ISSN 1492-8132
Issue Number 57,
Copyright © 2002
All rights reserved,
No reprints without permission

You can tie bunches of dried grass onto many toys. In many ways grasses are safer to use for this than other, finer fibres, which can cause problems if a strand or two manages to get caught under the scales on the leg. Grass is coarse enough that this just can't happen.

It's easy to collect grasses to dry and use, as long as you can find a field that isn't too close to any highways, doesn't get mowed and that hasn't had chemical fertilizers used on it or pesticides applied to it. (Try talking to local farmers, if you don't know of a field - or, if you have a garden or patio, you can just grow your own.)

When the seed-heads have formed, take a small scythe or a sharp knife, and cut the grasses off just above the soil. Let them lay in a thin layer in the sun for a day or two, turning them over a few times, and making sure they don't get too damp anywhere - if the grasses are laid too thickly and moisture collects while they are drying, you could wind up breeding spores that could cause problems later on.

It's easiest to use your grasses when they are dry but not yet brittle - take a small handful, align the pieces, and tie them onto the part of the toy you wish to 'decorate'. Then take another handful and tie it on, continuing until you are satisfied with the results. Then, hang the toy someplace dry for a week or two so the grasses can finish curing. You can trim any ends that stick out, if you like, or leave that up to the bird - just make sure there's nothing long enough and/or strong enough to get tangled in.

That wondrous and fabled singer of the canary world, the Waterslager, is a very rare bird in Canada. But, there is a refuge here where these canaries can be found - Alberta is home to Mike and Nancy's Waterslager canaries.

Whether you are interested specifically in the Waterslager breed, or just like canaries, you will enjoy your visit to this thoughtfully laid-out website, and find it well worth taking a little time to explore. There is even some short movie clips to watch!

When you find you are ready for a break, take a while and explore this site - I promise, you won't be sorry!

Our next issue is due Nov 10th - until then, may you and your birds enjoy all the best of everything!

Robirda
Oct 27, 2002

Welcome to Robirda's Companion Birds eZine

For breeder or pet bird owners who care.

Feature Article

Born a dwarf, this great-grandson of my first canary, Two-Bits, was one of the most personable and affectionate canaries I have ever known. I called him...

by R C McDonald
Copyright © Oct 2002

"That's odd, little girl, how did you manage that?" I murmered, peering into Little Bit's nest. Her mate, Ruadh, was nervously hugging the perch on the far side of the cage, but Little Bits had inherited her grandfather's fearless attitude, and was standing beside her nest, alternately peering into it, then gazing up at me.

In the nest were her four new hatchlings. Three were perfectly normal, but the fourth, although he looked quite ordinary on his own, was startlingly small next to his nestmates.

Since he'd hatched the same day as the rest, and had no apparent physical problems, I concluded that he was simply built a little smaller than his siblings, cautioned his mother to be sure to feed him, and went about my day.

I already knew Little Bits was a fantastic mother. Like her mother, Peepicheep, she doted on her babies, and loved feeding youngsters - any youngsters, hers or not. But I worried whether this little guy could survive the competition of living and growing with three bigger sibs.

I needn't have worried - that little guy had twice the spunk of his nestmates, and had no qualms about demanding his fair share of the food. Not only did he demand to be fed - he wanted to be fed first, and would throw a tantrum if ignored, kicking his legs out and trying to push his nestmates out of the way.

His parents ignored these tantrums, as any good parent would, and continued to feed - although sometimes they had to wait for the little guy to stop kicking before they could feed him. Several times I saw Little Bits waiting with a puzzled yet patient expression for her dwarf youngster to settle down so she could feed him.

Then, when he was about a week old, it happened - I came into the bird room one morning just in time to see Little Bit's smallest youngster kick himself right out of the nest! He seemed a little puzzled, when he landed on the paper on the floor of the cage almost three feet below, and I immediately rushed over to check him.

He was unhurt, and I quickly scooped him up and lifted him back to the nest. He didn't seem to mind, and settled in on top of his bigger nestmates, opening his mouth to his mother, who was patiently waiting for me to finish my chores. Before I had finished closing the cage door, she was already feeding her littlest, and within a few seconds Ruadh was hard at work beside her, stuffing those ever-hungry little gullets.

This accident didn't change her littlest's methods, though - if he wasn't fed as soon as he was hungry, he would begin angrily rumbling about in the nest, kicking his nestmates, and being as ornery as he possibly could. And sure enough, within a couple of hours he again managed to jump himself right out of the nest.

He was beginning to get a little chilled before I found him this time, and I took a few minutes to warm him in my hand before replacing him in the nest, talking to him all the while.

Most week-old chicks are afraid to be handled, and react by making themselves as small and still as possible. But this little guy was very alert for his age - his eyes were already open, and he didn't seem the slightest bit afraid of me. Instead, he bobbed his head at me, as if checking to see if I would feed him, then began to tilt his head back and forth while I talked, as if listening to every word.

Perhaps he was! It certainly seemed so, for as I lifted him back up to the nest, he wriggled across my palm, ready to hop back in. The other youngsters crouched in the bottom of the nest as soon as they saw the edge of my hand appear, but my little dwarf ignored them, and jumped in.

This became a regular routine, over the next few days. Luckily, he never jumped himself out of the nest during the evening, but I found I needed to check the birdroom regularly during the day, in case he'd managed to kick himself out of the nest yet again.

At first I scooped him up, turning and opening my palm when it came up beside the nest. But it wasn't long before I could simply place my hand beside him, and he would climb on, to ride, head bobbing and with every sign of enjoyment, back up to the nest.

Soon I realized he had already named himself - I found myself referring to him as Rumblejumpskin, while talking to him as I lifted him back to the nest yet again. It seemed to suit the personality he had displayed so far, and I knew that it would stick.

Rumbles fledged at 16 days, and weaned easily. I suppose his time spent on the cage floor watching his parents eating at the plate of soft food had shown him early on where the food was, for unlike many youngsters, he spent little time crying to be fed - if one of his parents offered, he would eat, but otherwise he managed his own affairs.

He loved greens, and didn't bother to wait for my hand to leave the cage, whenever I put new food in, but would zip right down and land on my hand while it was still in the cage, and start eating. Although they were a little wary of this novel approach, his siblings soon noticed that no harm ever came to him for doing this, and before long the whole family was following his example.

I badly wanted a little more time to work on training them, but simply couldn't find it - so while they grew up friendly and confident, you couldn't exactly called them handtame. I found good homes for all but Rumbles, who had kicked his little way into my heart.

As he grew, it became clear that he was a beautifully coloured and proportioned clear intensive red. Yes, he was very small - a scant four inches from beak to tail-tip - but you didn't tend to notice it, unless you saw him next to another canary. He had a lovely song, and was one of the first canaries to come into breeding condition, come spring.

Like his mother, grandmother, and great-grandfather, Rumbles proved to be an extraordinary parent. He loved to sit on the eggs, and whenever his hen got off the nest, Rumbles promptly got on, guarding them with care and dedication. He did easily as much work feeding his chicks as his hens, and he would do all the work of weaning, too, while they built another nest and incubated more eggs.

And every one of his youngsters was normal in size.

As the years went by, Rumbles remained friendly, and his youngsters were always calm and confident too - after all, if their father wasn't afraid of me, why should they be?

I had no trouble finding good homes for any of them, but refused to sell my lovely little dwarf, although I got many offers a year for him. He raised a good half dozen or more youngsters for me every year, and never got tired of jumping onto my hands to eat, while most of the rest of the canaries stared.

He had a rather long, rough moult after his seventh year of breeding, and I told him that it was time to stop being the Big Daddy, and retire - he could enjoy life a little, during his old age, instead of spending all his energy raising youngsters. And in the spring, when it came time to set up my pairs, I gave Rumbles his own cage, where he could live the life of Riley, while the younger birds did all the work.

But to Rumbles, this arrangement was unacceptable. As far as he was concerned, the one thing he enjoyed most about life was raising babies, and when it became clear that this year he was not going to be paired, he began to act very unlike himself. He seemed depressed, and spent all his time staring at the breeding pairs with a woebegone expression on his face.

Nothing seemed to raise his spirits, and finally I decided to let him share a breeding cage with an older hen, who I had not planned to breed either. Sure enough, Rumbles perked right up, and began helping her to build a nest and incubate eggs, not realizing that I had given the real eggs to another pair to incubate, and left them with a nest full of fake eggs.

Every day, when she left the nest, he would hover over the eggs and 'talk' to them, in tiny, adoring little peeps and whispers - but nothing hatched, and as one and then two months went by with no hatchings, he again began to appear depressed and despondent.

Finally, I decided to allow the frustrated pair a single fertile egg, from Rumble's daughter's nest. Rumbles was ecstastic when the baby hatched, and doted on it as never before. By the time the youngster was 12 days old, his hen had built another nest and begun to incubate more eggs, while Rumbles spent all his time dancing attendance on his grandchild.

Then the miracle happened. I didn't bother to switch out the eggs for fakes, nor did I think to candle them, since none of the eggs earlier in the year had been fertile - I'd decided that Rumbles was not fertile anymore, and maybe his hen wasn't either. But thirteen days later, just as his grandchild had begun to eat on his own, I found that Rumbles and his partner had two new hatchlings!

This was like an 80 year old man having babies with a 50 year old woman - not unheard of, quite, but very rare! And from the way Rumbles acted, he thought it was a miracle too - a wonderful one, in answer to his prayers.

I worried about him, but couldn't bear to ruin his happiness by removing the youngsters to foster parents, and so against my better judgement, I allowed the happy pair to raise their babies. By the time they had fledged, Rumbles was beginning to act a little tired, and as soon as they began to eat on their own, I removed him to his own cage, to give him a chance to regain some strength.

Within a few weeks, he went into a rather heavy moult. He'd always been a fairly active little bird, but now was content to spend most of his time watching the year's youngsters playing in the nearby flight cage. He seemed happy, and was in fairly good health, overall - his weight was good, his eyes clear and bright, and his feathers were coming in splendidly. He was quieter and slower than before - but isn't everybody, when they begin to age?

As September wended its way closer to the Equinox, pin feathers began to appear on his head, and he began to sing a little, quietly, as if to himself. He was still eating well, and would still sit on my hands to eat his greens, if I didn't withdraw my hand from the cage right away.

Although he still had all his old spirit, he moved more slowly now, and occasionally I would uncover his cage in the morning to find him sleeping on the floor. I added a heating pad under one end of his cage, and the heat helped - he perked up a bit, becoming a little more active.

Then, the morning of Monday Sept 23, 2002, I uncovered his cage to find him huddled into a little ball in the warmest corner of his cage, still sleeping. This was quite unusual for Rumbles, who had always been an 'early bird', and I resolved to keep an eye on him, this day.

He acted normally once he was awake, though, his weight was still good, and he ate his breakfast with an appetite, so I crossed my fingers and went about my day, resolving to keep a close eye on him, just in case.

Sometime between noon and 1 pm that Monday, he simply laid his head down and passed on. I found him laying on the floor of his cage, with his head propped on the corner of his greens plate. He looked peaceful and content, as if he might open his eyes at any second, and bob his head at me.

I laid him to rest with my tears and memories underneath my calendulas, so in the spring their warmth and colour can remind me of his beauty, spirit, and song.

One of his last chicks - I think she may be a hen - reminds me very much of her father and his grandmother, Peepicheep. She's a real little character, friendly and sweet, curious and confident. I call her Sweetcheeps, and I will always be grateful that my Rumbles insisted on leaving me his legacy of love, in her.

I whisper stories of her father to her, and she comes close and tips her head back and forth, listening, then bobs it at me, just as her father would. I think, as I did of him, that this is her way of laughing with me, in sheer enjoyment. It is as if she is saying, "I am so happy you are sharing this with me - isn't life grand?"

by R C McDonald
Copyright © Oct 2002

This issue's question:

"I was wondering if you could let me have a recipe for a good basic canary seed mix that does not include canola or rapeseed?"

Robirda's answer:

"I use a slightly varying mix depending on the season - but my regular mix is 80% canary grass, 10% Pretty Bird mini-pellets, 6% oat groats, and 4% niger.

"I have tried different kinds of small pellets in the mix, but, Pretty Bird seems to be the favourite.

"Around mid-winter I will change the mix to 75% canary grass, 12% pellets, 7% oat groats, and 6% niger... I'll use that one til the middle of breeding season or so, then switch back to the first mix, through the end of breeding season and on into the moult, fall, and early winter.

"Of course, my flock also get lots of greens, usually mixed with grated carrots - and in the winter they tend to get a little more spray millet to play with, and I will sometimes give them a handful of rolled oats, too.

"Besides all of this, I regularly offer a good soak-seed-and-nestling-food mix, including vitamins. This mix varies some, depending on the season. For more, see my article on soak seed and nestling food."