Gone are the updates full of gloom and sadness. We shall have no more of that here in parrot paradise. Instead this month’s installment will be a more upbeat update and eventually we’ll get to “The Amazing Adventures of Wee Ben”.
The Bonaire parrot team have taken to giving the lora nests memorable names. The imaginative team members stretch themselves to come up with ever more elaborate names like the inconvenient “Far Far Away” and the technically challenging “Enigma”. The nest that became known as “Boulder” was discovered on a day of all time low creativity but it was to be a day of great joy when “Caipirinha” was found.
“Bill” is so named as it can be found on a hill, and “Ben” is Ben because it is in a nearby Glen, which is Scottish for valley, although technically it’s not really a glen but more of an undulating lowland. Not to matter, these details only stand in the way of less imaginative souls.
The nest known as Ben has only ever had one chick, who is best described as an ill tempered and poorly disciplined spoiled brat. This little darling has become known as “Wee Ben”. Wee being Scottish for small. The alert reader will have noticed a Scottish pattern emerging. Whilst we have nothing against this, we are confused by it’s origin as the team member giving these names usually resides on the Welsh border of England, far from Scotland and to our knowledge he has never been to Scotland and has certainly never eaten haggis.
Two members of the parrot team recently visited Wee Ben to check up on him. Most parrots are sexually monomorphic, that is you cannot tell males from females. Wee Ben is described here as a boy parrot only for convenience and there is an equal probability that he is in fact female. Little did the parrot team doing the visiting know that the nest inspection was to involve a few seconds of heart stopping terror. If you don’t count daily abseils (rappels) down high cliffs, on poor anchor points in remote areas where there is every possibility that no one would find you for several hours should something go wrong, then you could say research into the development of parrot chicks rarely involves any great excitement. Consequently heart stopping terror which lasts for a duration of a few seconds can not go unreported, and so to
“The Amazing Adventures of Wee Ben”
It was another beautiful dawn in the undulating lowlands of the Washington Slaagbai National park. Wee Ben awoke inside his dark yet cozy nest and prepared for his daily routine. The preparations didn’t take all that long as Wee Ben’s daily routine largely involves sitting around waiting for food to be regurgitated into his mouth by his parents, digesting the food in order to grow and expelling the food. It’s not exactly a taxing schedule.
Wee Ben is now almost fully grown and ready to fledge. It’s a difficult age for young parrots. Soon he will be forced to leave the security of his nest and join the wild birds flying over the hills of the national park. Unless of course he is poached and then he can expect to spend 30 years in a small cage comparatively absent of physical activity, mental stimulation or dietary interest.
Since waking to the songs of thrashers and troupials he had waited for approximately half an hour before his ever-attentive parents arrived to fed him. Feeding visits are best described as fleeting moments of frenzied activity. On this morning it was “Mrs Ben” who first hurled herself through the nest entrance. At the sight of a parent arriving Wee Ben launched into action begging loudly and trying to grab his mothers beak. Nearly 12 hours had passed since the last feeding visit and he was hungry.
Their beaks engaged and his weary mother duly the regurgitated the contents of her crop. Wee Ben’s enthusiasm was so great, and his head bobbing so vigorous that he soon caused their beaks to loose each other. Poor “Mrs Ben” realized immediately, but it was too late and she puked a beak full of food over the head of her dear offspring before managing to stop herself. This unfortunate situation did little to deter Wee Ben who swiftly returned to getting all he could from his mother. Once Mrs Ben was content her duty had been fulfilled she made her exit despite her son’s forceful demands for more food. It was now Mr Ben’s turn to accommodate their offspring. He did this cordially and soon Wee Ben was satiated.
Mr and Mrs Ben then flew off into the hills that surround their nest to continue their foraging. Once again Wee Ben was alone, sitting, waiting, growing and crapping. It was his intent to do this all day long, just as he had done for the past seven weeks. It was an easy and stress free lifestyle.
But suddenly this peace was interrupted, a human hand plummeted into the nest. Wee Ben hurriedly shuffled to the back of his nest. The home that had afforded him such security was now a dead end where he could not escape the groping hand of a scientist. Fingers teased a grip on a leg and then his body was held. Wee Ben bit and nipped. He screamed an ear piercing scream but it was not enough to prevent him being plucked from his nest. Whilst this truthful account of chick extraction may seem rather gruesome, readers should note that the parrot team do everything possible to minimise the distress to the chicks we handle. And we put them back into their nests within minutes whereas poachers supplying the pet trade steal these babies from their families forever.
Wee Ben’s eyes quickly adjusted to the bright lights and fascinating surroundings in which he found himself. The scientists moved him around, checking over his body, looking under his feathers for parasites and measuring this and that. He did what he could to bite them and to dig his nails into their soft flesh but he was also distracted by this new world. Wee Ben could see cacti, trees, and blue sky. His eyes simply couldn’t take it all in. Was this the place his mother had whispered about when he was just a tiny pink bundle of joy.
The scientist kept muttering things to one another. They manipulated him and he could do nothing but submit. “Two hundred and ninety five grams, 168 millimetres, no quill sheaf on the tail. He’s going to fledge any day now. Could you hold him for a second.”
Wee Ben felt the grip of the hand loosen as the other human reached forward to take him. Following a rapid chain of thoughts he punctured the finger of the first with a toe nail and with all his might he bit the hand of the second. This was enough to create a fumble, the kind not normally experienced by such highly skilled and well trained scientists! Suddenly Wee Ben burst free. “My wings, my wings”. He stretched his brand new muscles, their fibres twitching in a bid for freedom. His unused feathers discovered their purpose. His unaccustomed eyes frantically trying to navigate a path through the trees. The humans sprung into action. Their carefully taken notes being scattered in the panic, never mind the wind. Their precision instruments discarded as if worthless. Never mind the cactus now embedding in your calf. Worry not about the blood on your finger. Catch that parrot chick!
Wee Ben, with his heavy crop of food, was struggling to gain altitude. The chasing human was struggling with the loose boulders and low branches. 10 meters had past and the human was gaining. Each stride of his long legs worth two of Wee Ben’s wing beats. Another five meters and Wee Ben was within kicking distance, but that was not going to help the current situation involving this precious and endangered species. The non-bloody hand swooped down but it failed to catch Wee Ben cleanly. He spun out of control, landing in a confused heap in the dirt. Before he knew what had happened his bid for freedom was over. “Did I just fly” his eyes asked the scientist in confusion but before anyone offered an answer Wee Ben was being returned to the peace and security of his nest. There would be no more excitement for him today. Gosh no, a few seconds are quite enough!
For more news of Bonaire’s parrots and to see inside their nests, check out our website http://www.parrotwatch.org.
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