Post by stace on Aug 23, 2014 0:35:26 GMT
The chosen one.
Four years ago today, a tiny, blue baby bird appeared from nowhere on my balcony handrail.
It was one of those warm, sunny, end-of-winter days that Sydney does so well, so I’d opted to sit in the sunshine while on the phone with a work client.
Then I saw him there, looking intently at me with his teeny weeny round eyes, perched forward more in anticipation, or perhaps it was hope, than comfort.
It was so surprising to see this feathery apparition, in that place and at that time, and I was in the throes of remarking on it to my client when this creature suddenly leapt the metre-and-a-half distance from his balcony perch straight on to my head.
And he wasn’t simply on my head. He was singing and dancing up there. I could feel his little feet prancing about in circles, doing what felt like one of those rhythmic American Indian stomping dances. It was joyous, and he was jubilant. I can’t tell you how bizarre this was.
At this point I’d become so distracted by this most peculiar and curious event, this ‘Oh, my goodness!’ moment, that I told the caller I’d have to ring him back later.
Together, this strange, chirruping, barely-there ball of blue feathers and I went inside. He soon found his way onto the tiled kitchen floor where he set about foraging hither and thither for whatever crumbs he could find. The poor thing must have been hungry.
I had no idea about birds, and certainly no clue about budgies. This may seem dumb in retrospect, but I wasn’t even sure he was a budgie as he seemed so ridiculously small. He was a mere wisp of a thing.
Looking back on it, he must have been only a few weeks old, barely old enough to be away from his Mum and Dad, never mind out alone in the wilds of metropolitan Sydney.
Goodness knows where he came from. I often wonder and have decided that he fled from somewhere he didn’t want to be. I have in my mind some dreadful pet store, or some horrid owner who was set on keeping him imprisoned in a too-small cage for the rest of his miserable life.
How far had he come? How long had he been out there? Why did he leave where he was? Why did he choose my balcony? I do ponder on it sometimes.
Knowing him now, he wouldn’t suffer a place or situation that he didn’t like without both fight and flight. He’d hatch an escape plot, for sure.
Later that day I was due at a meeting in the city and couldn’t put it off. Some two or three hours had passed with this blue leaping dot exploring the house and all it contained – including me – as I rang around seeking advice on what I thought would be a temporary ‘flying’ guest. Eventually, there came a point where I really had to leave and I didn’t know what to do.
I remembered there was a guy who knew about birds working at the coffee shop not far down the road. I called and he offered to look after him for a while.
And here’s where things get ridiculous. I took Boo-to-be down the road, variously leaping to and fro from head to arm and shoulder, popping off completely every few steps to forage on the footpath, me scooping him back up each time. Imagine doing that now! He could so easily have flown off into the ever after. But he didn’t, and I think that says something about his nature.
Coffee Dude and I decided that the best thing to do was for him to look after this odd baby bird while I tried to find his real owner. I posted fliers. I called the local vets. I searched online for any notices on lost birds. Two weeks passed, but there was nothing.
Coffee Dude couldn’t keep the little chap permanently, so I was kind of “it” at that point. I really didn’t want a pet bird as I’ve always had a thing about caged animals. I don’t know if any of you are familiar with Maya Angelou’s poem, ‘I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings’, but that’s where my headspace was at.
Anyway, arrangements were made and Coffee Dude brought him back around to my place in a cramped, temporary cage along with a small bag of wild birdseed. And so Boo and I began our forever time together.
Boo was mistrustful at first. His initial eagerness to be with me on that first day we met had been replaced by uncertainty, almost apprehension. I remember him spending a lot of time seeking security up high, perched on picture frames away from reach. I’d had to get the big ladder out to fetch him down on a number of occasions.
He certainly wasn’t keen on this poky, borrowed cage. He wouldn’t go in of his own volition, and I had to catch him up and insert the little squirming worm in there at night. What a kerfuffle it was.
Now I look back on it, I really regret having given him to Coffee Dude. But I did believe it was the best thing to do at the time. Boo would have been much happier with me from the outset, even if it were a sharp learning curve in bird care. He had chosen me, after all, and I’m sure he was deeply disappointed that I’d palmed him off to some stranger.
After a few days of budgie whispering, an awful lot of rapid online budgie swot, and the purchase of a lovely, spacious new home for him, and we’d made things right between us again. The day that the new cage came home he leapt straight in, chirping “Yippee!”
Since then we’ve been inseparable. He really is such a sharp-witted, loving and loveable little thing. It still amazes me. And despite being almost silly tame, he remains defiantly opposed to being caged, trapped or caught in any way.
I called him “Nelson”, a reference to both my hometown in New Zealand and also that “Kiss me, Hardy” quote rumoured to be Admiral Nelson’s last dying words at the Battle of Trafalgar. (I know this is disputed, but I do like the sentiment.)
Somehow the name never seemed to stick. OH never liked it, thinking it a bit too pompous or something I guess, and he soon became known as Little Toot, which inexplicably morphed into Boo. We still call him “Tootie Wootie” from time to time.
He does make me laugh. As I write, he’s sitting on my head, chatting away in his own odd mix of English and Budgie – a language I’ve since dubbed Buglish.
Many have commented on his bright and unusual colouring. I’ve done some cursory research and he seems to be what’s called a Double Factor Goldenface. This type has a brilliant yellow face where the yellow begins to seep into the blue at each moult, creating a sea foam green chest while the lower half of the body remains blue. You can see this clearly in Boo’s signature sea green bib and natty blue trousers.
Delving further, I found an Australian rare budgie breeder going by the moniker “RIPBudgies”. One of her bird lines was Goldenfaces. I sourced this quote from her: “All my GFs did have one thing in common though. I had managed to breed a beautifully natured line of birds, many of which went on to produce the best pets some of which even went on to be good talkers. It’s all in the genes”.
Could Boo be from one of her lines? Who knows. He does fit the description.
Regardless, he’s been such a champ; just that perfect mix of chattiness, cheekiness and cheerfulness. I’m so glad he found me. He’s been a wonderful little friend and I’d hate to think where he might have ended up had he chosen some other balcony railing to alight upon. Or worse, not found a friendly face at all.
As I’ve said many times, Boo is one lucky little guy. And I do feel chosen.
Four years ago today, a tiny, blue baby bird appeared from nowhere on my balcony handrail.
It was one of those warm, sunny, end-of-winter days that Sydney does so well, so I’d opted to sit in the sunshine while on the phone with a work client.
Then I saw him there, looking intently at me with his teeny weeny round eyes, perched forward more in anticipation, or perhaps it was hope, than comfort.
It was so surprising to see this feathery apparition, in that place and at that time, and I was in the throes of remarking on it to my client when this creature suddenly leapt the metre-and-a-half distance from his balcony perch straight on to my head.
And he wasn’t simply on my head. He was singing and dancing up there. I could feel his little feet prancing about in circles, doing what felt like one of those rhythmic American Indian stomping dances. It was joyous, and he was jubilant. I can’t tell you how bizarre this was.
At this point I’d become so distracted by this most peculiar and curious event, this ‘Oh, my goodness!’ moment, that I told the caller I’d have to ring him back later.
Together, this strange, chirruping, barely-there ball of blue feathers and I went inside. He soon found his way onto the tiled kitchen floor where he set about foraging hither and thither for whatever crumbs he could find. The poor thing must have been hungry.
I had no idea about birds, and certainly no clue about budgies. This may seem dumb in retrospect, but I wasn’t even sure he was a budgie as he seemed so ridiculously small. He was a mere wisp of a thing.
Looking back on it, he must have been only a few weeks old, barely old enough to be away from his Mum and Dad, never mind out alone in the wilds of metropolitan Sydney.
Goodness knows where he came from. I often wonder and have decided that he fled from somewhere he didn’t want to be. I have in my mind some dreadful pet store, or some horrid owner who was set on keeping him imprisoned in a too-small cage for the rest of his miserable life.
How far had he come? How long had he been out there? Why did he leave where he was? Why did he choose my balcony? I do ponder on it sometimes.
Knowing him now, he wouldn’t suffer a place or situation that he didn’t like without both fight and flight. He’d hatch an escape plot, for sure.
Later that day I was due at a meeting in the city and couldn’t put it off. Some two or three hours had passed with this blue leaping dot exploring the house and all it contained – including me – as I rang around seeking advice on what I thought would be a temporary ‘flying’ guest. Eventually, there came a point where I really had to leave and I didn’t know what to do.
I remembered there was a guy who knew about birds working at the coffee shop not far down the road. I called and he offered to look after him for a while.
And here’s where things get ridiculous. I took Boo-to-be down the road, variously leaping to and fro from head to arm and shoulder, popping off completely every few steps to forage on the footpath, me scooping him back up each time. Imagine doing that now! He could so easily have flown off into the ever after. But he didn’t, and I think that says something about his nature.
Coffee Dude and I decided that the best thing to do was for him to look after this odd baby bird while I tried to find his real owner. I posted fliers. I called the local vets. I searched online for any notices on lost birds. Two weeks passed, but there was nothing.
Coffee Dude couldn’t keep the little chap permanently, so I was kind of “it” at that point. I really didn’t want a pet bird as I’ve always had a thing about caged animals. I don’t know if any of you are familiar with Maya Angelou’s poem, ‘I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings’, but that’s where my headspace was at.
Anyway, arrangements were made and Coffee Dude brought him back around to my place in a cramped, temporary cage along with a small bag of wild birdseed. And so Boo and I began our forever time together.
Boo was mistrustful at first. His initial eagerness to be with me on that first day we met had been replaced by uncertainty, almost apprehension. I remember him spending a lot of time seeking security up high, perched on picture frames away from reach. I’d had to get the big ladder out to fetch him down on a number of occasions.
He certainly wasn’t keen on this poky, borrowed cage. He wouldn’t go in of his own volition, and I had to catch him up and insert the little squirming worm in there at night. What a kerfuffle it was.
Now I look back on it, I really regret having given him to Coffee Dude. But I did believe it was the best thing to do at the time. Boo would have been much happier with me from the outset, even if it were a sharp learning curve in bird care. He had chosen me, after all, and I’m sure he was deeply disappointed that I’d palmed him off to some stranger.
After a few days of budgie whispering, an awful lot of rapid online budgie swot, and the purchase of a lovely, spacious new home for him, and we’d made things right between us again. The day that the new cage came home he leapt straight in, chirping “Yippee!”
Since then we’ve been inseparable. He really is such a sharp-witted, loving and loveable little thing. It still amazes me. And despite being almost silly tame, he remains defiantly opposed to being caged, trapped or caught in any way.
I called him “Nelson”, a reference to both my hometown in New Zealand and also that “Kiss me, Hardy” quote rumoured to be Admiral Nelson’s last dying words at the Battle of Trafalgar. (I know this is disputed, but I do like the sentiment.)
Somehow the name never seemed to stick. OH never liked it, thinking it a bit too pompous or something I guess, and he soon became known as Little Toot, which inexplicably morphed into Boo. We still call him “Tootie Wootie” from time to time.
He does make me laugh. As I write, he’s sitting on my head, chatting away in his own odd mix of English and Budgie – a language I’ve since dubbed Buglish.
Many have commented on his bright and unusual colouring. I’ve done some cursory research and he seems to be what’s called a Double Factor Goldenface. This type has a brilliant yellow face where the yellow begins to seep into the blue at each moult, creating a sea foam green chest while the lower half of the body remains blue. You can see this clearly in Boo’s signature sea green bib and natty blue trousers.
Delving further, I found an Australian rare budgie breeder going by the moniker “RIPBudgies”. One of her bird lines was Goldenfaces. I sourced this quote from her: “All my GFs did have one thing in common though. I had managed to breed a beautifully natured line of birds, many of which went on to produce the best pets some of which even went on to be good talkers. It’s all in the genes”.
Could Boo be from one of her lines? Who knows. He does fit the description.
Regardless, he’s been such a champ; just that perfect mix of chattiness, cheekiness and cheerfulness. I’m so glad he found me. He’s been a wonderful little friend and I’d hate to think where he might have ended up had he chosen some other balcony railing to alight upon. Or worse, not found a friendly face at all.
As I’ve said many times, Boo is one lucky little guy. And I do feel chosen.
.
