feed itself properly, and then my heart would break at my self-inflicted imaginary scenario and no amount of telling myself the plover family was ok, was reassuring enough.
The next morning, I re-read, edited my letter to the school principal to hopefully sound a bit less like a Crazy Plover Lady, hit send and then paced around the kitchen nervously. Finally I couldn't bear it, and at 7am, I snuck out of the house before anyone else was awake and raced around to the school - a mere 3 minute run, she says, puffing badly out of breath. It was to my utter joy and relief that I saw one plover parent and four happily-grooving babies in the early-morning sun. They were safe! They'd survived the night. The kidsbaddies hadn't returned. I would've preferred to see both plover parents, but right then and there - that the family was safe, was enough.
The school principal called me that same morning and after a brief phone tag, she told me she had still been in her office at the time of the incident. She told me I could go to her office if there were any future incidents - which was a relief. She also said she'd seen one boy in the school grounds after hours and suspected who the culprit was. She noted there were problems at home with this kid, but also that she'd seen the same kid showing younger kids the plovers and telling the younger kids they had to be careful and look after the wildlife... which didn't quite make sense that the kid would then turn around and try and deliberately harm the plovers. But I suppose kids/people/life can be complicated and contradictory, and long story short, the principal said she would have a word with the boy she suspected.
It was a very reassuring chat - as much because I knew the principal appreciated where I was coming from in terms of protecting nature. There are curlew birds on the school grounds too, and the principal felt equally strongly about protecting the curlews too. So I felt much better about the welfare of the plovers after that. It was easier to breathe knowing there was unlikely to be anyone trying to deliberately hurt the plover family again.
A couple of weeks later, while walking LittleOne and Indi again up to the school oval, I was dismayed to hear the angry plover cackles again. The kind of angry cries which indicate a human in their midst. We reached the oval - and it was none other than the other dog-walking lady (the one whose dog didn't react to being swooped and who was pro-nature). She had led her dog right up the middle of the oval barging through where the plover family were roaming and eating and scattering the plover family. I aaarghed to myself! The woman waved at me and I lifted my hand in half-hearted response, thinking that, oh god, now I was going to have to confront an adult and spell out the carelessness of her behaviour. Some people don't like being told what to do and will brattishly keep on doing it after they've been asked not to, just to make a point. But to my neverending relief, I saw someone emerge from the school building and engage the pro-nature lady in a long chat. I realised that it was school principal, who had heard the plover cackles and this time, had come out to investigate. I've not seen the pro-nature lady in the school grounds since.
I've seen other people with dogs in the oval, but they usually, mostly stick to the lower end of the oval and they keep their dogs leashed, so I've not felt the need to go be a Crazy Plover Lady at them. It's funny, because, a mere 200metres further up the road is a park! With an off-leash area and green spaces for playing. But the park energy is definitely more dingy... is the best word, I suppose. I regularly walk Indi and LittleOne along the park path, but it's not the sort of place where I would want to be without Indi.
The other thing to add is that I did see the kidsbaddies again. In the school oval, on a weekend. The boy was climbing a tree near the edge as the girl stood and watched. They were leaving the plovers alone. But I didn't know what they were planning. So I stood with Indi at a close enough distance and scowled at them until the boy climbed down and they walked away. The boy - well on his way to a surly teenage 'don't-care' attitude - scowled at me and said "what?!" I didn't want to mention the plovers again, lest it make the family a target of the kids' aimless energy/anger. But I was still angry, and I snorted in reply and told them that I knew who they were and so did the school principal. They kept sauntering away. The girl yelled back that 'we weren't doing anything wrong'. Truthfully this time, they weren't doing anything wrong - not at that moment anyway. But I retorted that they weren't meant to be on school grounds and they knew it. The boy yelled something rude back and flipped me the bird. But I did feel bad that, if there are issues at home, and messing around in school grounds is your best alternative for wasting time, to have chased them away from that. But then again, the boy had tried to attack the plover family, and I've got no reason to know he won't try and do it again. However, I decided that, if I see them again and they're on school grounds but leaving the plovers be, I'll leave them be. We can give each other mutually-hostile, truculent looks in greeting and leave it at that.
It's been a bit stressful worrying about the plover family so much. I still cringe every time I hear the plovers cackle furiously in the distance, including at night. I'm afraid I've rather infected LittleOne with my plover obsession, because on hearing plover cackles in the distance, LittleOne now also perks up ears and says "oh no, that's the plovers. Are they ok?" I'm not sure this level of worry is a good thing, but am hopeful the basic lesson of respect and caring and love for nature is the overriding one that will remain.
Yesterday, there was such a spate of angry plover cackles that LittleOne and I looked at each other and we ran out of the house to go and check on the birds at the school oval (it took more than 3 minutes carrying LittleOne this time!). We were relieved to see the plover family - one parent and all four children - absolutely fine and grooving on the oval. I'm not sure which plover was doing all the cranky cackles or why, but the children were fine.
And now, as I'm typing this, it's 7am on a Sunday morning and there's another spate of angry plover calls - but they're not coming from the direction of the school oval, so I can only guess that it's from another plover family with babies.
But, so far, every reunion with our school oval plover family has shown all four babies growing fast and happy, and wandering around the oval further and further away from their parents.
Now in mid-September, the babies have lost their baby feathers and are looking like miniature, three-quarter-sized versions of their parents. I'm hoping they're well able to fly and look after themselves properly and be as safe as they can.
And of course, as I've finally finished writing up this post, we didn't see the plovers at all yesterday. As always, I've got that little disquiet of worry, but mainly holding the hope that they're ready to fly the nest and oval, and explore the big, tasty, beautiful world and avoid all the big, blundering humans in it.
Lots of plover-love to you, School-Oval Plover Family, and wishing you all long lives and safe travels.
Du fond du coeur x
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