Australian brush turkey hatchling

bush turkey hatchlingIt’s probably hard to see in this picture but if you zoom to the centre you’ll see a wide-eyed little chick with brown fluffy tufts on her head and a useful looking beak. I say ‘little chick’, she’s fairly large by ‘chick’ standards. I discovered her yesterday foraging for food amongst the leaves in our backyard. After some research, I discovered she was an Australian brush turkey hatchling. We’ve been away for 2 weeks so she may have hatched while we were away. We had heard something rustling around in the leaves before and wondered if it was our resident Blue Tongue Lizard (we’ve since named him Russel as the rustling of leaves always signals his appearance) but perhaps it was this little cutie, or it’s mother looking for a suitable mound for her eggs.

There are many people who don’t like Brush turkeys. They do tend to tear up the garden on their hunt for food and I have heard that in the absence of a female the male will single out your black chickens for some special attention, but they are native to Australia and I’m happy to let her be. The odds are stacked against her as it is with snakes and a Guana (though we’ve still to spot him) on the property.

Brush turkey chicks look similar to quails, with plain rich brown feathers over their entire bodies. As they mature they lose the feathers on their heads and necks, where the bare skin turns a deep pink colour. It’s at this point they take on that turkey look and become less ‘cute’. In fact, they are quite ugly as adults but hey that’s life for most of us.

So I turned to trusty McGoogle to do some research and as I read about their breeding habits I couldn’t help but feel a bit of respect for the female bird.

Using vegetation gathered from the forest floor around them, male brush turkeys build a large and distinctive ‘incubation mound’, which can be up to 4 m wide and up to 2 m high. I have to confess if there was a such a mound on the property I would have missed it as it is all a tad overgrown at this stage.  A female will then lay 18-24 white eggs in the mound, with intervals of two to three days between the laying of each egg.

Female brush turkeys  ‘shop around’ before adopting a mound to lay their eggs in. They assess the quality of the mound since it reflects the quality (attentiveness and experience) of the male who made it. How sensible is that? A good quality mound will have several females laying in it, while poorer quality mounds may have only one or no females laying. Females may also lay in more than one mound each season to spread the risk. (Take note men out there – you have it easy.)

As the vegetation in the mound decomposes, it gives off heat which warms the eggs. The optimum incubation temperature is 33-35°C which the male brush turkey maintains by removing and adding layers to the mound. Apparently temperature regulation is the only assistance the parents provide to their offspring. The young brush turkeys hatch after about seven weeks, amazingly fully feathered and able to run. They dig their way through the layers of the mound and into the open air. After that, they are totally on their own which is why I’m probably feeling protective of our little hatchling.

If I see her again I may give her a name. She looks like a Matilda to me.

 

 

Well hello neighbouroonies

When we first moved in to Lorikeet Lane we met two out of four of our immediate neighbours – one of whom was Scottish. Hurra, I thought. Someone to have a glass of wine with or a cup of tea. It’s always so refreshing hearing the Scottish accent when you’re away, and you feel an immediate bond in the ‘life away from family and friends in this strange foreign land’ sort of way.

The initial meeting with both neighbours had been pleasant enough, but since we’d been away a lot, I hadn’t really got the chance to build on that beyond a quick wave or hello. So today I decided, after taking Angus on a little scout around, to pop in and say hello. I thought it would be nice to invite said ‘Scottish’ neighbour up to the house for tea and chat. I also thought (since I’d heard a dog) it would be a great way to socialise Angus – meet some nice Scottish people and possibly a doggy friend close by.

I rang the doorbell and waited. Crazy dog barking ensued. A new face came to the door. I hadn’t met the daughter. She crept out of the house and closed the door behind her and was speaking in hushed tones. Oh, I thought, obviously someone sleeping or not well – or something.

“Sorry, did I call at a bad time? I ask nervously.

“No, no … you must be Evie,” she said.

I took this as a positive sign that her mother must have mentioned me and I began chatting away. She was totally enamoured with little Angus who didn’t know whether to jump and lick her face all over or wag his tail until it fell off. The barking behind the closed door ramped up as if the unseen dog knew just what her young owner was up to behind the closed door – betraying her.

“I’m sorry about Molly,” she says. “She’s 9 years old and she’s nuts. She hates everybody and she hates other dogs”, she says eying Angus with gentle concern. “She’s an ex-police dog so .. you know…”

“Oh!” I’m beginning to realise Angus isn’t going to make his first friend here today. It was ticking through my brain that ex-police dogs would be pretty well behaved and used to people. Perhaps this police dog witnessed something so damaging he had to be kept separate from the whole of humanity… who could say.  Maybe he was just old and crotchety like we all get. Fair enough.  I barge on. “Well I was really just popping in to say you are most welcome to come up for a coffee or a glass of wine if you like – I was going to ask your mum…”

I wasn’t prepared for the cloud that fell across her face … “oh,” she said …”I’ll just get my mum … but I don’t think … anyway, hold on.” I stood with Angus at the front. He wasn’t picking up on the signs that maybe we weren’t as welcome here as I’d first hoped. His tail was still wagging furiously.

After much discussion behind the closed door, mum appeared looking wiping hands on a dishcloth. It put me in mind of my childhood for some reason.

“I’m sorry,” I say again. “I’ve obviously come at a bad time. I only came to ask if you fancied coming up for a tea or a glass of wine some time – I mean not today if you’re busy but any other time – feel free.”

“No. We don’t do that sort of thing. We’re not social. But thanks for the offer.”

“Oh…OK,” I stand blinking, unsure what to do next.

That’s when she spotted Angus and turned into a different person. “Oh but I love you…” she said bending down to greet Angus. “I love you.” This was followed by many cuddles and much smooching. Angus was beside himself with joy.”

I felt the words just blether over without a filter. “Oh well. No problem. I just thought since we were both Scottish … oh I don’t know. Anyway, the offer still stands if you change your mind.” (I thought because we were Scottish??? hmm I’ll need to work on my ‘making friends routine.’)

I take my pup and go. I’m somewhat surprised that someone has kindly but gently pushed away the hand of friendship – but hey some people aren’t sociable I guess. Maybe that’s why she’s living on a property away from the rest of the human race. She doesn’t want to be bothered about the niceties with people like me- and neither does her dog. I don’t really blame either of them.

Angus is oblivious – he’s not the one that’s been rejected. He trots down the path with his nose glued to the ground. He seems to be on the scent of a skink or a duck perhaps. I can’t be too upset with the Scottish woman. After all, she loved my little ferocious pup so that makes her alright in my book.

As we walk to the bottom of the path, I can see our other neighbour has moved the cows to the paddock opposite. I soon forget about the Scottish woman. The two calves I’ve been watching from a farther paddock for the last few weeks are right in front of us and I’m excited to meet them and introduce Angus.

We exchanged some meaningful pleasantries and Angus joined in in his usual enthusiastic manner. The calves humoured us for a few moments as their mother looked on, before nonchalantly sauntering off in the direction of some shade.

In chatting with the calves, we’ve come to the conclusion Mrs Scottish lady and her daughter (who also sounds Scottish) is probably in a witness protection program or at the very least just has a very jealous dog – perhaps husband. Probably much more creative and more exciting than the truth. Ah well, who needs people when you are surrounded by the sights and sounds of nature and the company of a loving pup.