Pets in Italy

Pigeon Pals

So a couple of days ago I found myself in a new animal supplies shop, trying to ask for food for Picchio the handicapped pigeon. I say 'trying' because I had unsuccessfully attempted to buy him grain in a couple of other stores and ended up with bran for chickens, and bird seed. Not a language issue I hasten to add, more a 'we don't have pigeon food so we'll sell you something else' issue.

"Do you have chicken food or something similar I could give a pigeon?" I asked the lanky young guy sitting surrounded by bags of unknown animal supplies plus a few pairs of flip flops.

"Em, not really," he said. "We have pigeon food though."

"Pigeon food, yes, of course, that's what I want," I said like a twit.

"Have you got a pigeon?"

I resisted the witty riposte along the lines of "no, I've got a lion" which never seems to quite work in Italian, for me anyway. "Yes, I've got one pigeon. He's got a problem with his wing so he can't fly."

"Would you like another one?" he asked me. Now, this unexpected turn of events set me thinking. I  was concerned Picchio was lonely. Maybe another similarly afflicted feathery friend would cheer him up. However it turned out that Picchio's future chum was not sick at all, but just on sale.

"We've got 25 percent off all birds on Friday. Shall I put you down for a pair of pigeons?"

"How much are they?"

"Not too much, not 'an exaggeration'" he replied mysteriously.

"Can I buy just one? I mean, three could get a bit difficult." I stopped before I ended up in an awkward conversation about pigeon threesomes.

"One. OK. Is your pigeon male or female?"

I have no idea what sex Picchio is and suddenly began worrying about fights and territorial disputes. "How do you tell?" I asked.

He smiled at me. "Ah. Now that's difficult. You need an expert." (Later online I discovered it is indeed hard to sex pigeons, but one way is to provide a mirror! The males like posing in front of one apparently, and the females couldn't care less. A bit different from our world, eh?)

I ended up ordering a female, thinking that if Picchio was a girl, she would have a nice girlie pal and if he was a boy, then he would be getting a lovely girlfriend. Win win. I hope.

So I emerged from the shop with a10 kilo bag of pigeon food (!)and an order for one female pigeon.

We shall see what happens on Friday...

 

Changes to UK Quarantine Law

On June 30 DEFRA announced long-awaited changes to the UK's outdated quarantine laws to bring them into line with the rest of the EU.

Instead of the six month wait between having a rabies vaccination and then the subsequent all clear blood test, the blood test is to be scrapped and the waiting time post rabies vaccination reduced to 21 days for pets from EU countries and listed non EU countries such as the USA.

The new legislation takes effect from 1 January 2012 and is a huge relief to those of us who travel to and from the UK with pets, as well as those who want to bring an adopted animal into the UK from Italy.

The changes have been made possible because of improvements in the effectiveness of vaccines and mean an end to the dreaded six month quarantine in most cases.

You can read more about it here.

 

 

Something Nasty in the Woodshed

Well I spent Sunday doing a makeover of the downstairs kitchen. Alan was away in Modena meeting up with his old Motoclub friends and so I thought I'd take the chance to move things around a bit. 

In mid Changing Rooms trance, I suddenly realised I hadn't heard our English Setter Gassie for about an hour and a half since letting him into the garden. He's normally very vocal and comes and goes while the other two dogs sit patiently and watch his antics. This time there was a suspicious silence but when I called him he came inside wagging his tail. All was well, or so I thought.

This morning as I passed by the lean-to we have next to the garage I saw why he'd been so quiet. During one of his obsessive lizard hunts he had managed to rip apart about ten plastic bags of carefully stored woodpellets for our pellet stove as he tried to catch his prey!It was total mayhem in there.

It took me about three hours to tape together the broken bags and to collect up the loose pellets. I Googled what to do with spoiled wood pellets as they turn into sawdust at the slightest touch of damp and weigh a ton. There was surprisingly little on the Internet apart from the fact they make great cat litter or horse bedding, but as I don't have a horse (yet) and the amount on the ground would have kept a colony of 100 cats happy for weeks, I decided to compost them. Back and forth I went for it seemed like hours and then tried to mix it in as best I could and hope the rather surprised worms liked sawdust.

Ironic really as I was just telling Alan how well we had done to have so many bags left over from this winter.  I did reflect on the sweet irony of phrase which had captured my heart when I read the appeal for poor abandoned Gassie on the internet. It went along the lines of 'All he wants to do is sit by the fireside and rest his head on your slippers.'  It didn't mention there would be no fire in the fireside stove as the dog would have flung the fuel to the four winds in his mad hunt for reptiles. Oh well. I still love him to pieces despite his funny habits and you never know, pellets might make great compost.

 

 

 

 

Naming a Pigeon

Just got back from a week in the UK. Alan has been looking after the animals and has pointed out that I had probably misheard the pigeon's name, which I was convinced was Picchio. (Pronounced pick-ee-oh).

'Don't you think it's probably Piccio?' he said. (Pronounced Pitch - ee-oh).

'Piccio?' I replied, immediately realised that this was right, doh, how annoying! 

'As in the Italian equivalent of 'Pidgie'? Rather than ' Woodpecker' which is what you've been calling him?'

'I think it suits him,' I said, in defiant mode. 'Anyway, he knows it now.'

'What, Woodpecker the pigeon?'

'Yes.'

'How do you know he knows it?

'Well, he kind of makes a warbling sound when I say it.'

At this point Alan gave up the discussion and we moved on to what Picchio eats. 

On my return I asked about our new little pigeon friend. 'Did he make that funny sound when you fed him?' .

'No, he just sat on the branch looking at me.'

'Ah, well that's because you called him the wrong name!'

He looked at me and sighed. So Woodpecker the pigeon it is!

 

'

Picchio the Pigeon

Merlina hasn't come back although I have found a few crow feathers in the garden which makes me think that maybe she did make the great escape, although what happened to her after that I dread to think. I have called her name a few times and a couple of times got a 'caw caw caw' reply, but as there are lots of crows around I think maybe it was wishful thinking on my part to believe it could be her.

Anyway the aviary seems very empty and so i got in touch with local animal rescue charity Lo Scudo di Pan, who took her to LIPU (the bird rescue organisation) to have her wing amputated. They were sorry to hear about Merlina and wondered if I could take in a pigeon (piccione if you want the Italian word!) with a damaged wing who couldn't fly.

Of course I said yes and a week or so ago Picchio (which actually means woodpecker I've discovered!) arrived, brought by two volunteers from Arezzo who had been keeping him in a cage in their apartment.

Naturally. I had been doing extensive research about pigeons on the internet and was now about as well-versed as I could be. He seemd shiny and fat and his rust coloured eyes gleamed at me as they let him out into the most space he had seen for three months. And would you believe it he flew across and perched on a Christmas tree in a pot I had put in there during my extensive and very pleasurable crow-to-pigeon-habitat makeover job. The volunteers Lucia and Luciano looked at each other. 'He can fly!' We decided that I should keep him in the aviary for a couple of months until it gets warmer and then if he is up to it, release him.

So now we have a very different energy in the aviary. Merlina's restless intelligence and manic cawing has been replaced by a laid-back bird who is calm and accepting. In fact he hardly seems to move from one spot, although I know he does as his food has gone and a trail of droppings proves he does explore all corners of his domain. Gassie the Setter was initially very interested in the new occupant (different smell I suppose) but a few well-placed pieces of green garden shade material managed to bore him sufficienly not to make any more attempts to get inside.

I still call for Merlina on the walk, I heard another  caw caw caw yesterday. The dogs looked at me with interest and then looked around as if to see her hopping into view.

And Picchio sits on his perch and dreams of the day he will be free again.

 

Crying for a Crow

This morning I did the usual circuit of the garden before going out across the fields with the dogs and as I passed Merlina's aviary I did a double take. No 'caw caw caw'. I stopped and looked in disbelief at the little sanctuary I had created for her. Empty. With a growing sense of horror I went in and found a hole right in the corner - a fox had got in, I'm sure. But there was no sign of a struggle and we heard nothing in the night and she is usually VERY vociferous if anything unknown approaches her house.

I blubbed like a baby. I saved her life three years ago when the dogs found her in the field dragging a broken wing. She went off to LIPU (equivalent of NSPB) to have an operation to amputate the wing and then she was mine again as she couldn't be set free. I built her a shelter and took great delight in spending time with this beautiful and intelligent creaure. She began cawing as I passed or whenever we went out. She did cute thngs with her food, hiding it in odd places. She lined up twigs or beads or cones in patterns and watched with keen interest whenever the dogs and I were in the garden.

I often felt she was lonely but I never found another crow to put in with her. I felt so sorry she couldn't fly and wondered what she must be thinking as her fellow hooded crows soared above her in the sky cawing down at her. But she hopped around and although she quite often plummeted to the ground from one of the intricate arrangement of branches I set up from her she would always pick herself up again and clamber back up.

And now she's gone. I miss her caws punctuating the day and I miss her. I am clinging on to the hope that maybe the dogs made the little hole in the aviary and then she hopped out of it and is somewhere in the garden.But I know that is a vain hope.

All I wish is that maybe, somewhere, Merlina is flying again.

Italy Introduces Digital Health Card for Pets

Italy's Ministry of Health has introduced a new health card for pets (tessera sanitaria digitale per gli animali domestici). It means that all your pets medical history and important information can be stored on one card which you can carry with you. That makes it useful if you move, change vets or travel with your pet.

The initiative is called Amicopets and costs €28 per year per pet. You can register on the site www.amicopets.it

Once you have registered on the site and got your card you go off to your vet who will upload your pet's medical details.

Tiger Loose Near Florence - Yikes!

Well, apparently a tiger has been spotted in the woods of Rufina near Florence. Today is the fourth day of the big hunt! They've got a trap set up as well as video surveillance and cameras triggered by movement in case it reappears.

The first sighting was made by a local man searching for mushrooms (and not big cats) in the woods. You can imagine the sight of a bloody great tiger must have quite put him off his porcini! Then came the report that a housewife had seen him (or her) prowling round the perimeters of her house. The third report was a man who heard ... roars (gulp!)

After an extensive hunt using dogs, helicopters, local people and police, the tiger is still at large. This could explain the mysterious and scary grunting noise I heard two nights ago in the field behind my house. I thought at the time it was a wild boar, but hey - it may have been the tiger! OK I don't live anywhere near Rufina but it's had four days to make the trip. Now where's my pith helmet...

Freedom and Fear

What a morning at the canile! One of the 'scaredy' dogs, Baldo, a lovely hunting dog, had escaped. The whole placed is well fenced, so when I say 'escaped' I mean he was out of his kennel but in the small fenced woods, where he had been running about enjoying his comparative freedom for three days! And they are really quite small woods, but it's amazing how many lovely hiding places there are!

We tried to coax him with food, ignoring him, calling him, but although he came right up to us, followed the other dogs we took out and ran to the gate whenever anyone approached, we couldn't get him. It was boiling hot too (not in the woods, obviously), so I have just come home  red in the face, thirsty and hungry. And Baldo is still out! He has food and water so will be fine, but it would be better if he was inside.

I was alone with him trying to coax him in for a little while and you could see he was struggling with the joy of being 'out' and the desire to return to his safe and familiar kennel. I guess we all feel like that sometimes. Baldo is making the most of his temporary freedom and who can blame him. But he'll go back in the end - speriamo!

Leave Fledglings Alone

A couple of days ago while on my morning walk with the dogs through the woods I heard a lot of panicked cawing from a large tree. As I have a handicapped crow, I knew immediately (as you do!) that it was an alarm call from a hooded crow and I scanned the tree to try and see the bird. I spotted it high up, getting very agitated. I guessed there must be something there so looked around and spotted a fledgling crow, in good condition but quite young, hopping about in the undergrowth. I called the dogs off and left it there. But my mind was racing. Was this a potential friend for my crow? Was it in danger? Should I rescue it?

I got home, Googled the subject and found an interesting article from the RSPB (Royal Soceity for the Protection of Birds)in the UK. It said that at this time of year there are lots of fledglings around on the ground - it's statistically unsurprising that there are unsuccessful flight attempts, given the number of birds around - and they are often there for up to a week, hidden from view, perfectly OK and being fed and kept an eye on by their parents, before they gather strength to fly away. Those that don't are food for predators, maintaining nature's cycle. In other words, unless the bird is clearly injured or the parents are dead, leave well alone.

I found this reassuring, if a little harsh. But I resisted my natural urge to help and I haven't seen the little chap since, so am hoping it has taken to the skies rather than been dinner for a larger animal.

Daft About Donkeys

I'm staying with my Mum in the UK for a week and have left the menagerie in Alan's capable hands while I spoil my mother's Yorkie and tabby cat for a while!

I usually get a lot of reading in when at my Mum's house and I'm reading a fantastic book at the moment that I thoroughly recommend, Andy Merrifield's The Wisdom of Donkeys. I have always had a hankering for a donkey or two and this feeling was reinforced when I wrote a feature on miniature Sardinian donkeys a few years back while editor of Italy magazine.

The famous Donkey Santuary in Sidmouth has worked since 2004 helping to rescue donkeys in Italy and there is now a new sanctuary Il Rifugio Degli Asinelli which is working to help these gentle creatures. Incredibly and horribly, many donkeys in Italy are destined to be eaten as salami and are imported from abroad including Romania. The Rifugio already has 70 donkeys and hopes to be able to take in over 250 in new accommodation. They are a registered charity and if you pay Italian income tax you can pledge your 5/1000 to them. Ask your accountant how to do this.

In the meantime if you hear of any donkeys needing a home  - let me know!

Petition for Carapax

I received this plea by email a couple of days ago. I must admit I hadn't heard of Carapax before, but they seem to be doing good work for turtles, tortoises and other animals and from what I read on their website they seem to have been treated quite unjustly by their local comune.

Here is the plea in Italian and English (their translation).

IL CENTRO CARAPAX – PETIZIONE D’AIUTO
Venerdi 17 aprile, cioè venerdi dopo Pasqua, la Comunità Montana di Massa Marittima vuole chiudere il Centro Carapax, e prenderne TUTTA  la gestione estromettendoci. Si tenta quindi di rubare 20 anni di duro lavoro di centinaia di volontari, quasi 3 milioni di euro di investimenti da parte dell'Unione Europea, di privati, di associazioni e fondazioni, e 17.000 animali sotto la tutela e responsabilità della International Rana Foundation, di proprietà di migliaia di soci, enti parchi italiani e esteri, spesso in prestito a scopo  riproduttivo per la salvaguardia della specie. Si mette cosi a repentaglio la vita di tanti animali, si vuole distruggere una decina di posti di lavoro. E’ un offesa per 2000 volontari di tutta la Toscana, di tutta l’Italia, di tutto l’Europa, che in questi 20 anni hanno reso il Centro Carapax grande!  AIUTATECI AD IMPEDIRE QUESTO FIRMANDO LA PETIZIONE andando sul sito www.carapax.it. GRAZIE

 Petition to save EUROPE’S FIRST TURTLE AND TORTOISE RESCUE CENTRE!
On next April 17th at 9 o’ clock AM the local “comunità montana” wants to put the whole centre under sequester and to close it down.  After 20 years of hard work of 2000 volunteers, now 3 days after Easter, the comunità montana tries to steal 7 people’s job, stealing know how, 3 million Euro investments in structures financed by private societies, private persons and the EU as well as stealing and putting at risk 17,000 chelonians, under the responsibility of the international RANA Foundation, 100 White Storks, who are breeding now, and 11 Donkeys and putting all these fragile creatures in the hands of incompetent people! This must be stopped IMMEDIATELY and therefore sign the petition you’ll find on www.carapax.org. Thanks

Snakes on the Catwalk

We must have looked quite a sight this morning – me and the two dogs and three cats on our daily walk to the woods.

The cats have only just started coming along. Sometimes all three of them decide to take some exercise, sometimes it’s only one. Today they were a symmetrical cat sandwich, the two white and black females Monica and Misha topping and tailing little black and white Jimmy in the middle.

Cats on walks are very serious and determined, their attention totally focussed on keeping up. They look straight ahead, and walk or trot with heads down. If there is more than one then they walk in a line one behind the other. They tend not to like to cross open spaces (no trees to tear up if danger threatens) so they cross the field behind the house in a strange lope, their bodies curved into a comma shape. It’s very funny to watch.

This morning, on one of the stony tracks in the woods we were stopped in our tracks by a dead snake. I haven't seen that many snakes in Italy, but know there are two main ones -grass snakes and vipers. This one was enormous, probably a metre long and greyish olive green with black markings. As I write this I’m not sure if it was a grass snake or a water snake. I have looked it upon Wikipedia to see, but I’m still not sure. I might have to go back and check!

A European grass snake, also known as the garter snake or ringed snake natrix natrix for those of you who like the terminology is quite harmless except if you happen to be an amphibian. They vary in colour from green to grey and have a yellow collar. They like water and woods. I have seen several water snakes in Italy  including some spectacular luminous green ones. You’ll often see them in the middle of strade bianche (unmade country roads) having been squashed by cars.

The dangerous snakes in Italy are the viperi – vipera berus – although they are quite timid and tend to slither away when they hear you coming. They can be quite big and fat - up to 60cm (2 feet) long and have a distinctive flat head with an X or a V on the back. Their colour can vary from grey to almost black and they have a black zig-zag pattern all down their backs.

The cats approached cautiously, while I managed to distract the dogs with a biscuit and they soon lost interest in the coiled creature that had turned up so unexpectedly. But for me a snake is more than just a snake. I tend to view these events from nature symbolically and a snake is a strong symbol of creativity. I hope that is a good omen for my work today!

 

Where Have All the Dollies Gone?

Both my dogs love their dollies. Being a Lab, Zsa Zsa has always got something in her mouth and Maia now copies her. With them both having a penchant for stuffed toys things can get quite expensive, so I tend to buy them from charity shops when back home in the UK or from local markets. I’ve also found local chain Marino Fa Mercato a good source of remarkably realistic looking toys, including my latest find - a horrible looking rat with a pink hairless tail.

There is now quite a large collection scattered around the garden and in the house - there is coyote dolly, snowman dolly, pig dolly even the bizarrely named bat-ray dolly as it looks like a cross between a mantra ray and a bat. ZsaZsa often manages to stuff several dollies in her mouth at once plus a rawhide chew, but then, that’s Labs for you.

The majority of the toys are missing their heads, stuffing or the left eye (not sure why it is always the left) and when the dogs get particularly aggressive with the poor dollies, tossing them in the air or shaking them ferociously, I’m reminded of the fact that they are simply doing what nature intended and the dollies are simply prey substitutes being thrown around and disembowelled.

Recently the dollies have been disappearing from the garden. I don’t know what’s taking them but guess it could be a fox. I have been discovering them in very odd locations while on my daily walk with the dogs in the woods behind the house. I found coyote dolly halfway up a rocky cliff and poor bat-ray dolly’s familiar triangular black form was deposited in the middle of some virtually inaccessible thorny bushes. Maia managed to retrieve them and took them home, smelling strongly of fox.

I’ve washed them and they are now back in the garden, but now pig dolly and rat dolly have disappeared. There’s only one things for it – I’ll have to have a stake-out in the garden one night to see who exactly the culprit is. I’ll just have to track down some night vision goggles …

Animal Thoughts in Rome

It’s terrible when pets die. I have lost two cats in two months, the first cat – Jingles was 16 and it was sort of expected but not very nice, the second, Jerry, a nine-month-old kitten in seemingly perfect health was a complete shock. He died suddenly while asleep.

I believe that pets’ spirits continue, the energy and the love don’t just disappear, and so got in touch with British full-time animal communicator Pea Horsley, who I had written an article on in the past.

Pea is a fantastic, caring person and has been featured in the national press. As well as being a reiki animal healer, she does one to one readings and can track down missing pets as well as communicate with the spirit of those no longer with us. All she needs is a photo showing the eyes clearly looking at you. She gave me a wonderful reading for Jingles, which calmed me down and reassured me.

Pea runs workshops on animal communication and is going to be in Rome in May, running two workshops - a residential and non residential one. There are still places on the reserve list. Have a look for more details on her lovely website www.animalthoughts.com

Do They Have Frogs Up Mountains?

The pond I made in my garden in Umbria was the subject of much dissent and criticism from the neighbours. “Nothing will live in that,” said neighbour’s son Marco, “it’s just a stagno – there’s no oxygen.” I pointed out the oxygenating plants nicked from an ex-pat garden up the road, but he wasn’t having it.

I bought some gold fish (pesci rossi in Italian – red fish) and they thrived and multiplied. I was intrigued that their babies were black and then changed colour. Amazing what you learn, isn’t it? Suddenly the neighbours were there prodding the weeds to see if I was somehow faking the goldfish thing. The lovely chorus of frogs was one of the highlights of my pond, although I did once see a huge snake slide in and eat a frog, which was like something from a horror film. The geese also managed to get into it another time and that was sheer mayhem.

Now we live in a different part of Italy, the Casentino in Tuscany, quite a mountainous place. Once again I have made a pond, with waterlilies, fish and lovely dragonflies but … there are no frogs. Zilch. Niente. Despite the abundance of water here – we have rock pools, streams, the Arno is a few hundred metres from the house – I haven’t heard a single frog. In three years.

I need to find some frogspawn to put in my pond. But now I’m wondering, do they have frogs here at all? Is there maybe a frogspawn postal service where people lucky enough to have some can send it to those that don’t?

And you know, now I’m on the subject, I haven’t seen any toads either…

A Short Film Showing Cats and Dogs Can Get On

This is a YouTube video I made  last year of one of the dogs, Maia, playing with the semi-wild cat Misha. Misha's mother and half brother have also inherited this trait so sometimes the poor dog is outnumbered!

It's not the most brilliant film in the world but is my first attempt at both filming and adding music!

Goose Talk

It began with a trip to my weekly local market in Chiusi, on the Tuscany border in central Italy. I’d gone out to get a rug. I honestly hadn’t intended to buy anything remotely avian – despite a recent conversation with my husband and neighbour along the lines of:

Bruna: ‘You should get some geese, they’ll keep the grass down.’

Me. ‘That’s a really good idea.’

Alan: ‘No, it isn’t.’

 

The birds on the poultry stall were packed tightly into crates. Bought and sold by the handful, they were held up by their necks, their meal-making potential assessed, then they were pushed into brown cartons and carried away to their fate. I peered into a crate. Could these be geese? No, they had webbed feet. But then maybe geese had webbed feet? The stall-owner approached. ‘Can I help you Signora?’ I found myself asking for two geese. He lifted a pair up, and two tiny yellow squawking creatures had just won the goose equivalent of the national lottery. ‘Are they male or female?’ I asked. He shrugged. So into the brown box they went, and cried all the way home. ‘Did you get the rug?’ asked Alan.

 

Over the next few weeks I watched their antics with total fascination. They chattered and twittered to each other incessantly, sticking together like Siamese twins. To our farming neighbours’ intense amusement I bought them a paddling pool, which lasted until they learned how to pull the bung out. I named them Poppy and Fluffy. They grew into their names. Poppy acting as if on a permanent opium induced high and Fluffy, well, you know, Fluffy by name, psychopath by nature.

 

Their feathers grew glossy and white. Bruna told me that as their wings had crossed over at the back they were ‘ready for the pot.’ I ignored this advice, although I think Alan was keen. Poppy developed a little crown of feathers – she was a tufted Roman goose, renowned for their good nature. Fluffy wasn’t a tufted Roman goose.

 

We had the builders in, who joked about celebrating the end of the project with roast goose, yet in their lunch break one parked his car so he could watch them and another fed them scraps from his sandwiches. I pleaded with Leonardo, their boss, for an old bath so that the geese could have a proper swim and he laughed his head off, but produced one anyway and then spent two hours (unpaid) helping me to set it in the ground. Very happy geese did complete somersaults underwater. I noticed that three burly Italian builders were standing watching them, spellbound.

 

One day, while cleaning their house, I found a huge nest containing one gigantic white egg. I took it  feeling deceitful and ate it, feeling cannibalistic. Eventually, guilt made me leave five for Poppy to sit on. Two hatched on Alan’s birthday in June and he was quite speechless with emotion. (I think that’s what it was.) Despite dire warnings from locals about the male attacking the young, I left them to it. Nature didn’t separate them so why should I? I saw Bruna watching dewy-eyed as Fluffy became quite the goose equivalent of a New Man, leading his brood across the grass and fussing around them in case one fell over or hadn’t spied a rock or a hole in the ground. Poppy, on the other hand,  was a terrible mother, eyes always skywards in her ‘hello sky, hello sun’ kind of way. Fluffy escaped one day and started attacking the car as we pulled into the drive. Alan was furious, but I just thought how touching it was. This bird was so protective of his offspring that he thought he could take on a huge lump of metal.

 

So what have I learned? That their eyes are azure blue. That they turn their heads to the sky when a plane passes. That they sigh when they’re happy. That males will protect their family by attacking anything: paper, stones, cars, dogs, rakes, me; that a peck hurts and gives you a bruise the size of a dinner plate. That incest isn’t an issue for geese. That they can’t see their feet and trip over a lot. That they like fennel and dandelions, and are not that keen on grass. That they can live until they’re 30. And that they understand things. On the morning after my dog had died, Fluffy advanced as usual, neck extended, hissing wildly. ‘Not today, ‘ I said. ‘Please.’ And I swear, he looked at me and then turned and walked quietly away.

 

 

Merlina the Crow

Living in rural Tuscany, I have been able to indulge my love of animals. The present count is two dogs, three cats (two strays and one of their kittens) and a hooded crow.

The dogs found the crow almost two years ago in the field behind the house. She was badly injured, dragging a wing and seemed to be lame too. I called the dogs off and took them back to the house. Then, as it was a hot day, I took the poor bird some water, placed her in the shade and went away. I knew I should let Nature take its course, plus I wasn’t really equipped to deal with an injured crow.

 

But a couple of nights later my husband Alan said, “I think your crow has come to see you,” and there she was, making her way slowly up our long drive, pursued by a cat. What could I do?

 

To cut a long story and a lot of bandaging short, I rescued her and put her in a  dog crate.  I knew by now she was a hooded crow rather than the more spookily named carrion crow, as she had a collar of grey feathers, the rest being a glossy black. I named her Merlina and had got very attached to her, even though it wasn’t at all mutual. In fact much to my dismay, having saved her life and everything, she seemed to be terrified of me. I thought I had better get the professionals in and so called our local animal sanctuary, who collected her and took her to a wild bird rehab centre in Florence, Tuscany. I gave the rehab people a message that if she couldn’t be released I would like to have her back to take care of her.

 

After a short stay, the wild bird people said she was not ‘auto sufficiente,’  that is, she couldn’t take care of herself. And although they had tried to save it, they’d been forced to remove her wing, plus she had a gammy leg, although other than that she got around pretty well. So two weeks later we were reunited. I was thrilled, and maybe she was too. Hard to tell.

 

I built her an aviary from an old grape pergola in the garden, which took me two days, a lot of swearing and a hundred euros worth of wire netting. I set it up with some branches, trying to calculate the angle she could manage with the one wing and everything. It gave me a ridiculous amount of pleasure trying to recreate a natural kind of environment for her - trying to think like a crow. But I wasn’t completely deranged. I had a bright bird on my hands after all who needed to be kept amused.

It has long been known that crows are highly intelligent, some studies claim they are the most intelligent of all birds, others put them at number seven on the most intelligent animals in the world list, just behind dogs and dolphins. After getting Merlina I decided I had better get educated in crows. I watched some incredible footage on YouTube of crows in Japan that dropped walnuts from their vantage point over a set of traffic lights. They waited for the cars to crush the nuts but didn’t swoop down and collect them till the lights had turned red. I even watched with my mouth open as a crow fashioned a hook from a piece of wire and used it to access food which had been placed in a tube. Some crows talked, sounding like parrots. I realised I had chosen to get up close and personal with the bird equivalent of a genius.

Apart from keeping her amazing brain occupied with an array of toys, I had the problem of food. I was unsure at first of what to give her to eat, but by trial and error I now have a kind of routine established. She gets a daily mix of chicken liver, insectivore pellets, salad, fruit, pine nuts (which cost a fortune), some puppy food (the most expensive kind) and dandelion leaves, when in season. I also give her a raw hen’s egg every two or three days. When we had the builders, they stood and watched incredulously as I prepared her breakfast. “Antipasti!” they laughed when they saw the plate of delicacies I’d prepared for my avian gourmet.

 

She also has water in various containers (for fun) and takes great delight in hiding her food under an upturned dog dish. This dish has also proved to be an excellent hiding place for her collection of small objects. Stones, beads, pinecones and even silver paper is regularly placed under the dish and then moved on a whim.

 

She doesn’t hate me anymore, I don’t think. She doesn’t hide when I approach the cage but just pecks at the branch she’s sitting on as I talk to her. “Ciao Merlina,” I say. I keep hoping she’ll reply. Maybe she will one day as crows can live - I now know  until they are twenty years old. She sits on the highest branch in her aviary and bobs up and down cawing when we go out in the car or when I go on my daily walks with the dogs. She even tolerates the dogs sitting against her aviary and the cats sleeping on the roof, but gives a warning shriek if anything other than the animals she knows approaches. The dogs then go racing to the rescue. She is part of the family now.

 

She looks sleek and healthy, she hops about and keeps herself entertained, but now I worry that she is lonely. So I’m scouring the fields for any other injured hooded crows. But you can’t force these things and I think when the time is right, one will just turn up. And I really hope it will, because if one crow creates magic, just imagine what two could do.