White Pants Blue Tarp Black Swan

It was a day I thought: should I really where those white pants?  They are so clean, so white.  Goose!  What is the point of having them if you don’t where them?  Simple t-shirt, mesh covered shoes, the kind that let the air in as you walk, and an appointment in town.  Uneventful, normal, no surprises.

The country road I chose to drive along follows the river at about a distance of maybe two hundred metres as it winds its way to town.  So when I saw a large black swan on the side of the road I was surprised but not gobsmacked.  Right, I thought, this is the reason I carry a compact camera with me wherever I go.  Don’t let this opportunity pass you by.  When was the last time you saw a swan at such close quarters?  Never actually.

I had the swan in my camera sights as I approached, zooming in with my 12 x and depressing the shutter should the bird fly off and I miss the chance.  Only the bird could not fly off.  It was stumbling, falling to the side, wings clumsy and unco-ordinated.  Oh crap!  Trotting back to the car I was planning my daring rescue and perhaps a title like ‘Swan Saviour’ or The Wonder in White Pants (see how white they are!).  Oh crap, I’m wearing white pants.  No time for laundry concerns I had a daring rescue to perform.

Luckily in the boot of my station wagon I keep a couple of blue tarps and a rope.  No, no kinky reasons you dirty minded mollusc.  Tarps are to keep the straw ridden carpeted floor of the boot clean when a certain Megatron Destructodog travels with me.  Her toileting in the car is the unfortunate habit of a dog afraid of car travel.  I have no idea why there is rope in my car.

The beautiful, big, black and drunken looking swan was not particularly keen on my daring rescue and kept moving further away from me.  Perhaps my pants were too white.  I ran ahead of the creature to prevent it going into the really long grass and bushes only to send it careening towards the four strand barbed wire fence.  Oh crap no.  I ran headlong into the aforesaid long grass towards the reluctant rescuee only to miss it by a feather as it somehow struggled between the wires and continue its escape across paddock.

My tarp and I looked warily at the fence and knew there was nothing for it, even though neither of us may make it through unscathed.  But I did.  Not a prong to my shirt or white pants was suffered; the tarp however gained a couple of holes for its trouble.

The chase continued to a small, muddy gully.  Again, I looked at my white pants, my mesh shoes and hesitated.  The poor swan was losing its tenacious battle.  I could see it was tiring and slowing down.  I suspect it has been injured or ill for some time. 

The swan began hissing at me.

How does one actually capture a swan hmmm?  That was a question I had never Googled in my life and was never likely to and unfortunately Google has no jurisdiction in this dewy, grassy paddock or muddy little gully.  I did not happen to grab a device and bring it on my daring rescue.  But I have captured geese before and I knew you had to grab the neck first because those beaks can be very effective weapons.  I know, I had one bight me on the right buttock once. Ouch!

You would have been proud of me.  I lunged into that gully, tarp flapping wildly at my side, hair just right, look of determination on my face and those lovely white pants fairly glowing in the sunlight. I grabbed the hapless bird’s neck and immediately tarp-wrapped the wings to prevent them taking off my face or ear or mussing my hair.  Alas all this drama was overkill as the poor bird was spent.  No struggle ensued and I picked the swan up (surprised at how light it was) and headed back to the car. 

I could see a gate further up the paddock and immediately headed for it.  My feet were soaked but surprisingly not muddy.  I am not sure how that happened but then again I was unable to see what state my white pants were in.  Oh crap, the gate was chained and locked and not opening any time soon.  My swan infested tarp and I once again assessed the barbed wire fence and I sighed.  There was nothing for it but to go through.  The daring rescue must progress through to completion.  Ever climbed between barbed wire with a black swan wrapped in a blue tarp? No?  Me neither.  This time my shirt, my pants, my tarp and the swan were snagged by those pesky little barbs but we made it through and headed for the car. 

My plan was to tie the rope around the tarp around the swan and drive to my local vet clinic.  This seemed simple enough but the swan revived slightly and argued the point physically.  Then I remembered seeing docos on TV where rangers covered the heads of distressed wildlife and it calmed them down.  Tarp number 2 was brought into action and voila!  Keep in mind I did not actually tie the rope as such, just used it to wrap the swan roll for travel purposes. 

As I drove into town my daring rescue seemed pretty darn adventurous and exciting and my white pants were unscathed.  Amazing!  All the good heroes keep their outfits clean of course.  Unfortunately while negotiating a round-about probably a little too fast I heard the swan roll, well, roll. Oh crap.  Two blocks from the vet clinic and a comical looking swan head appeared in the reflection of my rear view mirror looking left, then right and straight ahead.  Then a stray wing came into view and I began to giggle.  What must the drivers behind me think?  Luckily I do have a cargo barrier so there was no concern the swan would plan to sit up front with me.

The vet nurses were suitably impressed with my story and we all took pictures with the rescuee.  They had never had a swan patient before as I am sure the swan had never been a patient.  It would be treated by the vet and sent to the wildlife rescue people for rehabilitation.

My white pants and I continued onto my appointment and I had nothing more than wet feet.  What a day.  What a daring rescue.  What a swan song!  (Sorry had to be said).

 

Microbats in Da House

My poor Dynamic Daughter.  The Lovely Husband and I left her alone last night (she is 17) and went out to a show featuring a couple of old rockers - Brian Cadd and Glenn Shorrock. Fantastic show by the way.

Keep in mind I had already freaked the Dynamic Daughter out by telling her that when the termites are finished munching on the house they would come down and consume her flesh.  I know, I am mean but after appreciating the shocked look on her face I did recant that statement.  Poor child.

So here it is in the country, night time and my girl has to put the dogs outside to their kennels.  The Dynamic Daughter hates, hates, HATES toads.  Cane toads to be exact.  They come out at night and sit there with good posture, poisonous glands glistening in the drizzling rain, beady unblinking eyes.  The DD runs the gauntlet of these creatures, terrified they will touch her, or worse, attack her in an organised group and bring her down (not likely to happen).  Job done, DD can relax and 'work;' at her computer in her room.

What's that?  A small shadow flits across her wall in front of her.  Able to ignore it for a little while the DD finally discovers there is a blood sucking, disease ridden, huge as an albatross bat in her room.  (Actually it is a harmless little microbat).  Fear once again envelopes this poor defenseless teenager and when the bat flies out of her room, she locks her door and stays safe and isolated in the knowledge that bats cannot turn door knobs.

If we have taught our daughter one thing it is to face up to your challenges and/or fears, even when it involves terrifying wildlife.  I once left her here armed only with an extended Enyo mop to fight off a carpet snake that was in the habit of trying to eat the budgies.  Again she had that horrified look on her face but this time I was serious. Luckily no snake that day.  Back to the bat in the house, DD opens her door and all the external doors to allow the poor terrified creature to escape, which it does.  Able to breathe again she heads back to her room only to be 'swooped' by a second little bat.  I imagine her nerves are close to shot by now but her hero, Dr Watson (the cat) takes that albatross sized creature out of the air and kills it.  Poor thing.  DD wraps the little fellow in newspaper and puts it in the bin.

The Lovely Husband and I arrive home and DD is in a state of nervous excitement.  While telling us the story, a third microbat whizzes silently past our heads.  Oh how cute says I.  I don't believe it says DD.  Dr Watson is on the job again but I don't want the poor little fellow killed.  They are little, silent harmless creatures.  The microbats eat insects and probably poop insect bits everywhere so it has to go.  It does fly out a window which is subsequently closed but that window leads to a closed-in veranda.  There are lots of places to hide on this large veranda for a little trapped bat.  It would appear that tonight we could be witnessing the flight of the microbat once again.  Poor Dynamic Daughter, all this nature is too much for her.

http://backyardbuddies.net.au/mammals/tree-dwellers/microbats

Seagulls

TERMITES!! Oh Bother

Oh yes, that word strikes fear into any home owner, especially a home in excess of 100 years of age. We have an infestation of the little buggers in FOUR of our rooms, three bedrooms and one bathroom.

You see it all started when the Young Negotiator left home.  He is 20 now and it was time for him to leave the nest (pun intended).  He "cleaned" his room and moved out leaving just the bedroom furniture.  No 20 year man wants to take his single, childhood bed with him.  I entered this den of teenage manhood for the first time in years to de-cobweb the ceiling, no mean feat I can tell you.  It was thick with webs in that gloomy room.  Yes, gloomy because he had the lowest wattage bulb known to exist I think.  Why?  Ambiance? Mood lighting? Save the environment?  No I think it was the first one he picked up when he needed to replace a blown bulb.

My cobweb broom was filling fast with dusty, sticky but spiderless webs (even the spiders found it too gloomy) when I noticed an anomaly in the corner of the ceiling:  dirt build up and puckered lining boards.  One step ladder and one egg lifter later I am jabbing at this strange dirt to find it hard and unmoving.  So I poked the puckered wood next to it, just once, and oomph, the egg lifter went straight through the wood without resistance causing a hole for the little white ants to fall out of.  I said something along the lines of "Oh bother" or some such benign exclamation and started to inspect the rest of the room.  Not good.  I turned my attention to the rest of the house, "Oh bother" many, many times. Holy white ant damage Batman it was in the walls and ceilings of four of our rooms.  This calls for the help of Termite Man!!

Termite Man came and looked and said something like "Oh bother" which did not instil confidence in me.  He went up into the roof space and said "I am going to take photos" which made me tremble at the knees.  Termite Man was happier when he re-emerged from the roof.  The frame of the house is untouched but the little buggers have followed the lining boards along in a straight line and have done a fair bit of damage.  It could be worse, the house will not collapse around us leaving us stunned and covered in dust.

Next step:  treatment with non-toxic traps under the house.  I love the fact they don't use dangerous poisons anymore.  Termite Man told me the bait is as toxic as salt, no harm to domestic pets or wildlife.  Fantastic.

"Have you seen any snakes around lately?  Because if there are any brown snakes (very poisonous) I charge double." said the smiling assassin.  No-o-o, not for a long time.  Within five minutes I hear this almighty groan from Termite Man.  A brown snake has slithered under the house and he has yet to set the traps under there.  "Oh bother" we both say.

"Err, can you keep the dogs inside while I go under the house on my hands and knees to set the traps?  I was under a house once and their little dog came and licked me in the ear, frightened the bother out of me. I lifted my head in response and crowned myself on the flooring above.  I saw stars!".  A very reasonable request I thought.

Traps are set.  My termites' time on this earth are numbered.  Apparently when the termites die and the eaten wood is left to dry out it will crumble to dust.  "Oh bother" that will be an expensive event to deal with.  That is in the future and will be dealt with then.

Termite Man will be back to check on the traps and possibly top them up and from now on we will have him out for a yearly inspection, something we should have been doing for the last 20 years.  Sigh.  Hindsight eh?  Bothersome little creatures.

Photographic Beauty

Soul Sister took this photo one day on the coastline and I simply love it.

Birds Nest Fern New Growth

Caterpillar in Chook Pens

Scribbly Gum Trees

These are the Australian trees the Scribbly gum.  The "grafitti" on them is left by the larvae of the scribbly gum moth which does no harm to the tree but I think looks fantastic.

Kookaburra Company

Seagull & Sunshine

This photo was taken on 1/2000 shutter speed on a bridging camera not happy with that particular setting but I like the picture just the same.  The Lovely Husband and I were at the beach side cafe where the seagulls often visit in the hope of a snack or two.

Crested Pigeons & Rainbow Lorikeets

I've Got a Frog in Me Pineapple!

...and a bit of old chook poo.

Koala in Gum Tree

Cockatoo Gossip

 The pecan trees have brought in the flocks of cockies which has upset the crows and currawongs.  They have been clowning around on the trees and our overhead electric wires occasionally being divebombed by the other birds.

These two remind me of a couple of drunks singing over their beers (or in this case the cattle trough).

"Kookaburra sits on the electric wire,
Jumping up and down with his pants on fire..."

Sea Turtle Hospital

This is one very sick green sea turtle. It has had surgery and hopefully will make a full recovery.





This one is now healthy and being fattened up for release.

Sea Turtle Hospital - Green Sea Turtles

How gorgeous are these little hospital patients.
Recently had a tour of a rescue organisation and hospital dedicated to seabirds and turtles. How amazing their work is. Apparently it is difficult to release these babies once they are well because they are so small and seem so helpless. Statistically only 1 in 1000 hatchlings make it to adulthood. Then it takes 30 years of growing before the female is old enough to lay her eggs. The odds are not good.

A lot of the rescued patients are there because of human interference. Pelicans and seagulls are often hooked and tangled with fishing line/hooks. The sea turtles may be damaged by propellers or mistake a floating plastic bag for jellyfish, their favourite food. Many die because of the plastic bags. Unless the bags are caught in the throat or at the other end the ability to save them is minimal.

THROW YOUR RUBBISH IN THE BIN, PLEASE.

Beach Photography

Soul Sister and I spent a morning practicing our photography. It was great fun and really interesting. When I downloaded them onto my computer though I found that the ones I thought were great were quite often rubbish. It is all a learning experience.

The One-Legged Seagull

The camping ground we stayed at this last week was situated between natural coastal bushland and the sea. We had three kinds of wildlife to protect our food from. The worst by far was the ever present brush turkey, attracted by plastic of any kind in the hope it contained something edible. There was also the goanna that slowly cruised the camping grounds for anything edible that had been left lying around. Then there were the seagulls. This one-legged villain actually removed the top layer of the Lovely Husband's focaccia while it was happily toasting on the BBQ plate.

Beasties in the Bush

Leeches, aren't they great....perhaps not. Went camera crazy in the bush (discovered much later my lens was smeared so unfortunately a lot of the photos are rubbish) and when I felt that sensation of being kissed on the ankle I found this little chappie. Wow, gotta' get a photo says I. Your mad Mum, get it off. Adjusted settings on said camera and was bending down to get my David Attenborough moment when Oh, it's biting me! Teens (3 of them) think me crazier than a bull ant but I get my photo. Not quite David Attenborough and you can see my legs need trimming with a brush cutter but I got the little sucker off before he broke through the skin. Unlike the school friend who discovered two on her ankle as we were driving back to town. She bravely suffered them till we arrived at the supermarket car park and then the Lovely Husband and I left them to deal with it while we went and purchased supplies. Those leeches got a feed.

Mountain Beauty

Went bush on the weekend, well stayed in comfortable accommodation in town and travelled by car out to the bush. I love the mountains, I especially love the bush and the ruddy great rocks they have up there. My teens think me crazy, I hug trees and I caress interesting rocks. Big granite buggers, huge, hippopotamic and I have to touch them all. Didn't see any interesting mammals or birds because the two girls, my Dynamic Daughter and her school friend were talking and laughing the whole time. We didn't lose them, no chance. But the air was crisp and the clean and we had fun.