Bird Terror

At one stage when I was growing up we had a pet budgie.  We were terrified of him.  He was a biter.  A stray finger in his cage or even the most gently offered out hand would result in a sharp, stinging nip.  We’d let him out of his cage to fly around the back of the house, our hands folded up carefully within stretched out jumper sleeves.    He’d fly around in a bit of a rush then come to a sit still on your shoulder, where he was in prime position to terrorise you.  It was a strange sensation, having this small, vulnerable body perched next to your head, and feeling the closeness of his little skull next to your own, almost sensing his feathery little cheeks near your skin, and the quick, clawing sensation of his movements.  At any moment he might land a sudden nip to your earlobe. We never had any idea how we were going to get him back in his cage.   I’m still amused to remember the particular look on my dad’s face in a panic with the bird on his shoulder, eyes squinting and features contorted, he kept yelling at us to, “Get him off!  Get him off!”  And of course the rest of us were too scared to come to his aide. 

Viv Miller

A Feathered Tale

Pete and I shared a unique bond.  It began when we both arrived at my very first home on the same day.   Pete, a living feathered gift whom my grandfather had adopted from an ailing friend, crossed the threshold just minutes before I did.  After being born five days earlier, my parents had returned with me, a precious bundle and the final addition to their family of five.  I am told that between Pete and me, we made quite a rumpus.

Hatched a sulphur crested cockatoo, Pete resided in a large, shiny silver cage that hung from the edge of the veranda and overlooked my proud father’s veggie garden.  Amidst the years of watching my father tend that garden each season, from the planting of seeds and seedlings, to the reaping of organic vegetables that made their way keenly to our kitchen and those kitchens of my aunts and grandmother, Pete was firmly immersed within Greek orthodox culture.  Pete had been present at garden weddings at our home, had witnessed the danced ushering in of many New Years with copious amounts of cousins and second cousins, overheard the hunger dramas that went with enduring Lent before Easter, and had even become accustomed to the smell of cigar smoke as it wafted from the living room where my father and uncles played cards with windows open in the summer.  This was Pete’s familial Greek background.

For me, however, Pete embodied the unassuming role of listening friend.  Growing up, I had taken a seat on the white, wrought iron bench beside his cage out the back and chatted to him about how my days had been filled.  He’d heard a lot.  He’d listened as I perfected my three times tables, sat perched as I whined about my big sisters teasing me, and bopped his head as I taught myself song lyrics to the Top 40 hits.  He seemed to digest it all.  Occasionally he’d choose a word from my anecdotes or lamentations and practice it awhile, in typical cockatoo accent that would of course, always leave me giggling.  I found both humour and solace in the way Pete reflected my trivialities of life in Cockatoo.

As one can imagine, Pete learned to imitate the Greek language heard incessantly around the house.  In actual fact he was multi-lingual.  He’d picked up bits of pidgin English communicated between my middle aged parents and me, as well words in standard English, a language I had endeavoured to master in order to blend in as a first generation Australian of Greek heritage at a predominantly Anglo Saxon school.

My relationship with Pete had lasted through childhood and into adolescence.  For me it was a lifetime.  On the morning that Pete didn’t greet me with one of his rhetorical questions, I knew something was wrong.  As I walked slowly toward his cage and saw an empty branch on my approach, I knew I’d missed goodbye.  Laying face-up, Pete’s pure, white plumage cushioned him on the base of his cage.  His eyes were dark and his once iridescent, yellow crest, appeared a shade or two lighter to me.  At fifteen years of age, I raised a hand to my face and wiped away tears that flowed freely.  My mother stood at the door with a pressed, cream tablecloth held over her arm, ready to take him away.

Pete will always be remembered as our loyal, family pet cockatoo that spoke Greek.

Nerina Dunt

No script, just verbs, short ones

Carmel Williams

Parkholme SA

The Birds in our Garden

Matilda Redshaw
Aged 3
Glengowrie

Feather

Anonymous
Posted into Nest Box at SA Museum, April 2011

Putting the pigeon amongst the cats

Several years ago, while living in Prospect, one of our cats caught a young pigeon, a squab really, probably out for its first flight. The pigeon was in shock, instinctively lying limp, but undamaged apart from some lacerations. I rescued the bird and secured it in an old wire poultry basked and hung it from the studio rafters to see if it might recover. I kept an eye on the bird and provided water and some crushed grain. A few days passed and I realised it was paying close attention to my comings and goings. I thought it time to test the bird's flight within the studio space. It seemed well enough repaired and I decided on making its big release.

I took the bird to a clear piece of yard and attempted to throw it in the air. There was much flapping of wings but the feet clung fast to my fingers. I held the bird with my palms around the wing, and fingers fre,e threw again, but the flight lasted five seconds with the bird flying straight back to my body. I placed it on a tree branch, moved away, and it flew straight back to me. The pigeon wasn't leaving. I suddenly realised that I had become the parent. I had been imprinted on the bird's brain. I also realised that this pigeon had also been imprinted on me. There was a growing emotional tug, a little niggle of concern whenever I was not in the studio. As a parent I now had responsibilities towards this new dependent.

If this pigeon was not going to leave me, my first responsibility was to teach it how to coexist with cats for the cats had not given up a keen interest in retrieving what they saw as their bird. I also had to teach it to forage for food, where to roost and how to wash. Later I also became concerned that there was a lot of flapping but not much flight. There were intergrated lessons that involved broadcasting grain in the garden beds, watching until the cats began their pounce then leaping in to scare both predator and prey, then guiding the bird to a safe roost.

My children were envious of my relationship with the bird and annoyed that it would always choose to fly to me. The flights became longer between perch and hand or head or shoulder. Eventually I would leave the pigeon, now called Pidgey-didge, on a tree branch in the morning, go to work and be greeted at the end of the day with a flight from the perch to my hand. I would often have to fight off the urge to return home during the day as the emotional tug of parenthood exerted its pull. I even speculated it was the bird telepathically calling me....in the same way that budgies can let you know when they are hungry. You have the thought, you check the bowl and, sure enough, it's empty. I believe we totally underestimate the power of the bird brain.

This pattern went on for a couple of weeks. Progressively the whereabouts of the pigeon became less certain when I arrived home. Sometimes it was not there at all but would flap in when I called. One day, standing in the original release site, I was watching him do a fly over on a path that encountered another bird. He suddenly dropped into a tumble, pulled out and flew on in a criss-cross ascent. My heart leaped as I realised Pidgey-didge had finally got this thing he had been flapping away at. He was now enjoying flight.

Several weeks on and Pidge is now an adolescent. He was flying around most of the day, even away most of the day and sometimes overnight. Eventually a week would go by before he would return as if nothing was changed.

One day he was gone and didn't return....not until a year later. He was waiting when I came home from work. He flew down to me then flew back up to a roost on the verandah. He was not alone. He had returned with a mate. I was introduced and they hung around for a couple of days. I made a nesting box....but I missed the point. This was thanks and goodbye.

David Kerr
Prospect

Sore Knee

A bird lived in the tree and he fell off and hurt his knee

Annabelle Martin
3 yrs
Brighton

Painted Pairs

I am currently painting pairs of birds which visit my creek and garden in Nairne, SA.
I've 2 galahs
2 blackbirds which nested in my pot plant at the front door!
2 waterhens which are incredibly shy and move under the blackberries on the banks of the creek
2 yellow crested cockatoos
currently working on 2 rosellas in Australian gums (E. Ficifolia)
Can't stand caged birds!
Hope to promote stamping out keeping birds in cages and allow them to be FREE!

Rose Wallington
SA

Play-Acting Magpies

It was a hot and dry day in February and I was waiting in a bus stop in Hazelwook Park. In an empty plot nearby, I was attracted to a commotion made by Magpies. One of them was gasping, lying on its back....and a few more around were cackling away. Assuming I might be able to help the Magpie in distress, I pulled out my drink bottle and approached it - at which the noisy magpies surrounding the magpie in distress flew away to nearby branches, still cackling all the way. When I was almost there, ready to pour some water into its mouth, the magpie in distress cooly stood up and flew away...!, leaving me wondeing what that "act" put on by the Magpies was supposed to mean?!?!

Anonymous
Tranmere

A really weird experience

 A couple of weeks ago at about 2 p.m. a woman called me to pick up a little possum which she found in the morning. When I drove along the gravel road I recognized a Galah sitting near the edge of the street and when I approached the bird it didn't flew away. So I stopped to have a look whether it might have been injured. The little fellow adjourned to the bushes where I discovered a second Galah. After the first bird presented his companion to me it flew away! The second bird was very weak and easy to catch. So I drove home with two creatures: an approximately 8 weeks old pinky possum and a starving cockatoo weighing only 184 g.

 

Fauna Rescue Member Elke

Mountain Fly

I was feed two birds. They born baby. But I didn't know that they has baby. So I didn't give them black cover. So they born and eat it. I'm afraid that!! and they think taste good. They born and eat it continuously. I feel scared, when I go to mountain, I let them fly.

Mina Kim
Adelaide

The Taxidermist

He likes his wildlife
stuffed and mantled
Glory seconds
like frozen food

He deconstructs the world
works alone in used parts
faint smell of dead things
even in the deep freeze,
it's unmistakable

When he's done crying
he resurrects
only what you see
even to the flick of head feathers
the glint in an eagle's eye

They will never move again
never feel the rush of air
under wing, scent of a mate
the manic verb hunger

Slow, patient, quill by quill
He is a lover of silk
the mathematics of form
a reader of articulations

The evidence of his art
proud clean birds
perfect eyes and stance
I feel him

up under my skin
with Plaster-of-Paris fingers
He sweats through my pores
quick eyes searcn.

His mind asks
how to freeze that flawless
rhythm of biology
the colour of lived chemistry

I came here to learn about form
nine flight feathers
five secondary feathers
four types of wings-

but find motive more
compelling.
What it is to gut
the object of one's affection.

Carmel Williams 2006
Parkholme

Rita Hall

The Paintings of Rita Hall

Rita Hall

Blue Bird - Skins

Oil on canvas,  85 x 92cm. 2009

http://www.ritahallstudio.com.au/

The following is an extract from the catalogue essay of exhibition, "Rita Hall. Museum Studies 1969-2009' held at the South Australian Museum in June 2009.
".......This study was not ornithological nor scientific but artistic. My interest, as usual, was in their forms, the shadows they created, their colours, textures and shapes. It became my constant project to find a way to make art out of these very real objects. The notion of making paintings out of birds which pretended to be alive seemed absurd in the presence of so much complexity and beauty, and in the way they were presented as skins.
I had no wish to add anything to the bird skins, but simply present them in an honest way, as they had appeared directly to me. The liberties I did take were to arrange then into compositions, either singularly or in groups, to provide opportunities for formal art making structures. I reasoned that the skins, like many other objects in the museum, already carried their own meanings, their relevance for scientific study and their own histories. They seemed a perfect metaphor for the ecological issues of the contemporary world and had no need for embellishment with artistic symbols or devices. I wanted the graphic impact of the real just as the earlier etchings had been."

Stupid Bird

This is a song my kids, Zaine (11) and Cinnamon (3 ¾), and I wrote about a bird that almost crashed into the car window. I said ‘O that poor bird’, and Cinny said, ‘No Dad, that’s a stupid bird’. Here’s the song, to which they both contributed lyrics. It’s sung in a late 60s Stones’ vibe:

It was a stupid bird

Flyin’ in the sky

It flapped its wings

An’ it tried t’ fly

It snapped its beak

But it could not speak

It was a stupid bird

Stupid bird

Stupid bird

Stupid bird

There was a stupid bird

Laid an egg

Said, ‘man what’s this thing doin’

In my bed?’

It was a stupid bird

Stupid bird

Stupid bird

Stupid bird

Andrew Herpich, with kids, Zaine (11) and Cinnamon (3 ¾)

Lovebirds

While we were 10,000 miles apart and waiting, waiting, for the visa which may never come, he sketched out our dream life. We would live by the beach, there would be laughter and two lovebirds. It was corny but cute. At last, the visa came through, I flew to Australia, to my freedom. The beach house was rented and the birds collected.

We let them fly free in the house, no, free wasn’t right.  They belonged in nature, not in a cage, not in a lounge room. We knew this.

We bought a house, the first house either of us would really truly own. He kept asking was it right for me, to be 10,000 miles away and setting down roots in foreign soil. Yes, I said, the homesickness has gone, this is my home now.

I chose the house. He never liked it: the energy, the décor, the yard, the neighbours. He didn’t like the area either, too far from the beach. I said it had everything we wanted, he had to imagine it finished, we could never get such a big house on the beach, the suburb was a sleeping giant.

On the day we moved in, our lovebirds escaped, wriggling out from their impenetrable fortress. I was so happy they had their freedom, happy but jealous. He said they stood no chance against the local sparrowhawk. I said you had to dream.

I also feared it was an omen and so it seemed when our house was burgled, then vandalised; things started to break and break down. And there I was caged in the stupid house.

Then, in winter, we painted the house, covering the negative vibes. We lit fires and drank red wine. He planted a rose garden which bloomed.

And one day it happened: we spotted them above, flying for all their little lives were worth. They had freedom and at last so did we.

By Anonymous

Flocks

I think birds should live together in flocks. We should not hunt birds like we do now.
Claudia Westlake
Elizabeth Downs

One bird and three eggs

Once upon a time there was a bird and it flew just like a paper plane into a bird hole and after some time she layed an egg and two other eggs and then there was four bids.
Grace Angley
Age 6
Adelaide

Feathers

My name is Alister. I like picking up bird feathers and giving them as gifts to my Mummy. I like to collect very bright feathers and we try and guess which bird they belong to. I also like to chase birds. Even though I get told off I still try and catch them. Mummy says it's my caveman instinct to hunt. If I find a feather that is yucky I chase my big sister with it.
Alister Fitzgerald
Age 4
Tea Tree Gully

Birds my fascination

Since I was a child
my fascination persists
watching, observing, enjoying
I love birds of all kinds
gentle ones, colourful
martial ones, hunters
all are caring creatures of the universe.
The magic craftmen of nests
perfect builders of dwellings
sophisticated fortresses

birds in my garden
lighting up my life
fascination holds me
to see them in line
flying above
and down in my roof
doves all making love
I am sad only
because their endangeredhabitat
the bird needs their trees
they need their space
I draw them with love
trying to catch a flight.

Anonymous
Age 74
Plympton Park

Wondrous Birds

Over the last few weeks I have been watching my 14 month old son discover birds in our backyard.  They're birds that I wouldn't normally consider very exciting - pigeons and magpies - but to him, they are a wonderous sight.  On some occassions he stands in wonder, face towards the sky, watching them fly high above his head.  Other times he stands, giggling, arm outstretched, with his little finger jabbing and pointing at the sky.  But my favourite moments are when he turns to me, "Mum, Mum", with a huge smile on his face, eyes gleaming, wanting me to share in this moment of joy and discovery in his life.
Megan Waters