A Day in the Life of an Oyster Catcher

A Day in the Life of an Oyster Catcher

Abridged version for publication

“OK baby birds, today is moving out time. You get to experience the real world, instead of depending on your parents,” said Daddy Bird.

“It’s dog eat dog out there and only the alert and strong survive.”

The Baby Birds opened their beaks in astonishment. “I think you mean ‘bird eat bird’,” said Mummy Bird. “On the subject of dogs, just avoid them, or they may indeed eat you. And birds might too, if you are not careful, though you are probably safe with your brother,” she said with a big birdy grin.

“Anyway, don’t you worry, dears,” said Mummy Bird. “Stick with us for a while, and you will quickly learn what it takes to survive.”

“I hear we’ve got some interlopers on the beach. I need to go and sort them out,” said Daddy Bird.

“What’s an int…,” began Girl Baby Bird.

“It’s Fast Freddy. Every year, around about this time, he comes over to our beach and throws his weight around,” said Daddy Bird, before flying off with a series of shrieking sounds.

“Saw off the blighter,” said Daddy Bird, returning a few moments later. “He was trying to take over the patch next to ours. I faced him off with a lot of noise and some direct hits with my beak.”

After some pathetic attempts to lift their fat little bodies into the air, the baby birds got airborne, enough to rise above their rocky haven, and head off in the direction of the beach. As they got there, a couple of cousin birds dive-bombed the immediate family, with lots of friendly shrieks. Cries of “Hi guys, welcome to Planet Earth,” and “Wow! Who are these pretty wee things?” rang out.

“Buzz off you lot,” Daddy Bird said, in a not unfriendly voice. “Time to party is later.”

Daddy Bird led the way down to the low tide mark. “When you dig your beak in, no half measures. Push hard and get your snip in. If you don’t, the shellfish might snap shut over your beak, and then you’ll be in a pretty pickle.”

“But first, it’s time for fun,” said Daddy Bird. “Today is our annual beach race. It is for three year olds and upwards. It will be a good chance to get to know your wider family. It’s a straight 100 metres dash. No flying, just running with legs.”

There were twelve starters in this year’s race, spread out across the beach. “You all know the rules then,” said Daddy Bird. “Keep your beaks to yourselves and pointed straight ahead.”

And so the race began. One of the race marshals was waggling his beak furiously and pointing to the bird in lane 5. “The bird in Lane 5 deliberately kicked sand in the eyes of the contestant in Lane 6,” he said. “OK guys, where is the contestant from Lane 5?” asked Daddy Bird.

“It’s me,” said a powerful-looking young bird, “and I won.”

“And who exactly are you?” said Daddy Bird, not recognising him.

“I think you know my Dad,” he said pointing, as Fast Freddy emerged from behind some rocks.

“OK, you are disqualified for kicking sand; and you and your Dad better get the heck out of here.”

“Hang on Daddy Bird,” said Mummy Bird. “We could do with a refreshment of our gene pool. After all, Fast Freddie’s son won, even though he wasted time kicking sand.”

After a long harrumph, Daddy Bird went over to Fast Freddy and said, “Very impressed with your son. I will see if I can find a wife for him in my family. But he is going to have to abide by race rules in the future.”

A big cheer went up from all of the assembled birds, including some feeble shrieks from the two baby birds. Daddy Bird and Fast Freddy eyed each other for a moment, and then had a friendly beak embrace.

First published by coromandeltownchronicle.co.nz. Reproduced by kind permission.

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