Meet My Starling, Gulliver

Gulliver, on the ride home.

When the starlings first found our home, they nested in a clump of dense bushes behind our house regularly attacking our Irish Wolfhound, Loki, when he came too close. 

Starlings return to their nesting grounds each year, and even, sometimes, their nests, but a few years later they discovered an even better house in the newly minted barn room I call my sanctuary. They nested in the ceiling above the room, entering through a gap in the wall and roof. 

Everyday, as grandson napped (and grandpa listened for him), I would run off to the barn to practice my flute.  This would excite the little starlings, which I could hear  scratching around above, and they would begin to chirp a cacophony of chirping. 

Fast forward another year, and my husband closed the roof gap, causing them to look elsewhere, and they found another opening in the roof of our home’s deck, much to my husband’s dismay. I didn’t mind as much because it seemed like they kept the population of flies and yellow jackets down.

Fast forward again to this year, my husband closed that hole and forced them to yet another spot, which is where the story of Gulliver takes off. 

Apparently, the starling parents found crevices between the pontoons of our boat, which was parked next to my barn and sanctuary, and thought it a safe place to raise their young. It was a safe place for awhile, until the weather warmed up and we decided to get the boat ready for the lake.

In our defense, we did not know that they were there. How could we? And, quite honestly, starlings are the last things on our mind. Invasive, intrusive, non-native, they crowd out better birds (meaning native ones) and can even be aggressive with humans. They are considered nuisances and we are encouraged to remove them, even kill them, they’re that bad.

Imagine our surprise later that night, after an evening of boating, when we found one, 4-5 days old, splayed out on a pontoon, shipwrecked, soaked, cold, hungry, weak, but just having survived 9 1/2 hours with no food, 45 minutes traveling down a highway, and 3 hours riding up and down Long Lake.

This is the beginning of Gulliver’s Adventures, but in this story, Gulliver is a week old starling who only just opened his eyes and saw his new mama.

Me.

I’m not sure where this story is going. Gulliver continues to do well, but I didn’t want a bird, and definitely not a starling. 

Since starlings are invasive, we have few options. If I take him to a wildlife refuge they’ll humanely euthanize him. (Sorry, but he came too far on that boat to have his little life end like that, even if he is a mere starling.)

On the other hand, since I’m now hand-feeding him, he can never safely be released into the wild. At least, that is what the rescue says, but I have read a couple stories of it being done “successfully,” if you can trust them.

This seems to leave only one real option, or one that I can accept, he has to be a pet. Mine or someone else’s.

That is, if he survives.

As always, I need to take a deep breath and then take one step at a time, doing what my heart guides at each step. Maybe my conscience, too. Basically, what I can live with doing, or not doing.

The day after boating, we shined a flashlight into the crevices of the pontoons to find the nests, there were three, and then we raked them out onto the ground. Whatever was in them had been swept mostly away in the water, except one other baby who had died.

Gulliver should not be alive today either. But he is. And he’s back at his ancestral home, our place. 

I have been studying everything I can to know how to feed him and what keeping a pet starling would look like.

Turns out, Mozart had one, and it was able to hum a section of his music, which he transposed with its subtle variations. 

Starlings are song birds and have the same ability as parrots to mimic speech. They are supposedly fiercely bonded to their humans (and flocks) and are quite gregarious and smart.

All of this information is brand new to me.

Having a baby starling is like having a baby. He eats, sleeps, and poops. His feedings are about every twenty minutes, when he starts to stir and chirp out in his sweet little voice. Then I feed him soaked cat food pellets, shoving them down his open beak one by one. After he eats, he falls right back asleep. Lucky for me, he doesn’t eat between dusk and dawn. 

He sleeps on a heated blanket covered in towels, and tissues, which are removed about every hour and exchanged for new ones. It’s really quite easy as long as you have absolutely no plans for the next three weeks.

 —which, of course, we do.

And so, I ordered a bird carrying cage to take him with us on the road. 

Quirky? Yes, life is so quirky. 

I guess we will just have to wait and see how this story writes itself.  And, in the meantime, perhaps, find babysitters for our baby starling.

(Video. Age day 7-8, 3 days after rescue. Gulliver is able to keep his head lifted, walk around wobbling, and both eyes are open.That’s food he dropped while being fed, not poo.)

Preparation Payoff

A few years ago I began working with a trainer I love and respect, Regina. One of the preparatory things she had me do was to lunge Tweed and look for two things: his attention and if he was lifting up and carrying himself.  

It is the attention piece that saved me on Thursday’s trail ride. 

When I ask him to move out on the circle, if his attention shifts to anything other than me (watching his ears) I turn him to move the opposite way. When he is moving nicely, and maintaining his attention, I stop and ask him to face me. As he relaxes, I see if he can maintain that attention and keep looking to me for guidance. If he shifts his attention outside, I ask him to move again.  

When you’re out on the trail, and something unexpected happens, the hope is that they will stop and wait for your lead rather than instantly bolting. 

I went out on a 2 1/2 hour ride with an old friend whose horse is 28 now, but still able to do light trail work. Actually, he was remarkably sound for his age. 

He’s also steady Eddie and makes a fantastic trail partner for Tumbleweed. 

As we passed that section of the river (above) a dark set of clouds blew in and engulfed us. It brought wind and rain with it. The weather app hadn’t predicted it and it didn’t affect our house, only five miles away. It was just a freak occurrence. 

What’s even stranger is that it came over as we entered a dense grove of trees known to be a favorite resting place for deer. 

I’m always cautious riding the trail there, as it is a steep drop off to the river. There is another path around it, but I chose the narrow river path anyway. 

My friend’s horse was in the lead at that point. 

As we were about half way through we heard crashing through the trees to our left (cliff edge on right) and Tweed’s head went right up, body on full alert. (Flight mode). 

He thought about bolting, but the path was too narrow and he was behind my friend’s horse. If he had been in front, it may have actually been less claustrophobic for him and I would have moved him forward and out of the dense trees.

I stopped and surveyed, but could only see flashes of color here and there, running the opposite direction alongside us. 

I turned Tweed towards where they were exiting into the open, and one after another an herd of deer emerged and walked off. 

I then dismounted, my friend joined me, and we allowed Tweed to watch them for awhile and get to a place of relaxation. 

When he was relaxed, I remounted, asked to lead through, and finished the same section with no issues. 

That happened about 30 minutes into the ride, so we still had a lot of trails to cover and Tweed only got better and better until he was as relaxed as I’ve ever seen him. 

(Stopping to examine a ribbon. They were setting up a weekend trail horse competition.)

I was thankful for our preparation that taught him to stop and wait even when his instincts told him to bolt and runaway. 

With time, he will become used to these sudden surprises. In fact, I asked my friend if her 28 year old former ranch horse reacted at all and she said no. That’s pretty impressive! Hopefully, I can say the same long before 20 more years expire.

I follow a trainer at “Steady Horse” who takes this same ground preparation even further. Here is a link to one of his videos, but he has put out several. I’m going to add his tweeks to my own warmup. 

There is a difference, however, between ground and saddle. I was happy that Tweed waited when he really wanted to run away, but he got the most relaxation when he could actually see me on the ground next to him. The bolting energy disappeared when I stood by his side.

It is rare that I dismount nowadays, that’s the first time this year, and in a different situation, a different terrain, I probably wouldn’t have. But you only get a few seconds to choose your response and that seemed best for that moment. The way he rode out the rest of it seemed to justify that choice.

Little by little, trail mile by trail mile, we will merge the ground relationship into the saddle relationship more fully. But for that level of surprise, and not being able to see what was running through the trees (for Tweed it could have been a cougar for all he knew) I think he did spectacularly well.

I should add, we ended the ride by taking a downhill trail into the same area he spooked at the deer (we had come almost full circle) and he didn’t react at all or show any residual fear from before. 

Today our aunt arrives for her 90th birthday week celebration, and there won’t be another ride until Friday. Time to get cracking!

Happy June trails to you all!

Not One, But Two Per Week

Happy Friday! Yes, Friday, not Monday. After trying out the new once per week schedule of blogging, I found it lacking. I wanted to give Tweed’s journey time to breathe, but found there wasn’t much to report. He’s doing very well, making great progress, and hasn’t had another tummy ache. Managing his weight on pasture is probably the biggest issue right now, but that is a day-to-day assessment. 

I literally hand off the reins once per week to Katie after I ride T for the first hour and she spends her time on him leading Epona through the trails. Epona doesn’t like to lead, she prefers to follow, and she takes her cues from T. If he’s okay, she’s okay. Which leads Katie to think Epona needs some solo time in the future. As it is now, Katie rides Epona for the first 45 minutes, warming up, then grabs T and allows my daughter to take Epona for the trail ride portion.

I was bragging up Epona to a friend yesterday at the park, which I knew was inviting BAD KARMA, and sure enough it did. When I rode Tweed out of her sight she did some crow hopping and Katie had to ride it and then bring her back to work. She had not shown signs of buddy sour before that, but there it was.

My sights are shifting back to trail riding with friends, but the busyness of the last few years has left those relationships undernourished. 

It is a process finding trail riding buddies and learning to ride well with each other and still respect each other’s boundaries and unique journeys. 

Some of my old friends no longer have horses. Some are riding horses that are seniors now. And everyone’s lives seem very busy and complicated.

I have a ride planned for this afternoon with one of my oldies but goodies. She even accompanied me on a trip to Canada to visit Baby Tumbleweed. Her horse is in his 20’s now, but still able to do light trails. She lost her heart horse last fall to old age issues. 

As I reach out to former trail partners, I also hope to find new ones. That is my next “goal.” I see new people all the time at the equestrian area and I try to meet and introduce myself and my horses. So many nice people are in the horse world if you are willing to make those connections. I was hesitant to expand my circle before, but I think Tweed and I are ready now.

The weather has shifted here to summer. There’s nothing but blue skies and sun in our 10 day forecast. 

We will be entertaining a very special family member next week who is coming in to celebrate her 90th birthday with us. I take that honor quite seriously and will dedicate every second I can to making her trip extra special. 

After that, my riding schedule will open up quite a bit.

I had surprise guests in the pasture this morning. Such a beautiful sight.

Happy Friday trails, everyone!

Last Stars and Songs

My husband and I decided to say hi to the horses last night around 10:30, and on our way to the barn we saw a huge star. We weren’t sure if it was a satellite or something else, so we looked it up. Turns out, it was Jupiter and Venus lined up together. Very cool!

If the current trend continues, data center proliferation, they intend to also launch them into space—thousands of them hovering somewhere between sky and moon, further obliterating the starry nights. 

I’m so glad I grew up in a time where the stars were so bright, on some nights, it felt like you could reach out and touch them—just scoop them up in your arms. Those moments of being overwhelmed with the beauty, and mystery, of the universe—of our smallness—and yet, our spiritual, and similar, vastness. 

I mourn that loss for future HUMAN generations. 

—-

Sadly,  I only got one “ride day” this week. It was a Katie Day, and only involved Katie and my daughter riding Epona and Tweed. I volunteered to babysit Pilot because Epona is, currently, the main focus. 

The reason there was only one day is because I was car shopping (yuck!) and entertaining my sister and her family for our last Farm Chicks. 

Farm Chicks is where antique vendors from around the country come to Spokane and converge for two days of farm chicks style shopping. My daughters and my sister have joined me for many years and it has become our annual tradition. Very sad that this will be the last time. 

There seems to always be a non-chick accompanying us and, this year, it was my nephew. 

He is also learning to play the guitar and serenaded us with lovely country oldies throughout the weekend. 

Family, horses, traditions, music—these human things grow more and more important to me. 

As the world rushes frantically down a path that even its creators admit could destroy everything we hold dear, I am rushing equally frantically towards everything that makes us human.

Here is to another day, another week, to touch a flower, hold a grandbaby, (I happen to have a new one), human heart to human heart, to sing a song, to listen to someone else sing a song, and to walk under the stars, moon, and converging planets to the place where our horses nicker sweet hellos at 10:30 at night. 

Dancing In the Rain

Happy Monday, everyone. June has arrived! Where does the time go? Seems like it’s on warp speed.

It was a busy week that ended with my youngest brothers’s super fun wedding—lots of family, non-stop dancing and celebration.

But it started out with a drastic weather change. An absolute deluge of rain on our lesson day.

Normally, I’d take a pass, but we left it up to Katie, and she still wanted to meet. Rain doesn’t bother her, and since it shouldn’t bother us either, we are being trained to ‘Cowgirl Up!’

Here is a montage of that day if you’d like to get a feel for it. This was Wednesday.

On Thursday’s ride, non-ride, Tumbleweed threw a shoe. I hadn’t checked them before we left, and I have no idea where we lost it. No doubt, ‘rainy day’ ride contributed to softer feet and the lost shoe.

 

It was painful for me to watch him walk back. I’d have carried him if I could have. He was quite ouchy. He’s doing well at home now and the farrier has already replaced his shoe. 

After the wedding we entertained my aunt and uncle and cousin who had flown in for it. I put together a tea for them with soup, scones, cucumber sandwiches, chicken salad croissants and salted brownies. Oh, and I finally learned how to make a decent pot of tea after several tries. 

We were so full after devouring the homemade cream scones. I use all of my mom’s recipes and they are just so yummy. You can’t stop yourself. Unfortunately, I didn’t think to take a photo of the food, but trust me—it was amazing!

I had also made these Lemon Possets before they arrived, but we were too full to eat anymore and I forgot to bring them out. Oh well, I guess we will have to eat them tonight by ourselves, because, sadly, my guests are already gone. 

The older I get, the more I cherish every happy moment with friends, family, and my horses. 

The other night, we danced to every song the DJ played, young and old, and celebrated not only the marriage, but each other and that moment we could be together.

When life gives you the opportunity to dance, no matter what that ‘dance’ looks like, take it—even in the rain.