Dingos caught unawares

Almost bumped into this dingo (Canis lupus dingo) on a track near the rainforest pools today. She and another larger dingo were standing rock-still and staring intently into some guinea grass and lantana.

They were so fixed on their unknown target I was able to stop the none-too-silent pushbike and grab a couple of pictures without being noticed. Tried to get closer and off they slipped, away from the spot they'd been eyeing so intently and into a handy grove beside the track.

Seconds later, up flew a Pheasant Coucal from the target area. Wouldn't have been much of a breakfast, but it may have had a lucky escape. It didn't stop to thank me.

Not a common sight in and around Tyto, dingos come and go. It's not so unusual to catch them unawares on occasion in less populated places, but I've never come upon two dingos so engrossed and motionless before.

And this on a track used by licit and illicit pig hunters (whose attitudes to protected dingos might not be kindly, to say the least).

In general I've little time for 'sport' hunting and hunters. If I added to the dingos' wariness of humans in today's short encounter I'm happy to have helped their survival.

Saving them from ourselves

Oh, look, the poor little bird has fallen from the nest. It's fluttered up on to that old birdo's bicycle. Isn't it cute? What shall we do?

We'd better try to put it back. Pick it up and find the nest. Let's take it home and look after it. Wrong! Wrong! Wrong!

We're so keen to do the right thing we often get it all upside down. Doctors are told (but then sometimes go on to ignore the dictum): First, do no harm.

So it should be with us and wildlife. We almost all know not to get between wild animals and their young. That's because it's dangerous for us. But our thoughts should be first for the good of the young.

So when the above fledgling Rufous Whistler lost a tenuous grip on some outer foliage at Tyto today and fell at my feet, I naturally stepped back to get a picture. And to think about its welfare.

Yes, in that order and without any thought of saving the bird. That's what parents are for. Right on cue a male whistler turned up. With food in mouth. But it didn't go near the fledgling. It ducked here and there close by. Then it swallowed the caterpillar.

What's the problem? I'm probably the problem. Whistlers are trusting birds, but instinct runs counter to heading direct to the young. I back off. Still nothing doing. So I clear right off for 10 minutes.

On return it takes me five minutes to find the 'helpless' fledgling near the top of the tree it fell from. Doesn't seem judging by its fretful calls to be getting all it demands from parents but how's that different from most hungry juveniles? It's safe and sound!

I know, not all cases match such happy outcomes. My principle, though, is always to do as little as possible to interfere - or 'help'. How do others feel?

No need to get all snarky about it

Poking your tongue out isn't rude, if you are asked to do so, I said. In fact, it might be considered the polite thing to do. So I'll ask again, nicely. Poke your tongue out, please.

Sha'n't! Sha'n't! Sha'n't! Hissed the Carpet Python. My name's Morelia spilota mcdowelli and my rank is reptilia and that's all you're getting out of me. And I'm warning you. Touch me again and I'll bite.

There's no need to take that attitude, I said. I was just giving you a little pat goodbye. Then you got all snakey. Sorry, didn't mean to be offensive. Snarky. That's what I meant. Snarky.

Snarky? Snarky? Who are you calling snarky? I'm perfectly composed ...

Of course you are, I ...

...and don't interrupt, it's not polite. As I was saying, I'm composed and have every right to aggrievement. Lying contentedly taking the morning sun and not a trouble in the world - until you came along and thrust that glassy thing in my face.

I'm sorry, I ...

You're not sorry at all. I've heard that you do this sort of thing all the time. All the time! Don't you dare try to deny it. I'm going off to report your intrusion right now. You'll be hearing from us.

Us? What do you mean? Us?

FANGS, that's who. Fellowship Against Naturalists Grabbing Snakes. You've got a severe tongue-lashing coming ... Don't! Don't you dare ask again that I poke my tongue out.

With that, M. s. mcdowelli was gone, leaving me chastised. But undaunted. Little did the snarky one know I'd captured an early shot of the tongue today at Tyto. Not so clever now, eh, M.s.m.?

Calling 'out' for Lovelies

Terrible (only) 2007 picture of the Lovely Fairy Wren parent birds

How can two birds, no matter how small, hide for nine months in 100 hectares?

Ask the Lovely Fairy Wrens. Unseen by me all year (but reliably reported twice), Malurus amabilis showed up briefly today at the southwestern boundary of the wetlands. To be exact, a drabbish female carrying nesting material paused for a second on a high branch in deep shadow and launched deeper into head-high tangles of vine and emerging trees.

Forty minutes patrolling a dirt road running 10 metres away and parallel to the bird's flight yielded no sight of the (presumed) pair. No sound either. But they are so very soft of voice it is almost impossible to follow them in cover by sound alone. And they do love cover within brambly tangles.

So, bird found. Game of patience begins. Can I carefully seek the nest and find the birds before they produce, say, three young, as they did last year? (Please don't ask where the junior trio went. I have enough trouble with the sedentary parents.)

Perhaps I should 'call' the birds out? Some would and do. I don't, for reasons practical and ethical/ecological, (he said piously). I don't because I'm a hopeless mimic. Birds do appear on occasion but only to fall about laughing at the strange sounds.

On a more serious note, consider the argument against calling in relation to today's sighting.

A pair of common enough birds, but rare to an area, are building a nest. One is carrying material. From nearby comes sound of a rival bird/birds. It's a challenge? What to do? Leave it to the male? Drop material and go see? Who knows? But it's an intrusion in a way that the clumsiest birder is not.

Consider further. The shyest and rarest birds are often the target of calls. Shy and rare birds almost certainly are more than usually vulnerable to stress. Calling adds to their stress. Yes, I know, where's the evidence for this? It's here (pointing to my head).

One selection, from memory, of a New Scientist magazine about 2004. In an African national park with high conservation values birds living near tourist tracks were compared by size, weight, parasite load, breeding success and other factors to those of the same species living in unvisited areas. The distant birds rated about 7 per cent fitter. It seems even mild disturbance (stress) does harm.

Wider implications are obvious. 'We always hurt the things we love' springs to mind. Perhaps a bit extreme. But being aware of potential for damage should lead to considered and sensible compromises. (Oops, too many long words bespeaks a soapbox. Time to hop off!)