A waif of a bird we will call “tawny” was lying bedraggled on the cold surface of a suburban street. A waif being attacked by ravens.
A bird bereft, a pathetic bundle of feather and bone. Awaiting the cruel fate of raven beak. Or the wheels of a car.
A baby tawny frogmouth had somehow become separated from its mother; lost, alone and in peril.
A jogger discovered the bird on Waterworks Road in Dynnyrne and delivered it to a local wildlife carer.
The carer in turn delivered the fledgling to a veterinarian who treats wildlife for free and then, after a cursory health check, the frogmouth was taken for more specialised treatment at the Bonorong Wildlife Sanctuary’s veterinary clinic.
Staff there determined, in all probability, the unfortunate frogmouth had been hit by a car.
When it showed signs of progress, the frogmouth was returned to the carer, so he could supervise its rehabilitation.
Usually a fussy feeder – moths being its main prey – the frogmouth soon took a liking to balls of mince and specialist bird food, Insectivore.
When caring for the injured wildlife of the Waterworks Valley, the carer and his partner have over the years sometimes phoned me for suggestions on where rehabilitated birds should be released. A magpie in Fitzroy Gardens once, a silvereye on the Domain, and a wood duck duckling at the Waterworks Reserve.
But a frogmouth was certainly something rare and at the carers’ home, the youngster was trying to find, if not its feet, its fragile wings; a fledgling trying to make sense of its caged world. And the dedicated carers worried about the frogmouth’s eventual life outside the garden aviary.
They had no need for concern. Amazingly, they awoke a few nights later to hear the booming oom, oom, call of an adult tawny frogmouth. They looked out of the window to see what was obviously the young frogmouth’s mother on top of the wire of the rehabilitation aviary, the bird silhouetted against the nearby street lamps. She stood frozen in classic frogmouth camouflage pose, her flecked grey and brown feathers designed by day to merge with the bark of wattle and gum.
Bonorong advised the frogmouth needed a little more care before release, and the carers left it for another 24 hours. After the sun had set next day they saw mum now sitting in a nearby tree, calling again to her youngster. The fledgling answered her with a plaintive call of its own.
The time had come to open the cage door. The youngster flew to the tree where the mother, instead of familiar statuesque pose, twitched excitedly, bending her head to look down to view Tawny’s progress.
A flutter of wings, and mother and her baby engaged in a brief fly-by of the carers’ home. Then they vanished into the night.