An inquisitive old fart with a camera
Remember the pond-digging last month?
After a few days of heavy rain, we have a pond which almost looks like it’s always been there.
And you spotted the local wildlife enjoying it? This is locally called Tero-Tero for its call. Up north, Southern Lapwing. Same bird exists in Australia: very territorial, spurs on wings. Rather aggressive if you happen upon them with young.
Hand-fed as chicks, these sociable guinea hens come all the way from the neighbor’s yard to peck the ground at my feet, as if they can find nothing to eat in the 100 meters between.
Even when I’m using a noisy 5.5 HP lawn mower. I stopped it to take pictures; when it was running they would let it get even closer than this before moving.
As I washed dishes, I noticed something large and unusual in the backyard: a gallineta (ga•zhee•NET•ah). Beautiful bird who wakes us at 6 AM with a chorus of calls that sound like donkeys being answered by owls.
Reminds me that in the campo – a few km inland where we are now the owners of a 5.6 hectare (13.87 acre) farm of sorts – the neighbors call the guinea fowl who come to visit us gallineta. They also have their own word for gate. And who nows how many other things as well.
Gallinetas (pronounced ‘gazhinettas’) are one of my favorite birds here. I’ve only seen them in our yard a few times, though I hear their raucous calls almost every morning. When, this dreary morning, I saw a pair of them in the front yard, I grabbed my camera – to see that one had jumped onto a fence post (behavior I’ve never seen) as though posing. Only then did I realize I couldn’t shoot through a window screen because of the camera’s auto-focus.
I quietly opened the front door a little bit, expecting the bird to spook. But no, it just stood there. Indeed as if posing.
In Argentina, it’s called Ipacaá; in Brazil, saracuruçu. In English, Giant Wood-Rail.
Early at my desk. Back door open for pets. Suddenly a loud squeaky toy. But our pets have no squeaky toys. Rush to dining room, drag the little dog from hell by its tail from underneath the sideboard. In the next moment cradle in my hands a small brown songbird, upside down, damaged, panting furiously. I carry it to side wall. Its eyes blink, look at me. I imagine healing energy from my hands, but it looks like a goner. I gently place it – not upside down – atop the wall amongst squash plants, safe from cats.
An hour later, it’s gone. Apparently not a goner after all.