The two nests appeared at the same time. One was wedged between the cluster of thick green orchid leaves hanging in a pot below the pergola. I had learnt not to peep into the nest. (Mustn't make the same mistake twice, no siree!) The mother WILL abandon the eggs if she spotted a peeping Tom.
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Hook-billed Butbul
(merbah)
Bottom right: tissue paper |
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For reasons best known to the builder, a second nest was constructed between the leaves of the money plant hanging below the porch about 30 paces away. Both nests were quiet until a couple of days later (maybe weeks. Who's counting?) The second nest suddenly bustled with activity. I could hear the nestling's cry for food. The parents were nowhere in sight so after a brief peekaboo (just to see what the fuss was all about) I dropped some millet into the nests. (Well, the
Petshop boys said millet was good.)
The millet was left untouched. Mummy returned to the nest with something long and slender. (A worm, perhaps?) The poor little dears opened their beaks hungrily while mummy dropped the grub into them.
I checked on them regularly just to make sure they're okay, much to the displeasure of mummy (or was it daddy?) who was perched on a nearby tree. They sounded the alarm so after peeking in, I walked over to the trees, peered at the parent and assured them that I meant no harm.
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The hours grew into days which stretched into weeks. One morning, I heard the unmistakable calling of both parents. The time was nigh. My two little birdies were ready to fly. It was sad to see them go. In the preceding days and hours, we had had a relationship.
Two weeks later, I noticed another adult merbah (or was it the same one? Who could tell?) In between its beak was what was left of a tissue paper. Perched on a tree, it sounded the alarm when it saw me. I reported that the birdies have flown away, don't you know? She kept up with the alarm so I walked away to give it some room.
A new nest appeared in a matter of hours. The piece of tissue paper was the foundation of this nest. Within the nest were two little eggs with reddish brown speckles. Delighted with this, I kept a watchful eye over them. Years ago, when one of the little birdies fell to the ground when attempting its first flight, Venus had pounced on it and killed it. I wasn't about to let it happen again.
Mummy must be pretty comfortable with me by now for she kept on with her brooding while I potter about in the garden.
A few days later, the first of the eggs were hatched. I'll tell you what's weird. The egg shell disappeared. Someone surmised that mummy removed the egg shells so as to keep the nest clean and hygienic. It appears that the shells were usually dropped at some distance away from the nest in order to confuse predators.
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And these two, like the others, soon flew away. Now all I have are empty nests.
