The Happy Family

Forest and Bird, Issue 78, 1 November 1945, Page 7

The Happy Family

By HUGH ROSS

' ’HERE were a number of pukekos near the farm, but they lived as two separate groups. One of these groups, the Happy Family, occupied all the high territory adjacent to the big swampy gorse-encompassed valley; the other group, the Culvert Dwellers, lived .on the low ground where a swift running channel flowed through big pipes beneath the highway. The two groups were not on friendly terms, and each kept to its own territory. Whenever a member of one group encountered .one from the other group they fought bitterly, often to the death.

The noise of a block-dray rattling across a paddock about 8 o’clock each morning was the signal for the seven members of the Happy Family to make their way sedately, yet with squawks and yells of delight, to where the farmer would presently fork off a load of oat sheaves for his small dairy herd. In the rear of the pukekos would come, bustling with many a chuckle, a white leghorn rooster. This rooster was a wonderfully good-natured fellow, and came from the farmhouse some three hundred yards away. He would go to where yesterday’s left-over straw lay thickest and, amazing sight, the pukekos would follow along at his tail. The rooster would scratch in the straw and then the pukekos would rush in and peck with vigour. Later, when the load of sheaves arrived, breakfast proper was served them. By noon the cows used to move on to a turnip brake; but the Happy Family remained. The pukekos, well stuffed with oats, pecked idly here and there; the rooster, warbling softly to himself, still industriously scratched. Whenever he unearthed some choice tit-bit he tuck-tucked an invitation to the pukekos, but by that time they were usually so full as to overlook such opportunities as might be theirs at the price of a little exertion.

Peace and goodwill reigned on the hill-top by early afternoon. Here and there a swamp-hen still stalked majestically; but the majority had retired to the coolness of the gully for a needed siesta. Abruptly that old rooster would sound an alarm call while manifesting obvious symptoms of panic. Nearby a pukeko would vocifer-

ate shrilly as if to cry out, “A hawk, fellows! A hawk. Quick; come on. He is after the old boy!” That gully would then explode pukekos, every one of them tearing to the rescue of what they in all probability regarded as their fairy god-father. So a chagrined hawk, faced by seven pukekos leaping boldly up at him if he ventured too low, would make off from a prey that had not proved so easy after all. Or maybe it was not a hawk which caused the rooster’s unease. Maybe it was only a strange pukeko, one of the hated Culvert Dwellers bent on a little poaching expedition. Full well could that rooster distinguish between friend and foe! He himself took no part in driving off the enemy, but stood stiffly to attention giving cries of alarm until his cronies returned.

The farmer was very solicitous of the pukekos’ welfare, and regarded him as his special pets. When out rabbiting in that gully we’d never fire a shot lest one of them got hit. We’d dog the rabbits out of the gorse and fumigate the burrows. Neither traps nor poison-bait was used, so we were not a great menace to the Happy Family. The old rooster would have broken his heart if anything happened to any of them.

But one day our black Labrador dog very nearly shattered their happiness. He poised in

a clump of rushes for an instant, then dived like a black torpedo into their midst. There was a faint ‘ee-eek’ of protest ere a tail-wagging dog proudly brought us his catch. While the rooster stood off we took the skinny, kicking blue-black shape from the great jaws of his captor, jaws by the way that could drag down a wild boar. Yet the pukeko was quite unhurt, for that is your true gun-dog’s creed. He never marks a bird he has to retrieve. We examined this unhappy family member curiously. Considering the amount of oats he must have eaten daily he was unbelievingly emaciated and

weighed next to nothing. He flapped his wings and kicked a time .or two with long ridiculous legs before desisting to eye us intently. And it could be that in that bright eye was a plea for one more chance. Watching him scuttle off I knew him for a lucky bird. For Nature is a stern teacher, and he who in wild-life makes one mistake pays almost inevitably with his life. The Happy Family is still a happy family. Any morning you wish while the winter feeding is on you can see them on the hill-top, and hear the old rooster “tuck-tuck-tucking” to “come and get it.’” . *