So there I was at my boyfriends house the other morning, and after a lazy sleep in, I wondered out onto the back decking that over looks the lawn and garden. To my absolute shock, there was a cute little yellow canary, merrily bouncing around in the grass. By this time my boyfriend had joined me as a said "Well that should not be there O_o "
Here in Australia, Canaries are defiantly not native, nor do they normally last very long in the wild. We have plenty of native birds that would literally chase them to death or local kitty cats that would eat them up in no time. I would know as my mother had them from when I was very young, and we used to breed and look after them for much of my childhood. I've had my fair share of mishaps too, accidently letting them out of the cage one day, and then actually managing to catch them again.
So after seeing this little bundle of joy merrily nibbling on the lawn, I then said, "We have to catch it!"
To that my boy said "how? I already tried yesterday when I saw it, in fact he'd only really noticed it because his kitty was trying to catch it for herself"
I was amazed that it had lasted overnight, I was now even more determined that we should catch her, but more save her from being eaten by something. Well as it would be, my previous canary catching skills came back to me like jumping on a bike, and how would one do that you say? One thing that Canaries love, much to their own peril if one knows better, is water!
Our canaries that we owned when I was younger loved their water so much. So much that when I used to change the big bowl of it in their caged, they would all flock to it and practically dive into it. They would stand in it up to there breasts, and flapping about like little mad things, sending it everywhere. I always used to take such delight in watching them, they always ended up looking like little drowns rats when they'd had enough. In fact, so drowned that they couldn't even fly, just bounce around til they had dried off enough to make it to the lowest perch for more preening.
And with that knowledge, all we then needed was a hose and a gentle spray, and we were the Canary Catchers!
The little bird didn't even care all that much of my slinking down the back of the yard to collect the hose. I then slow carried the hose back and got my boyfriend to tun it on slowly. The water shot out with a bit more gusto than I had anticipated and made a spluttering hissing sound. The little canary took to the air and flutter up onto the roof of the garden shed, lucky not all that high up or far away. With the flow of the hose now steady I aimed it up into the sky so it came down like a gentle rain, sprinkling over the roof where it sat. With the water coming down, the canary actually took delight in it and rustled her feathers and took in a long drink as the water trickled down around her.
After a few minutes of frocking about however, she decided she had had enough. She then decided to fly up towards one of the trees in our back yard, or so she thought. Her first meter of flight was at a steady, progressive angle of 45 degrees, going down. She soon realised, wet feathers are not so optimal for flights of fancy. Down she came to find herself yet again on the lawn. The quicky turned off the hose, grabbed a dish towel, which I had prepared earlier, and picked her up tucking her inside out of view of myself as to stress her out as little a possible.
Now what to do? Quickly brainstorming, we found the cat travel cage well enough for a temporary cage, and excitedly we both headed off the to pet shop to buy her, her fist cage. Before we knew it, we had a little white cage, a window with a view, and a very very curious pussy cat. And we became the proud owners of a little yellow canary.
While I am still in the process of thinking of putting up signs to find her home, I am also secretly planning on getting her a bigger cage, just in case she wants to stay on.
◄ ─ T A N N O N ─ TH E ─ SP I R I T B I N D E R ─ ►
My mother and I had twin canaries when I was much younger - two bright energetic males named Rumpole & Chirpy. Chirpy was adorable, always singing brightly, enjoying getting a gentle spray from a spray bottle, a real character. Rumpole was much older, a bit sterner in personality but was a playful little beast. He would successfully perch atop his cage and sing his little heart out after working out how to slip the extra bar we put on his cage door.
Rumpole died at the handsome age of 14, whilst Chirpy sadly met the business end of a tree python that decided a sweet little canary would make a fantasic midnight snack at the age of 11. That said python was also the pet of a neighbour who had thought it a good idea to release his pet into his backyard before he moved away. I did end up keeping the snake for a little while before donating him to Graeme Gow's Snake Farm. My mother was freaked out about snakes so slinky little Mal didn't last long at our household.
A canary that docile and playful has a home somewhere, and no doubt some rather frantic owners going mad with worry. I'd continue to ask around for a couple months, then if no one replies (bird owners fear the worst of a cat or dog kill pretty much immediately after the birds escape), I think you'll have a permanent housemate in her.
I love that photo though...your cat's all "Whatchu doin' up thar?" and she's all "Starin' at you, punk!" XD
