Sad news today. Ichabod Grimm the jackdaw died. As you will know, he was hand-raised by our friend Beth, after he had fallen out of his nest as a chick. When he came to us he was on a diet of dog food, a tin of which arrived with him. However, being a contrary little bird, as soon as he arrived here he would not touch the stuff! It was always baffled me how, being the species he was, he could be so fussy as to what morsels he would eat or ignore. His palate was tempted with various concoctions and, in the end, we discovered that among the delicacies he would eat were such things as scrambled egg, cooked liver and cheese, but his favourite were those big fat juicy mealworms. No more tinned dog or cat food for Ichabod! The little terror also had the habit of tipping over his water whenever you replenished it, even after having his water bowl replaced with a heavy duty affair.
However, although he was like a naughty toddler that turns his head to the side with mouth firmly shut and arms crossed with ‘won’t’ etched across his forehead, he was a dear little soul. Whenever you walked passed his aviary he would caw and he and I often had odd conversations in jackdaw language. Well, let us just say that he would say something and I would reply in like fashion. Goodness knows what I actually said in his language!
Being a rescue, and having such a strong imprint on humans, Ichabod would never have been able to freely fly with his own kind. Now, at least, he can spread his shiny wings and fly to his heart's content.