Maui meows and birds on twitter

I captured some video here (around the 2:30 mark) which gives you an idea of the Maui lovebird "problem" - an invasive, non-native bird species capable of wreaking havoc on the environment, which is also cute as a green-feathered, peach-faced button. I adore birds and have made a hobby of observing them (one of the benefits of slowing down in retirement - it's hard for me to believe now that they were there all the time, right in my back yard, and I was oblivious to them.) These guys captivated me because they, unexpectedly, seemed attracted to me, but it was a love-hate thing. A meowing cat on the ground below the lanai added some excitement, though the birds were smart enough to keep well out of its way. 

One little guy kept coming around - I could tell it was him because he looked like he had an injury under his beak - scolding and blatting at me, then suddenly falling asleep in that adorable puffy, winky-eyed bird way. I kept wondering where this strange ragtag flock had come from, and why some of them were obvious hybrids or mutations - colors that would never result from random wild breeding. Were people just opening the cage door, or what? 

This may be our last vacation, which is why I'm posting so much on it. I've had to make the best of it. I am not a natural globe-trotter, we have very little money, and my health, while better than it was 15 years ago, is maintained with the benefit of multiple prescriptions. If I ever got separated from them for any length of time, I am not sure what would happen. Time zone shifts I can't handle (though it only bothered me this time after I got home and had to do Christmas). My mate's knees are awful, and he hates planes. So I am left to make the best of this one last glorious holiday. 

Wild Lovebirds of Maui: the rest of the story

It’s a Love Hate Relationship when it comes to lovebirds

SEP 8, 2013

The wild lovebird population in South and East Maui has “gotten out of control” in the last couple of years, according to wildlife officials and conservationists.

“They (lovebirds) are loud and cheery to some, shrill and awful to others,” state wildlife biologist and bird specialist Fern Duvall said. “There are people who love to see them and feed them, but others are losing mangos, papayas and fruits of all kinds to these birds.”

Additionally, Duvall said, the little parrots chew into homes and bore holes under and along the eaves, which may destroy the integrity of a house.

The largest known lovebird population is in the Wailea-Makena area, where a recent study by the Maui Invasive Species Committee counted “well over 100 free-flying lovebirds.” Many perch in the Maui Meadows area.

“When I do see them (lovebirds), it’s a pleasant thing to see, they give the place a tropical jungle feel,” said Drew Huey, who has lived in Maui Meadows for the past 10 years. He said that he started noticing significantly more wild lovebirds within the past year, with flocks of at least 15 birds usually perched in trees during morning hours.

“They don’t bother me, but I could see that if they were eating all my fruits, I’m probably not going to love the lovebirds as much,” Huey said.

The rate at which the wild lovebird population has grown is “definitely alarming” to some local habitat conservationists.

“A lot of times what happens with an invasive species (like the lovebird) is that they start out as a nuisance, and then all of a sudden you get this population explosion, and it hits a threshold where suddenly people are really aware of the problem and you end up with a situation where it may be beyond control,” said Maui Invasive Species Committee Manager Teya Penniman.

She added that while the South Maui colony may be a nuisance for residents living in the area, it is a colony in the tropical forests of East Maui – around Nahiku – that is most alarming.

“Parrot species in the wild can damage fruits of native plants, which are already under tremendous pressure as it is,” Penniman said.

Because Nahiku is in a more remote and unpopulated area, conservationists have not been able to secure an estimate of how many wild lovebirds are nesting in East Maui.

The little birds were originally brought to Hawaii from Africa as domestic pets, but eventually may have escaped their cages or owners may have set them free intentionally, not realizing detrimental effects to the environment, Duvall said. Because Maui’s tropical climate and abundance of fruit are reminiscent of their homeland, it is easy for lovebirds to survive and breed in the wild.

“I remember seeing a special on TV about the Mitred conures in East Maui, so I know they (non-native birds in the wild) can become a pest,” said John Guard, who owns The Pet Shop in Kahului.

A few years ago, a large colony of Mitred conures (a large parrot species native to South America) in Haiku threatened to displace native seabirds and spread invasive plant seeds. Efforts to remove the invasive parrots have been ongoing, Penniman said.

The Maui Pet Shop sells, on average, six to eight lovebirds every month and carries a handful of varieties, including petrie, black-mas
ked and blue-masked lovebirds. Each bird is priced between $50 and $100.

“They’re a highly intelligent bird, very noisy and destructive, but they can also be very charming and generally cute,” Guard said.

Because community feelings toward the birds are so conflicted, it is hard to set any plan of action at this point, wildlife officials said.

“We have no plans to take any kind of control action,” Penniman said. “Our plate is quite full and 
we don’t have the staff or the resources to take on something like this (especially when) there are divergent opinions about them (wild lovebirds).”

If the population did continue to grow to a point where the birds posed an immediate threat to their surrounding environment, there are options other than capturing and destroying the birds.

The ideal and most humane solution, Penniman said, would be to facilitate an aviary for the lovebirds, but the committee currently lacks the means to start one.

Individuals who wish to report a wild lovebird problem may request a wildlife control permit by calling the Maui Invasive Species Committee at 573-6472.

* Eileen Chao can be reached at echao@mauinews.com.

Wild lovebirds of Maui

I was astonished, though maybe I shouldn't have been, to see flocks of wild lovebirds on Maui, screeching and dive-bombing and doing all the things lovebirds do. I had two of them, you see - the second one died before I could even get to know her, and it broke my heart (though as a result, we ended up with a cat who is my dear companion and familiar). When I got home I looked it up (I don't have a phone attached to my arm/brain, unlike 95% of the human race), and apparently these are former pets who escaped, were abandoned, or got loose during tropical storms. A lot of people keep open-air aviaries in Hawaii, so such a thing is quite possible. Lovebirds, like most birds, are survivors and quickly find their niche. With year-round warm weather, food aplenty, no natural enemies, and lots of nooks for nesting (mostly under the eves of tourist condos), they're thriving and multiplying like mad.

This has caused problems: their screeching is not particularly pleasing, unlike the exotic jungle calls that fascinate tourists. What I noticed is that they're not quite wild: if I whistled or chirped, they would approach, shrieking irritably, and sometimes they sat on the railing of the lanai observing me. There was an air conditioner nearby, and they'd sit on it and scold me from a safe distance. The guano these things produce is prodigious, one of the reasons the locals don't like them. It splatters all over the place, down walls, on sidewalks, hardens like cement. But as with the burgeoning wild chicken population, animal lovers won't allow a cull, and you can't live-trap these babies, believe me - they move like peach-and-green lightning. 

So, unexpectedly, I had many lovebird encounters while on holiday, and captured some of it on video. In particular I noticed a pearl-grey specimen which could only have been bred in captivity. It's a mutation that wouldn't happen in the wild. That bird must have a story.

Here to stay is a new bird: Paco, take 2!

Almost camouflaged is Paco, my new, eight-week-old baby lovebird. This bird has been such a delight to be with. She learns so quickly, and is snuggly and trusting. Eats like a little horse.

Paco is known in lovebird parlance as a whiteface blue double violet. The violet aspects show up here more than in normal light, making me think those hues will come out more when she is past the baby stages. Her face will become whiter as well. She loved the little whirr sound of the camera, and didn't mind the flash. A diva in the making!

Mummy is sort of glad she had her hair styled today. 

A bird in the hand. . . poopy, but it washes out. . . 

A bird on the shoulder, where she likes to hang out.

Such a pretty bird!

Tiny little bundle of joy! This is probably the only shot I have of my workspace. Paco has been happy to be with me up here, and I have set up a little table with food and things to chew on. 

Joy!!

Birds do the nasty

http://members.shaw.ca/margaret_gunning/betterthanlife.htm

Bird sex: not all it's cracked up to be

It all started with wanting a bird. Wanting a bird sort of came out of the blue, except that it didn’t. Our cat had just died at age 17, leaving a bit of a hole in the family.

“No more cats,” my husband said, and I had to agree with him. From a 22-pound, majestic miniature lynx, Murphy had dwindled to a sad near-skeleton, clinging to us as his major organs slowly shut down. He left puddles of pee everywhere, barely able to make it to the litterbox (which I was tired of: litterboxes STINK, no matter what you do to deodorize them).

I didn’t even think about a bird, or consider having one, until I visited my sister-in-law in Ontario and discovered she had acquired a parrotlet. A cute little pocket parrot, only about four inches long. She held it in her hand and scratched its neck and it laid its tiny avian head down and blinked its filmy little eyes in bliss. OH GOD, it was cute!  It didn’t do much else, and didn’t even make much noise, but I thought it was adorable.

I HAD to have one. “No impulse buys,” Bill begged. “One bird. ONE bird,” he pleaded, probably afraid I’d come home with an Amazon parrot or a whole aviary of shrieking cockatoos. I went away and did nine months of research before deciding what I wanted.

I found a pet store that believed in carefully socializing a bird before bringing it home. I made a down payment on a newly-hatched lovebird that was barely fledged (a disgusting naked pile of skin), and then when he was being weaned, I came into the store for an hour a day, put a towel on my lap and let him crawl around and explore.

By the time I took Jasper home several weeks later, he was “socialized”, meaning he could scream at me for seeds, come out of the cage and chew on me for seeds, or peep at me adorably (for seeds).

At the same time, he began to do something really weird. He’d open his mouth and sort of pump his head  up and down and emit this sickening sound, a sort of gasping noise like birdie asthma. Sometimes he’d actually throw up on me, this awful viscous seed gunk.

I read on a bird site that I was supposed to be flattered. It meant he was trying to mate with me. Birds regurgitate in each other’s mouths as a courtship ritual, with the males being more vigorous than the females.

I didn’t know how to take it, but I was generally satisfied with the cute little devil. Then a few months ago, for no reason that I could figure out, he began to shriek and scream almost non-stop. I mean, he could keep it up for six hours at a clip. This noise was so shrill that it speared through two closed doors and a set of industrial-strength earplugs.

 I tried everything: turning out the lights; covering the cage; varying his diet; changing the cage around (which he hated; birds are creatures of habit), putting a life-sized plastic budgie that chirped electronically in his cage (I couldn’t find a plastic lovebird). Instead the shrieking only escalated.

Then the other day, I put some of his favourite toys on the floor of the cage. I didn’t want to do this before, because the cage floor is nasty at best, even with daily cleaning and changing the paper. I knew those toys would get pooped upon.

What I didn’t know is that they would get raped.

I mean, raped! Straddled and humped, almost every hour of the day that he wasn’t sleeping. He’d shove a toy up against the corner (the half-eggshell that used to belong to a plastic egg-carton toy seemed to be his favourite, as he can brace the other toys up against it for stability) and go at it. And at it. And AT it.

At the same time, a funny, unexpected and very welcome thing happened: he stopped shrieking. My eardrums, assaulted for months, suddenly and gratefully popped out again. But every time I go in his room now (yes, he has his own room, just like a fractious infant), I don’t see him up on his swings or perches.

No, he’s down on the bottom of the cage doing the dirty deed.

All day. Every day.

This bird is maybe six years old now, and they live to fifteen at the most. He’s fifty years old, for Christ’s sake, acting like some horny middle-aged businessman with an expense account. Birds often drop dead for no apparent reason, and maybe he’s just trying to die with a smile on his beak.

He now has a harem of about six toys, mostly cat toys because they’re small and easy to manipulate (and they jingle). He has a smaller plastic budgie that lies miserably on its side, covered in shit. In fact, all the toys are covered in shit, even though I take them out of the cage and scrub them down each day. He is obviously using that half-eggshell as a toilet.

Funnily enough, it’s kind of hard to find any good pictures of birds mating, except maybe roosters ravishing hens. There are a few out-of-focus budgie pictures, a sort of avian Kama Sutra, but we all know what we think about budgies. A dime a dozen, and they squawk and screech all day. Jasper has two of them, for God’s sake, concubines who are slaves to his birdie will. Obviously, he doesn’t care if his girl friends are real or inanimate. But then, isn’t that true of some humans (see my Pardon me, Miss post of Dec. 1/11)?

He acts very strangely when he mounts his girlfriends, aside from the macho wing-displays and scaly little trampling feet : his beak begins to rattle alarmingly, sounding like bird castanets. I can’t find anything about this on the internet. It’s purely instinctive, some sort of reflex.

And to a human, creepy.

I’m glad I didn’t buy a pair of lovebirds, which some people say is necessary to keep them happy (except that they will bond exclusively with each other and won’t want much to do with you ,except for SEEDS). They would have produced several dozen clutches by now, and I wouldn’t know where to put them all. Or else the female just would have expired from exhaustion.

My bird’s a rapist! Good thing those toys are waterproof.

But at least the house is quieter now, save for the castanet-like rattling of a tiny, horny beak.

http://members.shaw.ca/margaret_gunning/betterthanlife.htm

Vincent, you're getting paint all over everything!

How many times have I seen this thing? Like Gone with the Wind or The Wizard of Oz, it just seems to come around.

Except that this one grabs me, every time.

Kirk Douglas excels himself, does better than he knows how, in portraying the awful and sublime life of Vincent Van Gogh. We all know Van Gogh's paintings from the coffee mugs and post cards and tea towels and various fripperies that bear his images. We have all heard reports of the multimillion dollars even his smallest canvases now command.

I didn't wanna do it, I didn't wanna do it. I had recorded it on my PVR a few days or weeks earlier and it was sitting there. It was on TCM, so I knew it wouldn't be carved up. I thought, after a shitty week, oh what the hell.

My husband has been away all week. Normally I use this sabbatical as a time for reflection, quiet, and going out to restaurants for one meal at 3 pm. This week was just - oh I don't know, it bored the piss out of me. Things went around and around in circles and some days I didn't even get out due to the wretched house-shaking monsoon outside.

I made fudge and I ate too much of really bad things, like back ribs and fries. I just felt discontent, as if I didn't fit my skin. THEN, early yesterday morning, the power went out, and I felt helpless. Not only was it cold and dark, but my lovebird began to shiver, and I realized with a shock that he wasn't going to survive dramatically dipping temperatures.

I panicked. I moved the cage all over the house. Is this warmer? No. It's already 63 F and dropping (when his usual room temperature is 72). I dithered around. I covered the cage with a tablecloth, wondering if he could breathe. He clung to the pointy roof of his palatial cage, silent and not moving.

Then I thought: what's the warmest room in the house? Our bedroom! During our rare Vancouver heat waves, it's absolutely awful, and sometimes I have to sleep downstairs. So I lugged his huge cage upstairs and gained purchase of 3 degrees, but it was not enough.

My mind spun around and around. Did we have any source of heat left? Should I stick him in my pocket or something? Then I thought: of course! Hot water. But my idea was not quite on-target.

I put a bowl of hot water on the floor of his cage, covered with a sieve so the dumb bird wouldn't try to bathe in it and scald himself. It bought me a couple more degrees. But it still wasn't enough.

Depressed and isolated, not wanting to go out because I had to look after this incubator baby, I phoned my daughter-in-law to ask if she had power. She did. She also had, right to hand, a number to call for info on power outages.

"But it'll take me hours. They'll put me on hold."

"No they won't. Try it."

They didn't. I got the information I needed in 30 seconds. The power would be on no later than 4:00 (and it was 1:00: would we squeak through?) She also suggested, instead of bowls of water that got cold in 2 minutes, to fill the bathtub with a few inches of hot water and wheel the cage into the bathroom and shut the door.

Within 15 minutes, I had set up the ideal sauna, and Jasper was thawing out, singing and chirping and ringing his numerous bells and acting like a bird again.

Anyway, all this shit ended at 2 pm, after 6 hours of blackout. It could've gone all night, in which case my bird would have died of hypothermia.

So, completely unrelated to this, or not, I was exhausted by the evening, lonely, sugar-logged, and just wanting any old thing to distract me. Maybe I shouldn't have picked Lust for Life.

Vincente Minnelli strove to make this movie as faithful to Van Gogh's paintings and life as possible. He dragged trees in to fill holes where they had been cut down. He put up a false front for the yellow house Van Gogh lived in with Gaugin (a bravura performance by Anthony Quinn, who likes his women "fat and vicious and not too bright"). Stories circulated about old women from remote places in Provence who gasped on seeing Douglas in makeup and exclained, "He has returned!"

A companion movie, a "making of" was shown after the main feature, and in it Douglas spoke fluent French to one of these elderly keepers-of-the-memory (who are all gone now). Why did it surprise me to see Douglas speak fluent French? He was the Ragman's Son (I read his auto-bio years ago, and he came up from such dire poverty that the family sometimes had nothing to eat). I associate him with powerhouse roles, Spartacus and the like,and that exaggerated growling voice beloved of impressionists (not the painters!) like Frank Gorshin.

I don't know what happened here. Some kind of transubstantiation. He - became. He felt this man. He slipped into his skin, his uneasy incendiary brain. The thing is, Van Gogh painted innumerable self-portraits, and all of them had something of Kirk Douglas in them. In some cases he could have been the model.

I don't know what my point is here, and I guess I don't have one. Life is a mess, and right now I'm a mess, full of sugar, lonely, completely stalled and discouraged in my work, yet still blown away by a couple of things.

The sun is shining right now. Shining on the high cedar boughs that garland my upstairs office view. The light is dappled and various, a Gerard Manley Hopkins light.

The sun is out. I never thought I'd see it again.

I don't know why we keep on. Sometimes it's wretched. Ask any genius. We have a spark of life in us, like a candle inside a blubberous whale. Van Gogh had to paint quickly because he knew he didn't have much time. "You paint too fast!" Gaugain roared at him. "You look too fast!" he growled back.

I'm not even going to try to tie all this together because life, as it is, isn't tied together very well. It's sloppy and hard to navigate. For me, anyway. It's better and worse. Some suffer more than others.

But I'm glad my little bird made it back into the light.