The backyard was a haven for all sorts of wildlife. Birds, lizards, mice and rats and on occasion, some feral cats. I slumped in my deckchair near the laundry door, hat pulled down to my eyes to ward off the summer sun.
I liked seeing the birds picking through the unmown grass for the worms and insects, that only they could see.Birds of all different sizes and breeds, came to feast throughout the day and retreated at night to the canopy of trees that lined the edges of the yard. It was as well that they did, because night was the time the feral cats came to hunt. I rarely saw them in the daylight. I never knew where they came from. Over the back fence and down by the creek, I expect.
They rarely came closer than the shed down the yard. The shed with unpainted timber and some broken windows. I'll fix those one day. Meantime, it wasn't safe to put the car in there out of concern for the roof timbers. I'll fix those too. Besides, I believe I'd seen a carpet snake up in the rafters once.
At night there was the rustling in the grass, when the cats chased a mouse or rat round the discarded and unwanted building material left over from unfinished projects. I left them to their devices, as long as they left the birds alone.
Now old and retired and left without the motivation to do much in a hurry, I spent my days reminiscing about the days of my youth. No better place to ignore the housework and the pile of dishes in the sink, than to vacate to a deckchair in the backyard and survey the activity around me.
Pee Wees and Ibises and Asian Minors flocked in at different times. The Ibises, with their long downward pointing beaks, made them look like they belonged by the creek, way down, past the back fence. Their large black and white bodies with their tiny heads, made them look like nature erred in their design. Flamingos, they were not.
I took pleasure at chasing them off with a sudden burst of forward momentum, waving my arms for added effect. I wondered what they might taste like. But their nickname, 'Bin Chickens' stopped me from thinking about it much. They did look majestic in flight though.
Far and away, the most unattractive of the birds were the 'Noisy Minors'. They didn't eat the insects and worms in the grass. They were too clever for that. They are honey eaters. I didn't any flowers in my garden, so I think they came to harass the other birds. Catching insects on the wing and getting nectar from flowers was their mode of sustenance. They weren't afraid of the cats and I saw a group of them swooping down in succession at the cats, making the high pitched scream, that is as unnerving as it is annoying. The cats always looked annoyed when this happened and no doubt harbored evil intentions if they ever caught one on the ground.
Pee Wees were the cute accouterments to the tableau of bird life. Also black and white, they were small and in proportion in their bodies. Their yellow beaks and their constantly bobbing heads gave them a comical appearance. The liked to jump onto the car and look at themselves in the side mirrors. Sometimes, if the sun was right, the house windows appeared as mirrors to them. Now and again one would fly into a window with the thump. It sounded like the best intentions just went horribly wrong. They never seemed to appear at the same time as the Magpies did, as if arrangements had been made.
Magpies were my favorite of the birds that frequented the yard. Their shiny black and white coats looked like they were dressed for a formal occasion. Their long pointy beaks looked sturdy and worthy of a military encounter. Magpies are very curious birds and I once saw one stick his beak into an open tray of old black engine oil, left neglected by me, after a vehicle maintenance exercise. He decided that it wasn't edible and I watched as he wiped his beak on the grass without concern and then continued foraging.
I never saw them fight among themselves. They had territory, that they had for themselves. That's what they thought anyway. That changed when I started feeding them. They aren't supposed to eat bread, but nobody told them that. Magpies are quite friendly when you have food they don't have to forage for. A lot of Magpies will eventually eat out of your hand when they get to trust you. It starts by throwing bits of bread out onto the yard and letting them see if they like it. They like a bit of white bread that's been dampened with a little bit of water. Eventually they come and take the bread straight out of your hand.
Now the situation evolved that somehow, Magpies from near and far, came to the yard, when they saw what was going on. Who's in for a free feed of bread? Well it wasn't long before about twenty five Magpies would be waiting in the back yard when I ventured out of the house after breakfast. They knew my schedule. I threw bread to them and they got closer and closer. Where would it end? Well I ran out of bread one day, before they thought they'd had enough. I retreated inside and one of the braver ones followed me inside. I turned around and it panicked. Instead of flying back outside he flew inside and ended up in the bedroom. He saw the window and flew straight at it. I was terrified he would break it with his sturdy beak. I closed the blinds and went to get a broom. He saw an opportunity to get out of the bedroom and spotted the open window in the kitchen. I don't know if he ever came back for another feed. Let's face it, you've seen one Magpie, you've seen them all.
Well almost all. There was one Magpie, that stood out from all the others. Through some misadventure during his life, he had broken off half of the top of his long pointy beak. When he came close, I could see his long thin tongue cradled in the curve of his intact lower beak. If that wasn't enough, he had a bent leg on one side that caused him to hobble when he walked. I always made sure that he got a good feed. I developed an affection for him because he had character. He didn't seem to think he was maimed. Just another Magpie trying to get by.
He always came close to the head of the group. Then he decided to move into the yard permanently. The numbers stopped growing but I was more cautious now and fed them at a distance from the house. A week went by and I started to recognize some of the regulars. They had different characters. Some were cheekier than the others. The younger ones were intimidated by the older ones. I always threw bread down past the group so they didn't miss out.
One day, I came home and noticed a pile of black and white feathers down by the shed. I advanced tentatively toward it, Not sure what I was seeing. Disbelief fogged my head. Near the pile of feathers was the shiny black beck of a Magpie. It had a broken top half and lay near a pair of awkwardly shaped legs. It could only be Broken Beak. I looked angrily around, but there wasn't a cat to seen. He probably got too close to the bottom of the yard where the cats hid out. The worms and insects were more plentiful down there because the other birds kept their distance. There was nothing to do. No body to bury. I went back to the house and made lunch.
I lost interest after Broken Beak was killed. I stopped feeding the Magpies and after a few days, the population dropped back to the regular two or three. The cats were nowhere to be seen. They knew they were in trouble. I started to get bored, sitting and watching it all. After a few more days, I went inside and got out the toolbox. It was time to go down the yard and fix the shed.