The Canary Cam

Two babies hatched out June14, and are growing fast! You can visit online at canarycam.com

Starlings are one bird species which is good at stirring up controversy - many people hate them with a passion, and want every single starling in North America killed.

Others think that the very real threat they pose, along with cowbirds and cats, to the indigenous songbird species of the continent should be ignored, or else written off as 'survival of the fittest'.

I have always been surprised at how few seem to know what an excellent pet a starling can make - but this site is more than capable of illustrating this undeniable fact.

From the story of how Stormy first arrived, to the ongoing upbringing of the latest nestling, this site resounds with caring, humour, common sense, and love of life. The sound files of Stormy talking to her family are not to be missed - starlings are excellent mimics, and can talk equally as well, or better than many parrots.

Pet starlings are no longer free to do damage in the wild, and make very good pets - could this be the best of all possible worlds? It's up to you to decide - but no matter what bird species you choose share your life with, this site is one to visit and enjoy, over and over again.

Our next issue is due out July 8th - until then, may you and your birds enjoy all the best of everything!

Robirda
June 24, 2001
Vancouver, BC

Welcome to the Companion Birds eZine

For bird people who care.

Hello! Welcome to the twenty-second issue of Flock Talk - I hope you like what you see! This e-zine is about the joys and trials of keeping or breeding companion birds.Please send any comments, ideas, tips, tricks, stories or feedback to Robirda. If this ezine is helpful to you, please visit www.robirda.com/useful.html

Feature Article

We all know that accidents can happen despite precautions. This story, by Flock Talk reader Pat Peulo, illustrates the importance of keeping your pet hookbill's wings properly clipped. It is also a wonderful reminder that day to day miracles can and do happen - and that occasionally, we may even receive the privilege of witnessing...

by Pat Puelo

It was a balmy spring day in May. The sky was a crisp, clear blue, dotted with a few friendly clouds. I was looking forward to placing all of my plants out on the deck to soak up some much needed sun. I was so absorbed going in and out, putting the plants on the deck, that I did not realize that my lutino ockatiel, Baldy, was still perched on my shoulder.

We had been given Baldy by a friend who raised cockatiels, and he had been with us for over 10 years, a much loved family member.

I was reminded suddenly, when a strong gust of wind swept down and literally picked Baldy up from my shoulder. I watched, horrified, as the gust took him higher and higher into a sky that less than five minutes ago looked so friendly. Now I called desperately, "Baldy, come back!"

My screams were answered by his terrified squeals as the wind took him up, up, until I lost sight of him and could barely hear his cries. I was devastated. "Please, Baldy, come back." Silence. Even the outside birds had stopped singing. I scrambled down to the garage to tell my husband, Norm, who had gone down to put new brakes on the car.

He was as upset as I. After trying to calm down, we tried to formulate a plan to get Baldy back. I couldn't stop crying. We put his cage outside, and near it we put the speakers from our stereo, too and played his favorite cassette tape. The other side of the tape contained his favorite sayings, "Baby, I love you. Do you want to play with me? Hey, Baby, gimme a kiss!", and such. We put the volume as high as it would go, and played it non-stop for over eight hours - it's a wonder the neighbours still talk to us.

One of my friends said, "Pat, call the police and tell them." The police? I didn't want to do that, expecting to hear, "Oh, so you lost your bird, lady? So what?" But in the end, I called, and gave his description.

It was 8:00 pm and starting to get dark. We were beginning to lose hope. I was outside, silently praying. The telephone broke the silence and I jumped. It was the police! They said a woman just called them and reported seeing a white bird in a tree in her yard. They gave us the location, and we were off.

It was more than a mile away, and by now was almost nine o'clock at night, more dark than light out. Could we dare allow ourselves to hope again?

They greeted us, saying "He's up there." It was Baldy! He was perched on the highest bough of a tree more than fourty feet tall. My husband and I called and pleaded. He appeared to see and hear us, but he did not move.

"Birds don't fly at night, I've heard." murmered the wife, and at that my husband jumped in the car and sped home, to return with a halogen floor lamp. He plugged it into the couple's outside electric socket and the yard was totally illuminated. We called. We pleaded. We rang his bell. We whistled and we sang. Four adults and three children whistled the Andy Griffin theme song over and over. Still, he did not move.

Without a word, my husband jumped back into the car. He arrived back with the cassette tape and Baldy's roosting box. Soon the tape was blasting from the car radio, "Baby, I love you. Do you want to play with me? Hey, Baby, gimme a kiss!" Over and over it played. Nothing.

"Please, do you have a ladder?" Norm asked the husband, and added, as an afterthought, "if I fall I promise not to sue you!" The ladder was placed up against the tree. Norm climbed up, roosting box in hand, one rung at a time. He put the box on the end of a broom handle, and stretched it up into the tree and called.

Baldy clearly could see the box, and was interested. The yard was lit up as if it was Christmas, and there was his familiar box. Finally Baldy began to descend. Down, down he climbed, as I felt my heart leaping in my chest and thought how lucky I was to have such a wonderful husband - never once had he criticized me for my carelessness. He'd even tried to make me feel better! I felt truly blessed.

Baldy was still coming down. Closer and closer he climbed. Finally he was only five or six inches from the roosting box (and Norm's grasp) - and suddenly he stopped in his tracks. That was it. Over. No more movement.

Norm called to him with no response. He coaxed and pleaded, to no avail. He cooed, clicked and chirped at him. Still nothing. Suddenly I sensed Norm was planning to step into the tree, onto a long, thick, but dead branch. I screamed, "NO! That branch is ... "

C-R-A-C-K! - a sound I still hear sometimes in my dreams. The branch splintered, and Norm fell. I saw it as if it was slow motion, as he descended the twenty-eight feet to the ground.

I remember praying while Norm was still falling, and looking at the ground he was falling towards. I saw two large rocks; one pointed and one rounded. He landed, still in slow motion, in a pile of newly delivered mulch, rolled, and hit his head on the rounded rock. The sound of my scream startled me.

The family who owned the house had just gone in, but at this they came running out. I yelled, "Call 911!" while running over to him. The tape was still blasting from the car radio, "Hey, Baby, gimme a kiss. I love you!" It all seemed surreal, as if it wasn't really happening.

Norm was bleeding, but said he was okay, trying to stand. The police arrived, then the ambulance, while Baldy watched. We left for the hospital with red lights flashing and sirens wailing. Goodbye Baldy.

At the hospital no one could believe Norm fell so far. He got eight stitches, and was told not to sleep that night, because of concussion. Everybody marveled that there was not one broken bone.

We arrived home, tired and disheartened, at 2 am. While in the bath, Norm called "Turn on the weather channel." When I asked why, he told me, "I want to know what time daybreak is. We are going back for Baldy."

So at daybreak on a quiet Sunday morning there we were - myself, my husband with his bandaged head, the cage, some binoculars, and a bell. We searched the tree for a spot of white, but didn't see him at first.

Suddenly through the binoculars I saw him, barely visible, hunkered down sleeping. We called, quietly, as it was still only 4:50 am. Finally we rang his bell, but Baldy was tired and did not move.

As I stood there praying, along came two noisy blue jays and then suddenly three huge black birds were loudly cawing and circling while the blue jays screamed. Baldy was awake now, alright! We called again. "Baldy, get down here NOW you blankety-blank bird!"

But this time it wasn't needed - at last, Baldy was on the move, climbing down, further and further. It was apparent that he could see and recognize his cage. We scattered some seed on the top, while he watched. He came down to the cable wire. Then it was the gutter of the house. There was finally nothing but a few feet between Baldy and his familiar, secure home, and, hungry, tired, and probably still disoriented, Baldy flew the last few feet and landed on top of his cage.

I showed him his feed cup, and he darted in to eat without the slightest hesitation, seeming to be very glad to be home again. The house's family was up by now, and the wife came out to congratulate us. She was happy we had Baldy back. We thanked her profusely.

Once we reached home, we took the phone off the hook and went to sleep - even Baldy. Sleeping soundly, we were startled to wake to the sounds of 'Pop Goes the Weasel' ringing through our yard. I thought at first that I was hallucinating.

We stepped out onto the deck and looked at each other in surprise, hearing all of the neighborhood's wild birds whistling Baldy's tune. Apparently we'd had the tape playing for long enough the previous day to allow the mocking birds to learn it, and they'd taught it to all the rest!

Listening, we laughed and cried together, knowing that we had indeed been witness to a true homecoming miracle.

by Pat Puelo
copyright © June 2001

Passersby were shocked to see flock members in flight literally dropping dead in mid-air, and reported the problem. "It was like a silent gunner was blasting them from the sky," one said.

The reasons for the deaths was a mystery at first, but pathological tests showed the presence of large amounts of caffeine and theobromine, substances both found in large amounts in chocolate. Ironically, the better the quality of the chocolate, the higher it is liable to be in these substances.

Dr. Victoria Bowes, avian pathologist for the B.C. agriculture ministry, said the chocolate acted like a neuro-toxin on the gulls. "These guys gobbled it." she said.

"Can you help me? I am in Japan on a remote military installation and we have one general vet (very busy one). I have a young canary who has broken his leg - the vet did not consider it an emergency and told me to tie a splint around the leg with a toothpick and string. I tried that but gave up - its physically impossible, the poor thing is so small. (he is only about a month old)."

My answer;

"Hello! See if you can get one of those plastic drinking straws. Cut a piece barely shorter than the stretch of leg which has been broken, then slit it lengthwise and wrap it around the leg, then tie it as securely as you can.

"This will probably be easiest if you can arrange to have someone else carefully hold your little pal for you while you do the leg. If you are not comfortable holding your canary safely, you can check the pictures here.

"Before wrapping the leg, try to make sure it is straight, so that it will heal correctly. Feel gently along the bone and if the break is not in alignment, hold the leg just above the break and pull gently below it until it is aligned, then proceed to bind it with the split straw.

"Usually this works quite nicely, although your bird will not be too impressed with you, I am afraid - it will probably hurt quite a bit! But once you have it bound up and set so that it can start to heal, he should forgive you - canaries are remarkably intelligent little things!