A Tawny Story

Tawny's are a nocturnal bird similar to an owl except their feet are not used to catch food being flat and weak. Their defence in the daylight hours is to sit rigidly still, orange eyes shut or narrowed to a slit, their neck extended to make themselves look remarkably like a piece of wood. When threatened they open their eyes widely and their wide beak fully to reveal a cavenous orange or yellow lined mouth, and hiss.

As we considered what do do the parent sat quietly coping extremely well with having young children and neighbours standing only a few feet away. When its beak opened slightly I would again suggest the people move back as it is a sign of stress. As dusk approached we could see movement in the skirt feathers and slowly a tiny head emerged to look around.

Rod was meanwhile up a nearby gumtree constructing a small platform of sticks similar to their flimsy nests. The plan was that the baby would be placed there and if it stayed still the parent could then protect it. I was educating the caller on the habit of the Tawny's to hunt at dusk and as if on cue the parent suddenly rose into the air and flapped silently off towards some nearby trees. With the baby clutched in its tenuous grip. My view of its flight was blocked but I was breathlessly informed by the children that the baby had flown off and landed in a tree and it was as big as it's parent.

This I could not believe as the chick was too young to gain uplift and the parents grasp would be inadequate. I doggedly hunted round the foot of the trees concerned as the light had almost gone. Then I saw what had confused the children. Even at this late hour a Red Wattle bird was darting around the parent, instintively having a go at the interloper. It would have been difficult to sort out who was who. `There it is!' one of the children cried. Right behind me wedged sideways in a fern bush was a wide open wing. It took me a moment or two to see the rest of the little creature who had stayed remarkably still. The bush was planted touching a verandah rail and with its nose poking through was a dog. I had felt movement there earlier on but had mistakenly attributed it to the silent canine.

Carefully I extracted the fragile being. It opened its tiny mouth wide and barked a warning. What a creature of extraordinary beauty! Its soft feathers were translucent in the dying light. Rod was waiting in the tree, so gently I placed the bundle in a calico bag, secured it with the end of a long string and Rod slowly hauled the almost weightless cargo up to the nest. Slowly, quietly murmering, he extracted it from its wrappings and placed it on the twigs. It stood still and slowly turned its head to locate the silouhette of its parent perched in the branches of the next tree.

With absolute caution Rod moved to climb back to the ground. In that instant the baby launched itself into the night air and with a flap and a glide landed on a verandah roof sliding to a scratchy halt. The parent was still on guard directly opposite and baby was out of harms way for the moment.

It was time to go home.