Taming Archimedes

I decided it was time to buckle down and get serious about training Archimedes.

Mostly I have been letting him out of his cage and then enduring his rebukes when I catch him in a t-shirt and put him back in his cage.

This method was not helping our relationship. It was making him fearful of me and causing him to fly away and use his scolding call whenever I got close to him.

All I could think of was all the wild birds I had tamed in Monterey and the one factor that made our interactions possible: edible treats.

The nature and condition of the bird counts for a lot as well.

An injured Pine Siskin I once found hopped right up to my hand when I placed a bowl of seeds in his container. Pine Siskins are highly social and will build nests near each other.

Western Scrub Jays are highly intelligent and are in the Corvid family. I was able to train one to take Cracklin' Oat Bran pieces right out of my hand. It was fun to watch him hide them in his various caches around the yard.

When I fed the ground squirrels at Lover's Point, several Brewer's Blackbirds would take peanuts from my hand and the adult California Seagulls would actual use their juvenile begging gestures to get me to feed them. This was particularly fascinating to me because it is an example of a bird using its own communication methods in an interaction with another species.

The hummingbirds that came to my feeder in Tomales got so used to me that they would perch on the feeder before I had finished hanging it up.

One bird that was notoriously difficult to tame was the Crow. Crows are capable of facial recognition with humans and can learn to manipulate all manner of puzzles in order to gain a food reward. That said, I found getting close to the local Crow family impossible. They would come to my balcony or kitchen window but would always maintain their distance and only go for the food when they were sure I wasn't near. They would watch me through the large picture window in my living room and call to each other when the coast was clear.

My favorite bird of all and one that I am sure is the most intelligent, is the mountain parrot known as the Kea. Kea are the only Alpine parrots in the world and they are only found in the mountains of the South Island of New Zealand.

There is a large collection of them at Willowbank and I love nothing more than to sit down in their enclosure (which visitors can walk through) and watch them interact. They dedicate a lot of time to exploring their surroundings and playing. One of them has been taught to grab his beak with his claw when he wants a treat and he is my favorite bird out of the lot.

I discovered a training method on the YouTubes called "The Power Pause" where you stick out your finger like a perch and work on getting it closer and closer to the bird.

It worked very well and I was able to get my finger nearer to Archimedes without him scolding me.

Next I took a large broccoli floret and placed it close to him. He sidled right on over and nibbled on it.

Happy days!

I'm pleased with the progress we have made and hope to have Archimedes perching on my finger soon.

I may have to change out the edible treat though- the broccoli gives him wicked gas.

Being Xena For A Day

I met my boyfriend Nick two months ago. We had been talking online for some time and decided to meet for dinner at a nice little spot up the street from my house. 

I arrived first and was attempting to pose myself in an intriguing way when Nick came stomping up the three stairs to our table and startled me with the words, "How ya' goin'?"

Throughout the meal he wouldn't look at me and he never once tried to initiate physical contact. 

In other circumstances this might be a depressing turn of events but with your typical Kiwi male, it probably means the bloke's burning up with fiery passion.

We survived our first date and Nick invited me to attend his company Christmas party in Wellington. 

It was a costume party.

New Zealanders love to dress up in costumes. Any excuse will do. 

My search for the perfect costume led me to a place called the Malthouse. 

I was immediately drawn to their hand made Xena Warrior Princess costume. 

Nick helped me zip up in the leather apron that made up the costume's foundation and I was instantly hooked. 

"I never want to take it off," I whispered.

Someone had lovingly crafted metal-looking boob covers and shoulder adornments as well as leather wrist and arm bands. A wig and round metal weapon rounded out the effect. 

The costume was a success in Wellington although two people asked me if my American accent was real, which was strange.

There is something about prancing around in a leather singlet that is very empowering.

Returning the costume was emotionally difficult, but in the end, I knew that other women would get to have the leather scented pleasure of being a warrior princess for a day, and that satisfied.

Xena heroically adjusts the thermostat for maximum hotel room comfort

After a day of fighting crime, Xena relaxes with a cool Steinlager.

Fighting ne'er do wells makes one thirsty.

Archimedes

This is my Love Bird Archimedes. The NPR named him after the grouchy owl in the Sword and the Stone, although his temperament is much brighter than the owl's.

He is young and not yet hand tamed but he is very social and likes to issue long series of squawks and whistles to express himself when something takes his fancy.

I will sometimes let him out to fly around in my room but unless he goes back in his cage for seeds I have to chase him and catch him in a large sweatshirt. He hates that sweatshirt and makes loud scolding noises whenever I bring it out.

He enjoys eating broccoli and will nip thoughtfully at apple slices. He has shown no interest in Kiwi fruit or bananas but if the NPR and I are having sandwiches he likes a little bread to be clipped to the side of his cage for a snack. 

How I Lost A Perfectly Good Shirt

I was headed home down the highway this evening and found myself puttering along behind a red sedan.

All of the sudden my attention was drawn to the rear view mirror where I saw a set of headlights rushing up behind me.

A gold car swerved into the right lane at the last minute and went by so fast and so close that its breeze blew my car sideways.

I slowed down even more and was glad to be behind the sedan driving at grandma speed.

They talk about boy racers a lot in this country and I imagined that was my first time seeing one up close.

Then I remembered there was a roundabout just up the road.

This traffic device requires a reduction in speed and a careful watch for oncoming motorists.

No one needed psychic powers to see what was coming next.

Sure enough, as I approached the roundabout I saw that a car had flipped over.

There were another set of tire tracks going through the grass and at the end of them, the same gold car that had torn past me was lying in a crumpled heap in a ditch.

I saw that several people had pulled off onto the grass and were standing around. I pulled my car over to the shoulder and got out as well.

I walked toward the remains of the gold car and looked inside to see if anyone was trapped. I saw a man lying in the ditch behind the car and thought he must be dead at first.

But he was moaning and moving and a skinny man was kneeling beside him and trying to sit him up.

A few people were standing on the edge of the ditch and some said not to move the man and others said he must be moved because the car was smoking and might catch fire.

I asked some random woman standing beside me to hold my keys while I jumped down into the ditch.

Since the man had already been moved it seemed like he should be pulled away from the car in case it did catch on fire.

The man crouching beside him looked at me and said, "I've got this sorted."

"I can see that but we need to get him away from the smoking car," I said.

It was obvious that the crouching man was involved with the accident as well. He smelled of alcohol but was doing his best to keep watch over his injured friend.

At that point the injured man was sitting up so I pulled his arm around my neck and told him to lean on me. His friend took his other side and we stood him up. I asked the people standing along the edge of the ditch to help me pull him out.

Hands reach down to assist us and we were soon walking slowly away from the wreck.

The man't knees had begun to buckle so I said, "Here lay down for a minute and let's see how you're doing." I put him on his side in the recovery position and did a visual sweep for injuries. He had a gash on his head put it was only oozing a little bit. I patted down his back like I had been taught in the army to see if he was bleeding anywhere else.

I found a black hoodie laying in the grass nearby so I put it under the man's head. He was trying to spit out some grass that was stuck to his mouth so I wiped it away for him.

He was moaning and asking where he was and what had happened. I told him there had been an accident and that he was going to be okay.

I started to stoke his face and arms softly and told him not to go to sleep.

"I'm not," he said.

He seemed fairly coherent and drew up one of his legs and flexed his toes.

His friend came over and took his hand and said, "That car clipped us mate."

This was an obvious lie but I wasn't about to upset an injured man by telling his drunk companion what I thought about his driving skills.

A man who had been speaking to the emergency operators on the phone said they should be on the scene in five minutes then he laid his hand on my shoulder and said, "good job."

When the paramedics finally arrived I helped them cut away the man't shirt and roll him onto the litter. There were a few minor abrasions on his back and nothing appeared to be broken.

While they loaded him into the ambulance another woman and I compared notes on how fast the gold car had been going. Apparently they had sped by her and her husband as well.

I found a police officer and gave him my contact details and a brief statement.

He maintained most of his composure when I said that the car had passed me "doing a guhbuhjullion miles per hour" and for my part, I managed not to go full redneck and make a NASCAR analogy.

When I got home I told the NPR what hat happened and then hopped into the shower to get the blood and dirt off myself.

My white t-shirt was splattered in blood and dirt. It is beyond saving but I don't mind.

The Pukeko Tragedy

A Pukeko

I work as a part-time nanny for a family with three children. They live on a large farm property where wild birds can usual be seen from the winding driveway.

Yesterday as I was driving the kids home, they spotted three Pukekos at the edge of the drive and pointed out that one was hurt. I decided to go after it to see what was wrong.

The two healthy Pukekos ran off in one direction while the other limped slowly away. I could follow him by the trembling of plants over his head.

I caught him to a chorus of protests from him and questions from the children. He wailed pitifully as I tucked him against my side for a better look at his leg. It was severely broken and the bone was protruding from the leg. There was some nasty swelling above the injury too.

I looked up to see the children's father watching from the house and I asked them to get me a towel or soft cloth to wrap the bird in.

I walked the rest of the way to the house to find that the dad had brought out a crate and the children a towel.

I had begun to stroke the bird's back and neck and speak to him in a calm voice. He settled down and just looked at me with his red eyes.

I promised the kids I would take him to a vet and after I loaded the crate in my car I tried calling the Willowbank wildlife park. I couldn't get through but I remembered there was a vet on the way to my house. Since we were in the country I thought they might deal with wild animals too.

The receptionist at the vet was very nice but she suggested what I was most afraid of; euthanasia.

I said if there was any way the leg could be set and bound I would want to try that first. She offered to get a vet to come and take a look.

A tall young woman came out next and we discussed the injury. I knew what she was going to say but she offered to take a look anyway.

Her assistant brought a towel and the vet reached in to pull out the bird who protested weakly.

"He's skin and bones," she said. "This injury isn't new."

It was clear that the animal was suffering and if it had been left in the wild it would have slowly starved to death. I knew the kindest thing for it would be putting it to sleep but I was still sad.

I stroked its neck one last time and said I was sorry.

The vet and her assistant were very kind and sympathetic. The vet assured me it would be painless and quick so I let them have the broken bird.

For the rest of the day I felt a lingering sadness although I tried to think about the bird not being in pain and suffering.

It didn't really help much.

Posey Up The Nosey

Last night the NPR was borrowed to babysit while my friend A worked late.

The plan was for me to follow her home so I could pick the NPR up.

When she arrived I caught the glimmer of a fancy earring worn by her friend R who was sitting in the passenger seat.

"Were you guys out having a good time without me?" I said, narrowing my eyes.

"No, we weren't. I promise," A said. "It was totally work except we did gossip a little."

I followed A to her house wondering what it was about the fancy sparkle earrings that made me feel like the only kid in grade school who didn't get a birthday invite.

When we stopped at A's house R got out of the car and assured me that good times were not being had without me.

I wanted to believe this but her earrings were so sparkly.

Definite party earrings.

I found a subdued NPR on A's sofa. Apparently the kids had just gone to bed and she was pooped.

On the way out A decided she would send me home with a collection of flowers fresh picked from her yard. ( Probably out of guilt for having a good time without me.)

Anyway, she was adamant that the dianthus had a wonderful smell and I was keen to have a sniff.

Unfortunately, she foisted a bunch of them up at my face and the exact moment that I decided to lean down to get a sniff and the result was the partial insertion of a bloom up my left nostril.

After snuffling a few times to clear out any pollen granules, I thanked her for the flowers and drove home with my wild bouquet.

I still think those earrings were highly suspicious. 

Sermon on the *Deck

A few nights ago I went to keep a friend company at her shop while she was working on flower arrangements for an upcoming wedding.

I had also been promised wine.

When I arrived we nipped into the vino immediately.

I think we went about 50/50 on the bottle which led to the usual results with me; a wild freestyle dance session followed by me prancing around with a wreath of baby's breath on my head singing, "Match maker, match maker, make me a match! Find me a find, catch me a catch!"

Thankfully, the store was closed and my audience was confined to my amused friend and the occasional passing car.

But this was only the beginning of my dramatic evening.

My friend's store has a small apartment unit attached to the back of it and a nice British lass who works for the Humane Society resides there.

On that very same evening she decided to have some friends around for a BBQ.

Somehow I ended up sitting among them on her back deck.

My friend joined us and brought out a magazine article featuring a woman she knew who owned a clothing store that specialized in women who were "size 0."

In the article the woman downplayed her business sense and admitted that her father was "very wealthy."

The sole male in the group also knew the woman. He and everyone else seemed to enjoy having an eye roll over the tone of the article.

Suddenly I recalled something my friend had told me the woman. "She had her ladybits cut!" I bellowed.

My friend bulged her eyes at me in a warning to stop right there but the demon drink made me feisty and defiant.

One of the other gals mentioned a documentary I had also watched about labioplasty and this led me to make "The Sermon on the Deck."

For the next few minutes I rained down verbal brimstone on the assembled party, alternating between shaking my fist above my head and making swirling gestures around my reproductive area.

I used words like, "vuh jay jay," "lady business" and "labia minora."

I said it was abhorrent that society could make a woman feel so horrible about herself that she would feel compelled to modify the very essence of her womanhood

I believe this wholeheartedly, I just don't think it's the sort of topic you should unleash on people you've just met and who have recently eaten some luridly suggestive beef cutlets.

The girl who had seen the documentary seemed to agree with me and we talked about how part of the film had been about women having "hoo ha" casts made and displayed in a collection to show the variation of size and shape in female anatomy.

We both felt that this was an important step in showing women that there is no "normal" look and empowering them to feel secure and proud of the way they were made.

Again though, if I hadn't been sauced I definitely wouldn't have taken that particular style to express my views on the subject.

A subject I introduced while being sauced.

I don't think anyone from the gathering will ever refer to that night as "dull."

*When Kiwis say this word, it is often pronounced "dick." This is a source of endless delight to me and the NPR.