MY SUCCESS AS A FAILURE  
Part 2

by Kim Greathead

My first breeding season came and went, I knew this for a fact because those more experienced than I had told me so, certainly my birds gave me no indication. It was time, I decided, to find out more about the keeping and raising (and I use this word optimistically) of Australian parrots.

I joined the Parrot Society of Australia Inc and received my first copy of their (our) magazine which was very interesting but, joy of joys, there were phone numbers, not only were there phone numbers, there were heaps of them. In the front of the magazine there were committee members and in the back (be still my beating heart) people were advertising birds for sale (Avi-trade). These were people with the same type of birds as myself but even better obviously successful breeders as they were selling their babies.

I used Telstra's motto and "let my fingers do the walking". I rang complete strangers, introduced myself and then gave them my life story or at least my failure during the last breeding season. The most amazing thing about this exercise is that not one person tried to get rid of me and my persistent, and often pathetic, questions. Everybody without exception gave of themselves time and advice that was both practical and informative and most people also gave stories about their misadventures as well. I wanted to rush out and light a candle in every church in Queensland - I wasn't the worlds greatest Klutz, other people had things go wrong and in some cases, they made me look like an expert. I was not a failure, I was just inexperienced.

Armed with resolve and new resolutions, it was time to correct as many of my former mistakes as was possible, there wasn't much I could do at this point of time about my 1" x 1" wire and besides, by now I was getting used to watching mice dancing in Conga lines carrying their furniture in on their heads without even touching the sides. There was something almost domestic about watching the mother mouse teaching their offspring to loot and pillage in the bottom of the aviary. To add to this scene of domestic and maternal bliss I decided to donate dessert and there are several good ones available such as "Talon", "Rat Sac" and the ever popular "Rat Blitz". Within a week my squatters had in most part disappeared.

My terracotta pavers, having been cemented into the ground, I have to live with, but they take a good scrub and the more often I do it, the easier they are to keep clean.

By far the majority of people I spoke to (and believe me, according to my telecom bill, they were many fold) advised me to separate my birds for optimum results. A good friend (and one day he will realise it) who lives in Greenslopes who has remarkable success with his Lorikeets built a suspended cage for me (after being cajoled, coerced and harassed) and Scott and Esme, my Musks, had their new condominium to move into, at last I thought no interference. They settled in within hours and within days they started to glow (as those with Musks will appreciate).

My maternal streak, as yet to be satisfied and with a vacancy in my main aviary (note lesson still not learnt) yours truly was on the prowl for the fulfilment of his desires. I basically had the choice of 3 types of bird that would breed almost all of the year and put up with an incompetent but well meaning keeper, they were:

• Budgies
• Lovebirds (or Peachfaces)
• Cockatiels

I wasn't a fan of Budgies and Lovebirds aka Peachfaces are too vicious, so Cockatiels it was.

I met a lady in Jindalee, who had the warmth and kindness along with patience seldom seen outside of the church, who sold me an experienced pair of breeding Cockatiels, and my Moorooka aviaries welcomed Maude and Claude.

Around this time, my male Kakariki stuck his head through the wire (Remember the 1" x 1") and gorged himself on flowers and buds and got stuck. He unfortunately was not noticed until rigor mortis had set in.

Now a guilt complex is not an easy thing to live with and knowing that my stupidity had allowed this lovely bird to suffer and die, I was on the verge of giving it all away. Maude and Claude had been a week in their new home and nothing had happened! Then a miracle occurred - Scott and Esme (my Musks) were "treading". I love that term, it is so clinical and can be said without blushing. Two days later I observed them treading again but alas, this time, she on the bottom last time was on top this time. Conclusions were obvious. I either had two birds of the same sex or I had two of the most sexually adventurous birds in existence that had read the "Karma Sutra". Off to my local veterinarian, Dr. Adrian Gallagher's we went only to find out that I had two fat ovulating hens and this happening at the start of the second breeding season.

After a few frantic phone calls the girls and I set off to Greenslopes to meet with a nice pair of unattached males. The girls stayed at Greenslopes for a couple of months in the hope they would bond with the new men in their life. With the girls away my time, concentration and paranoia enveloped Maude and Claude (Cockatiels) and the kind, saint like woman at Jindalee took phone call after phone call with a patient courage that soldiers in World War II would have envied. At one stage this poor lady must have felt under siege and I have often thought of sending her a medal.

At last Maude and Claude bred, I had achieved my ambition - I was a breeder!! The world was my play toy, I was SUCCESSFUL and more importantly, the people I had annoyed didn't have to have their phone numbers changed.

Maude and Claude bred again ---- and again I rang back the poor (but saint like) lady and instead of complaining "Why won't they breed" it was now "How do I stop them" - she laughed!!

By now we were right in "Breeding season" and another miracle happened, my Princess went down. I can actually remember thinking "I've been blessed" but it was a mixed blessing. New neighbours had moved into the house next door and they had a puppy of 12 months. It was a damn big puppy being a cross between an Irish Wolfhound and a ridge back and it didn't jump fences - it stepped over them.

My dog, a Doberman, would often invite it over and to be sociable would take it on guided tours of the backyard and under the house. Now in all honesty, neither dog ever tried to attack the birds but the visitor with his chain dragging behind his hind legs ensconced in annuals and his front legs on the roof of the aviary, with the rattle of his chain on the wire, his beady eyes and his furry face, the Princess got really upset and abandoned their nest with a clutch of 5 eggs. The funny part about it was that I really didn't get that upset, possibly because things going wrong was par for the course for me or possibly because I let the air out of the tyres on their car. (All four of them)

I remained happy, after all, Maude and Claude bred and bred and bred.

At last it was time for one of my hen Musks to come home with her new husband. I was so happy and pleased, right up till the time that the hen escaped while I was transferring them from carry box to their cage. My heart said "go free and be happy" while my head and even more so my mouth caused neighbours to rush out and cover their children's ears while dragging them into the respective homes. To make matters worse, instead of calmly waiting to trap the bird when it can back to its mate, I chased it away in futile efforts to catch it with a butterfly net. Does anyone realise how hard it is to acquire Musk hens. I had to ring around Australia and this year I expect a Christmas card if not a present from Telecom. After weeks and weeks of trying I finally succeeded in getting a hen from NSW and she's lovely. My remaining male Musk was feeding her within minutes of them meeting and life is generally good.

At the time of writing, my Princess are sitting and my Musks are also sitting on two eggs. Does that not warm the cockles of your heart?

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