Portent of Doom

[endlessrarities]

I returned from an awful bike ride (20 miles in Baltic cold, and I'm SO unfit), to find a miserable finch (juvy greenfinch or siskin, not sure) sitting on the lawn.  It looked fluffed up and lethargic, so the warning bells rang for finch virus.

Unfortunately, it was still too lively for me to capture it and escort it to Certain Doom at the Hessilhead wildlife sanctuary.  I've just been outside to have a look for it in the gloaming, but the poor little thing has obviously moved on.

We need some heavy frosts, and we need them soon, or else this regular pestilence will raise its ugly head and this blog is going to degenerate into a miserable catalogue of disaster detailing the demise of a succession of greenfinches/chaffinches/pigeons/collared doves [delete as appropriate].

And of course the debate continues.  To feed, or not to feed?  If I keep feeding the birds when finch virus has been confirmed amongst my flock, then the disease is going to spread amongst healthy birds.  But...  If I stop feeding them, they'll just disperse and contaminate other gardens and the disease will spread just the same.  It's a Catch-22 situation which I've never really found a satisfactory answer for, and which no-one seems to agree on.

Last year, I spotted two potential cases, and they vanished before I could catch them and take them away for a firm diagnosis.  Then came the cold snap.  Frosts and arctic temperatures wrecked the garden, but it did wonders for the finches.  I think I'd opt for that, rather than endless mild, windy wet disgusting weather which sends the finch casualties rocketing.

Comments

[endlessrarities.livejournal.com]

Oh, I can't do it myself. I kind of wish I could, but... I think there'd be times where I'd make the wrong decision. All I can do is take it the people who can despatch them quickly and efficiently. With finch virus, I know they won't make any efforts to try and save them.

I tried to hit an injured vole with a shovel once. It had been attacked by our stable cats and I stood over it, poised, trying to pluck up the courage. In the intervening time, it recovered and ran away! Ever since, I've not been convinced by my own judgement.

That's a horrible tale about the possum. I've experienced similar with frogs. I was on a job a few years back where a hedgerow was getting ripped up. There were dead frogs and toads, hideously injured frogs and toads, and all sorts. It was horrific.

[roaming.livejournal.com]

Do you know Maddy Prior (singer)?

My fav cd of hers is YEAR. A very haunting song on it is The Fabled Hare,. Your storry of the hedgerow makes me think of it, as these lyrics gives me shivers, sums up the struggle between wild things and industrialization/man's disregard:

Man sprays no weeds
The scythe cuts, the corn bleeds
Leverets trapped in a harvest blade
'Tis the time of man, the hare said

Here's the tractor, here's the plough
And where shall we go now
We'll lie in forms as still as the dead
In the open fields, the hare said

No cover but the camouflage
From the winter's wild and bitter rage
All our defence is in our legs
We run like the wind, the hare said

[endlessrarities.livejournal.com]

My parents were big fans of Steeleye Span, but I'm not familiar with that particular track. Thanks for sharing.

It makes me think of a horrific wildlife documentary I saw about corncrakes. They're a bird which sits tight in the middle of a hay meadow during harvesting, and end up getting cut to bits by the combines. They showed footage of corncrakes with their wings hanging off and stuff.

There's since been a new initiative which encourages farmers to harvest their hay meadows outwards, leaving the edges intact so the corncrakes have a refuge. End result - corncrake numbers have soared in the Scottish islands! I actually managed to see one on Iona, which is a great privilige, as they're really secretive. You can hear them all the time, but spotting them's a different matter.