ISSN 1492-8132
Issue Number 50,
Copyright © 2002
All rights reserved,
No reprints without permission

Keep your eyes peeled for our next ebook, due out sometime within the next few weeks. 'Living With Your Parrot' features Wilhelm Keisselbach's wonderful parrot articles from past issues of Flock Talk, together with all-new material and some great photos and illustrations. To check out the ebooks now available click here.

Avian Insect Liquidator is so safe it can be sprayed directly on newly hatched chicks, and yet so effective a single treatment normally eliminates mites in the indoor birdroom. Due to its non-hydrocarbon base A.I.L. will not damage sensitive tissue like eyes.

A.I.L. gives three way protection for all avian species. When used directly on the bird, it penetrates deep into feathers to kill mites and lice. When sprayed around the environment it kills insects on contact, and finally, the residual action guards against reinfestation for up to six weeks.

It also kills ants on contact and prevents them from crossing the area sprayed. Use it on all your outdoor feeding trays for the wild birds, too!

For more info visit www.birds2grow.com

Our next issue is due Aug 4th - until then, may you and your birds enjoy all the best of everything!

Robirda
July 21, 2002

Welcome to Robirda's Companion Birds eZine

For breeder or pet bird owners who care.

Feature Article

Sometimes its the smallest things that wind up making the biggest differences in your life. Although I have taken care of birds of all sorts and sizes over the years, it always seems to be the smallest who wriggle their way deepest into my heart. This is most certainly the case with a pair of tiny, tame, hand-raised society finches who came into my life over 9 years ago now. I call their story...

by R C McDonald
Vancouver, BC, Canada
Copyright © July 2002

It was a windy, wild, wet fall day, and I was very glad to shut the door behind me. It had been a long day at work, and I was looking forward to a nice hot cup of tea while relaxing in my birdroom. But this day it was not to be. The phone was ringing, and I quickly darted over and picked it up.

"Oh, thank heaven you're there!" I heard, "I haven't a clue what to do, their mother's dead, and I can't just let them die!"

It was my friend Suzy, and she was in a state. I'd met Suzy shortly after she acquired her first canaries. She kept and raised cockatiels, and had recently gotten some waxbills, but had not a clue what canaries required. While looking around for information, she'd found me.

That had been several years earlier. With my help she had brought her flock of rescue canaries back to health, and had decided that since she enjoyed her canaries far more than she'd expected to, she simply had to breed them.

Cages were bought, and she had gotten several more canaries from me, making small payments every week, since she couldn't afford to pay for them all at once. Then the hammer fell - her husband abandoned her and their four sons.

She called and tearfully explained that although she still wanted the birds, she could not keep them, as she could no longer afford to make the payments. I told her to keep them and to forget about the payments, the birds were a gift. But her Scots pride was up, and she insisted that sooner or later, she would pay me back, although I repeatedly told her not to worry about it.

Today had been entirely unexpected. She had two pairs of society finches that she'd planned to use as foster parents for her waxbills, but had found them so endearing that she had allowed them to raise their own babies, too.

The older pair had hatched out two fine chicks a week or so prior, and had shown no signs of any illness - yet Suzy had come home to find that the hen had died sometime during the day. She was found, stone cold, still faithfully sitting on her youngsters.

The male society was distraught at losing his mate, and did not continue feeding the babies once his dead mate was removed. Although Suzy regularly hand-fed her young 'tiels, she was unsure what to do with these two tiny babies, and so called me for help.

In the end she did very well with them. Whenever her own experience did not tell her what to do, she phoned me, and I coached her through what had to be done.

Tiny as they are, society finches (more properly known as Bengalese finches) are rather tough little birds - it has always amazed me, what conditions these little birds are capable of surviving and thriving in. They are far more adaptable than many other small finches, and far less needy about the specifics in their environment and food.

Hand-feeding babies doesn't really change all that much, either, no matter what the size of the baby is. The biggest changes, depending on the size of the baby being fed, are the tool used for feeding, and the timing of when the feedings are administered - the smaller the birds, the more often they tend to need feeding.

Suzy had only one incubator, and it was currently occupied by a group of baby 'tiels, in a basket at one end. Suzy simply plopped a canary nest containing the two young society finches at the other end. The syringe she used to feed the 'tiels was too big, so she experimented with several methods, and settled on using a small silver baby spoon, with the sides bent up to make a partial 'funnel'.

Almost every day, I received a call, either to hear updates on how they were thriving and growing, or to be asked for thoughts and ideas on what would be a good solution for the latest quandary. Although I did none of the work of raising them, I spent so much time thinking about the health of these two little tykes, that I almost felt like a parent myself!

As they grew, the babies 'migrated' together, until Suzy would open the incubator to find her young 'tiels and the baby finches all sleeping together in a little heap. Often all that could be seen of the finches was their tails, poking out near the bottom of the pile. They all helped teach each other about eating on their own, and none seemed to mind the size difference - as far as they were concerned, they were all members of the same family.

Then another accident occurred. We're not sure how it happened, but one of the young societies somehow managed to damage her beak - perhaps one of the young 'tiels accidentally stepped on her face. However it happened, the result was a large crack in her beak, running down the center of one side.

This delayed her weaning, as it prevented her from being able to crack dry seed until it had healed, but it did eventually heal over almost completely, leaving a vertical groove down the center of one side of her beak.

As it turned out, both finches were hens, and as they fledged and grew more independant, they began to get into everything. They loved to sit on shoulders and play with hair, or poke at necks.

Even better was sharing dinner with their humans - they would gleefully wade into the middle of a plate and 'steal' the mouthful they had their eyes on, then drag it off to their own area on a corner of the plate, and chow down. One of their most favourite activities was also quite dangerous, but Suzy was unable to break them of this habit - they absolutely adored wandering about the floor, pecking at the (invisible) goodies laying about.

This habit terrified Suzy no end, but try as she might, she could not seem to convince them that the floor was not a good place to stand, if you are less than two inches tall, and share the house with a large group of rambunctious humans, who tend to come galloping through in large 'herds'. I am speaking, of course, of Suzy's boys, who, like boys everywhere, always seemed to have far more energy than their Mum could keep up with.

They often arrived home from school with a group of their friends in tow, and although Suzy warned them all to be very careful of where they were putting their feet, still there was some very close calls.

Then one day one of the boys stepped back without looking and accidentally killed one of the young 'tiels, who was 'foraging' on the floor behind him.

That day Suzy called me and informed me that she was looking for homes for all her hand-fed youngsters, including the societies. Although the boys meant well, she was not convinced that more accidents might not occur, and she was determined not to lose any more of her babies to such a terrible end.

"You're not going to sell them, after all that?" I exclaimed, surprised - I knew just how much Suzy doted on her youngsters, especially the tiny societies - but even so, I wasn't prepared for the answer I received.

"Well, actually, no, not all of them," she said, "I was hoping you would take the societies in trade for the money I owe you."

I tried again to reassure her that she did not owe me any money, but she was adamant. She would not consider selling these youngsters to strangers, and she knew that they would have a good home with me. In the end, I gave in, and learned another lesson at the same time - never try to talk a determined mother out of something she has already made up her mind about - you are not likely to succeed.

Soon the finches arrived, and I was instantly captivated. These two youngsters seemed to think of themselves as human. The little youngster with the damaged beak we called "The Strawboss", since she was definitely the ringmistress of the pair of them, while the other we named "Spelunkin'", for her habit of crawling into nooks and crannies, or anything else that looked to her like a 'cave'.

It was fascinating to see how very different their personalities were. The Strawboss was vain, out-going, curious, bossy, and very friendly - even with strangers. Spelunkin', on the other hand, was rather shy and timid, and although friendly and quite sweet, was reluctant to allow strangers near her, although tame and loving with everyone she knew.

The slightest surprise would send her zipping back to the safety of her cage, where she would sit and holler for the Strawboss to come and rescue her. Meantime, the Strawboss was most likely to be looking over the new arrival, just in case she might be able to cadge some treats! Occasionally she would take a few seconds to holler back at Spelunkin' - but more often she would just ignore her, and continue with what she was doing.

A favourite activity was to get me to hold their small bathtub, while they dived in and out of it from the safety of my hand. Try as I might, I never managed to get a picture of 'The Pooperoopsies', as we called them together, doing this - evey time anybody got a camera out, they stopped what they were doing, stared, then went over to investigate.

They quickly memorized the layout of the house, and they were not shy about making use of all of it, either. The door of their cage was generally open when I was home, and they expected me to spend much of this time with them. If I spent what they considered to be too long in the kitchen or at the computer, in the bedroom or bathroom, soon a pair of tiny feathered forms would go zipping through the house, buzzing and beeping, until they found me and triumphantly claimed my shoulders.

The Strawboss 'owned' my right shoulder, but Spelunkin' never seemed to clue into this, and would always land beside her - only to be driven off with great ferocity by the 'boss. Confused but amenable, Spelunkin' would retreat down my arm, and make her way over to my other shoulder.

They absolutely hated it when I had to go to work, because this meant their cage door had to be closed - I wanted no accidents while I was not home! But all was forgiven the instant I returned - as long as I answered their chorus of greeting calls, that is.

Ignoring them would lead to a pair of very huffy finches who would glare and turn their backs on me when I finally did get to their cage - it seems that if you are to be considered a reliable finch friend, protocol dictates that you answer when you are spoken to!

I quickly learned that even if I had an urgent chore waiting for me when I got home, it was necessary to offer at least a minimal greeting to the Pooperoopsies, who began hollering their greetings the instant they heard the key in the door.

All this involved was a swing by their cage, a quick "Hi guys," and a direct glance at each. The eye contact and the verbal greeting was apparently acceptable - although of course they preferred more! But any less would quite simply not do, and they had no qualms whatsoever about letting me know when I transgressed.

Soon we settled into a comfortable routine. The finches 'helped' with most chores around the house, and would sit quietly on my shoulders when I was writing. Well - quietly if you don't mind having the spots on your neck picked at, and can ignore having your hair tugged on and played with, that is!

The Strawboss in particular tended to use these 'tools' to get my attention when she thought that I'd been working long enough, and should spend a little more attention on her. She would escalate her forays, drilling determinedly into my neck until I reacted, and put up my hand for her.

One day I was particularly engrossed in what I was doing, and her usual signals failed to get my attention. Frustrated, she climbed up to my glasses, and from there hopped to the top of my head. By now she already had my attention, but I was curious what she would do, and continued to pretend to be preoccupied with my writing.

To my everlasting amusement, she proceeded to the front of my head, selected a strand of hair, grasped it firmly with her feet, then used it to swing herself down in front of my face, where she hung upside down, tapping on my glasses.

I burst out laughing, and put up my hand for her. How could I refuse so obvious a request, especially one delivered in such a manner?

One weekend I found myself particularly tired, and decided that I needed a short mid-day nap. I was so tired, in fact, that I forgot to close the Pooperoopsies' cage door first. I laid down and drifted off - only to wake up a short while later, to the oddest sensation. It was the Strawboss, jumping up and down on my head with all her miniscule force, uttering little beeps of effort as she tried to throw all the weight she possessed into each landing, hoping to get my attention.

Of course it worked! I think that occasion may be the only time I have waked already giggling. A rather unusual but most pleasant way to awake from a nap - but I did my best to see that she never had the chance to try it again. What if I accidentally rolled over on her in my sleep? It didn't bear thinking of...

But then, the Strawboss not only seemed to think she was human - she acted like she was, too. Most society finches I've known were rather sweet, but a bit dumb. Not the Strawboss! She was alert, calculating and thoughtful, and in fact acted exactly as if she actually was a human, with human awareness and understanding, who just happened to be wearing a tiny feathered body.

She was the most bossy and determined little creature I think I have ever known - and she completely won my heart with her loving tyranny.

Her death came unexpectedly, with no warning. It was almost 8 and a half years since I had first seen the pair of tiny young finches. It had been a long day, and, unusual in these days, I'd been away from the house since early morning. The Strawboss was her usual feisty self when I left - but I returned to find her sitting in their sleeping nest, so weak she could barely stand.

I coaxed a little soft food and water into her, but she wasn't really interested - although she did try to comfort me, and snuggled into my hand, leaning against my cheek as I held it to my face - an old habit of ours. We'd often spent an hour or more at a time sitting quietly together like this, in the past.

She was not underweight, or uncoordinated in any way, and as I coaxed again she slowly ate a fair-sized meal, and drank some water. She just seemed very, very tired. Eventually she signaled that she wished to go to bed - so I promised her that we would visit the vet in the morning, and she climbed wearily off my hand into her nest.

I found them in the morning, still snuggled together in the nest. Spelunkin' looked worried and confused - usually the first one up in the entire household, she had stayed in the nest, doing her best to keep her sister warm. The Strawboss had died in her sleep sometime during the night.

She looked peaceful and happy, and very much as if she would wake up at any instant. Spelunky and I still miss her.

It's been over a year now, since the 'boss left us, and Spelunky is beginning to show her age a little. She still wakes early, and hollers for me to wake up and get into the birdroom with her breakfast - and the canaries use her calls as their signal to chime in and do the same. She loves to oversee the parents raising their babies, but shows no wish to participate - it is as if she considers herself their supervisor.

She spends roughly half her time with me, and the rest of her days are split between cat-napping, and watching over the canaries. More than once her calls have alerted me to trouble - she has a particular tone that she uses only for such times, and I have learned not to ignore her - she never uses that call for anything less than urgent.

She loves to be stroked, particularly over her ears, behind her jaw, and under her chin, and will lay down in the palm of my hand, lifting her chin to allow my fingers easier access, and curling her toes in ectasy. Sometimes she gets so relaxed that she tips right over sideways! I have learned to keep my hand curled, or she will roll right off.

Sometimes, for no apparent reason, she will suddenly appear to become depressed, and I try to be extra-gentle with her at these times, for I am convinced that we share the same problem - for my eyes, too, will sometimes suddenly fill with tears, when something reminds me of the 'boss. I wish she hadn't had to leave before us - but in the meantime Spelunky and I comfort each other - and I wouldn't take back a single second of our lives together.

I don't know how long Spelunky and I will have together - but I hope that it's a long time yet. But even if it's not, she and her sister will live forever, in my heart.

By R C Mcdonald
Vancouver, BC, Canada
www.robirda.com
Copyright (c) July 2002
All rights reserved