I took Fig out to the park yesterday on her tethers. She hates them recently, anew. Perhaps because I replaced all the parts, so she thinks she has a new chance to play Houdini. The minute I bring them out, and she sees them, she starts dodging about, though not really in earnest. I mean, she still comes to me, of her choice, and submits to having them attached to her legs. If she didn't come, I wouldn't take her out, and I think she knows this very well. Though she plays with the tethers no end to drive me insane. The best I can tell, she is very excited to be going out, but not so thrilled to be leashed. And while she hates those tethers, she loves tugging on them, holding them, and attacking them like a dog at a rope. I think she cannot contain her excitement so it all pours out at those poor restraints. I think the hate is real, but she also has a level of inntelligent understanding about why she needs them. If she really detested them utterly, she is quite capable of chewing them off in a matter of minutes; I know this because I have made her umpteen toys from identical materials which she totally shreds to tatters, but she never does her restraints the least bit of damage, and they last the whole year in good shape. Recently, she hates me for putting them on her too, apparently. I'll explain soon.
Usually, when we first go out, she is very flighty and excited, so I control her very well, to prevent injury at first. Then, I immediately let her perch on her own for thirty minutes. This is a usual adjustment period to the outdoor environment which is exciting, very scary for her, dangerous and represents a chance to have a bit of freedom, which I used to allow her to enjoy, though no longer, sadly, and certainly not in nesting season when other Crows are fiercely territorial. She needs a minimum of 15 minutes to relax, and refocus on handling. Trying to handle her without a proper adjustment break is a big injury risk; she is just too flighty, excited, rascally, playful, and rambunctious/naughty. A year ago she sprained a toe horsing around on her own, leaping about on rocks. Yes, she is naughty, just like a hyperactive child. So. I must give her time alone, to reflect, and rediscover me. After she fluffs, sustains eye contact, or lowers her head to invite affection, I start to trust her a bit. When I do start handling her again, I always let her choose to come to me or not, and I'm glad she almost always decides to come, then, having perched on my hand, I'll permit her to choose the game. She is quite capable of indicating what's fun, or boring. Sometimes she just wants cuddles and kisses. The thing I try at all costs to avoid is to let her do something to mock me. Crows are hard wired to mock authority. She does this deliverately by disobeying a suggestion. When she does this I ignore it; it is just too much fun for her to misbehave, so if she is going to, I'll simply allow it, and pretend it didn't bother me. I try hard to make my authority as unapparent as feasible, but there is a certain amount of assertive leadership required at times to rein in her relentless playfulness.
Anyway, yesterday, for the first time ever, Fig did not announce herself when family flew over. She looked up, heard their calls, and ignored them. It was a clear slight to them. Her face said it all with a fleeting, non challance. I don't care about you guys any more. Could she be angry about their attack on her last Spring nesting season? Is she actually aware of the time of year? She listens to her family every day, so certainly she hears what they are up to, building nests, or what not. A few members of her family perched on buildings, and watched us silently for an hour at sundown. As I played with Fig, tossing her, letting her leap across my knee, or the various exercises we do, something odd was going on. Every time I went to pick her up, she chose to jump to my hand, but before doing so, she cawed once at me, loudly, and deliberately, with eye contact. And the caw she cawed was, "stranger!". She has not directed this call at me before, and she kept saying it with each retrieval. Yet, she was affectionate, and fairly well behaved. The best I can guess, is that she was saying, I hate you, much the same way that a child might say those words to a parent, while tagging along behind on the way to the car. So, while the words stung, and resonated it was also not lost on me that Fig was telling me, in no uncertain terms, that she considers me her real family now. At least, I'm the one she talks to.
Update: Took Fig out again yesterday afternoon just to check if things were as they seemed over the weekend. Again, when her family flew overhead, returning to roost for the evening, she just glanced at them, did not call, or answer calls, and returned her attention to me, and handling. She was quite chattery up close too, uncharacteristically so; usually that is something she does in the house, or in her enclosure during play, a meal, or a bath, in more familiar and intimate settings. She only Ha-ed at me once half heartedly before opting for chattering, and soft mimicking. Obviously, our bond has strengthened.
These are fruits of my labor I will gladly receive because I work very hard caring for this delicate disabled bird every day. A bit of confidence in our relationship, and my standing in it is a welcome addition to my usual heart full of worries, and doubts. Am I beginning to foresee a day when Fig and I are interacting on more equal terms, able to focus as a team on play, and interaction? I hope.
Update: I'm thinking the Ha! I'm getting is different than the Ha! issued to strangers now. My slow ear is picking up a difference. The stranger word goes up in stress slightly, and is called out, with a downward tail pump. The call I get is straight, or slightly down, and flat, not energetic. Very subtle difference.
Usually, when we first go out, she is very flighty and excited, so I control her very well, to prevent injury at first. Then, I immediately let her perch on her own for thirty minutes. This is a usual adjustment period to the outdoor environment which is exciting, very scary for her, dangerous and represents a chance to have a bit of freedom, which I used to allow her to enjoy, though no longer, sadly, and certainly not in nesting season when other Crows are fiercely territorial. She needs a minimum of 15 minutes to relax, and refocus on handling. Trying to handle her without a proper adjustment break is a big injury risk; she is just too flighty, excited, rascally, playful, and rambunctious/naughty. A year ago she sprained a toe horsing around on her own, leaping about on rocks. Yes, she is naughty, just like a hyperactive child. So. I must give her time alone, to reflect, and rediscover me. After she fluffs, sustains eye contact, or lowers her head to invite affection, I start to trust her a bit. When I do start handling her again, I always let her choose to come to me or not, and I'm glad she almost always decides to come, then, having perched on my hand, I'll permit her to choose the game. She is quite capable of indicating what's fun, or boring. Sometimes she just wants cuddles and kisses. The thing I try at all costs to avoid is to let her do something to mock me. Crows are hard wired to mock authority. She does this deliverately by disobeying a suggestion. When she does this I ignore it; it is just too much fun for her to misbehave, so if she is going to, I'll simply allow it, and pretend it didn't bother me. I try hard to make my authority as unapparent as feasible, but there is a certain amount of assertive leadership required at times to rein in her relentless playfulness.
Anyway, yesterday, for the first time ever, Fig did not announce herself when family flew over. She looked up, heard their calls, and ignored them. It was a clear slight to them. Her face said it all with a fleeting, non challance. I don't care about you guys any more. Could she be angry about their attack on her last Spring nesting season? Is she actually aware of the time of year? She listens to her family every day, so certainly she hears what they are up to, building nests, or what not. A few members of her family perched on buildings, and watched us silently for an hour at sundown. As I played with Fig, tossing her, letting her leap across my knee, or the various exercises we do, something odd was going on. Every time I went to pick her up, she chose to jump to my hand, but before doing so, she cawed once at me, loudly, and deliberately, with eye contact. And the caw she cawed was, "stranger!". She has not directed this call at me before, and she kept saying it with each retrieval. Yet, she was affectionate, and fairly well behaved. The best I can guess, is that she was saying, I hate you, much the same way that a child might say those words to a parent, while tagging along behind on the way to the car. So, while the words stung, and resonated it was also not lost on me that Fig was telling me, in no uncertain terms, that she considers me her real family now. At least, I'm the one she talks to.
Update: Took Fig out again yesterday afternoon just to check if things were as they seemed over the weekend. Again, when her family flew overhead, returning to roost for the evening, she just glanced at them, did not call, or answer calls, and returned her attention to me, and handling. She was quite chattery up close too, uncharacteristically so; usually that is something she does in the house, or in her enclosure during play, a meal, or a bath, in more familiar and intimate settings. She only Ha-ed at me once half heartedly before opting for chattering, and soft mimicking. Obviously, our bond has strengthened.
These are fruits of my labor I will gladly receive because I work very hard caring for this delicate disabled bird every day. A bit of confidence in our relationship, and my standing in it is a welcome addition to my usual heart full of worries, and doubts. Am I beginning to foresee a day when Fig and I are interacting on more equal terms, able to focus as a team on play, and interaction? I hope.
Update: I'm thinking the Ha! I'm getting is different than the Ha! issued to strangers now. My slow ear is picking up a difference. The stranger word goes up in stress slightly, and is called out, with a downward tail pump. The call I get is straight, or slightly down, and flat, not energetic. Very subtle difference.
No comments:
Post a Comment