Bird Stories

It seems that bird season starts around mid-winter here in Brisbane, Australia.

I have a couple of 2021 posts which detailed my bird adventures, and I'm pretty sure those posts started around June/July last year too.

And so begin the 2022 encounters worries stories. 

I should add that I hummed and hawed about whether to record these or not here at Dodo-land. On the one hand, they're tiny moments in time and place which are usually forgotten by the following day or week. And sometimes they're worth remembering. On the other hand, it feels - I dunno - a bit... morbidly focused on nature-things I can't change? But I think I'd rather remember than not.

The Plovers

The first moment is about a pair of nesting plover birds (not the same as the pair I blogged about last year; we live in a different suburb of Brisbane now). This new local pair had successfully raised 4 chicks last year. I know, because I saw them all thriving and grooving in all their mature-feathered glory shortly after we arrived at the new place. 

Plovers can fly, but for reasons I know nothing about, they nest on open ground. This leaves them vulnerable to all the predators you can think of... with people, cats and dogs at the top of the list. This means they have pretty understandable reasons to be aggressive towards anyone who comes too close, especially during nesting season. 

(Although I have to say, I'm constantly surprised by the number of locals who get aggravated when swooped/cackled/attacked by plovers. Dude, it's not rocket science; they came at you because you blundered too close to their nest. That's it. Everyone knows in Australia to watch out for swooping magpies - there's even a Bluey episode about it. But it seems there's a lack of similar awareness about giving plovers respectful distance). 

This local plover pair had set themselves up in the fenced-in grounds of a local community hall. The hall people had put a series of cones and flags in their grounds. I presume this was to give the plovers and their nest some 2 metres' space. Which, from what little I know about plovers, seems like a pitifully inadequate distance. I mean, I can sometimes hear the plovers' warning cackles when I'm walking Indi down the street some 50 metres away.

At the time of writing, some 3-4 weeks later, the plovers are still there and still acting territorial. But unfortunately, I don't think that first nesting attempt has survived. 

The community hall gets regular people use. There's a scout group with hoards of kids who use the place regularly. And recently it got hired out to people for their Saturday evening gathering. This group parked right up to and around the cone-and-flag markers. I think some of the people also brought their dog with them that night. Close proximity of kids, people, cars and dogs. I think that's pretty much as high as it gets on the plover stress scale. 

If these are similar circumstances to which the plovers had their babies last year, this is mind-boggling to me.

I'll keep my fingers crossed, but I'm going to try not to worry.

The ducks

Recently, I've also seen a pair of ducks who've arrived to take up residence by the nearby creek. (The one which floods if there's half a day of steady rain or more.) The ducks are pretty shy, so I've only seen them once or twice. They're very quick to start moving away when they see my Indi-Girl, so I always try and give them as wide a berth as I can. 

I'm guessing the ducks are also exploring nesting spots. Although the people and dog traffic near the creek is pretty high. Again though, I'm trying to go with a keeping-fingers-crossed-but-not-worry approach.

The pigeons

The pigeons (pidgies) other bird moments are closer to home. 

A few Sunday afternoons ago, we were startled when there was a flurry of bird swoops outside the kitchen sliding door which culminated in a bird smacking into the window and slithering down in the gap between the sliding door and screen door.

The bird sat there, stunned. We realised it was a young (fledgling?) pigeon. It still had the equivalent of its flying L plates. It had been chased by two butcher birds, who were now sitting on the deck railing, waiting to hound it when it flew away.

To make things worse, Indi was right inside the door and she bounded up to the glass trying to get at the poor pigeon, which curled itself into a tight, unmoving ball.

In the kitchen, we sprang into action. I grabbed Indi and hauled her out of sight of the door. LittleOne started to move to the door to tell the pidgy "not to worry, little fella" and then heeded my request not to get too close. Hubs went out onto the deck and by his presence, caused the butcher birds to fly away and (temporarily?) give up their bullying campaign against the young pidgy.

Young Pidgy eventually moved to the deck railing and then the frangipani tree to gather itself. It seemed to be ok.

I've now noticed two or three pigeons regularly coming and perching on the franipani tree outside the kitchen. Especially in the warming early morning sun, after a cold winter night. I'm presuming they're part of the one family.

I'd like to say all's well and ending well etc, but there is the sad addition of another little fledgling pigeon who didn't make through its flying L plates period. I found it in the garden, cold and still, its head still tucked around to the side in that way that birds do when they're sleeping. I looked after it sadly and carefully. 

I hope Young Pidgy will live and long and happy life for the sibling who didn't make it.

So there we go. Finishing on a little bittersweet note. 

I'm not sure if there are going to be more bird stories from here on in. I'd like to dust my hands with great finality and say, "nope, that's it for this year," but I don't know if that's realistic. 

Not for this bird brain, anyway.

Du fond du coeur x

PS., if the bird illustration looks familiar at all, it's because I first used it to illustrate a story in my newsletter.