T/W/Q

Perhaps as an effect of its fall onto the car, or perhaps as a result of having recklessly swallowed one too many mealworms, the bulbul’s left side is a little quirky and it has developed an unsightly kink in the neck. “Is the bird ok?” – everyone would ask. In its default state, it is hunched over like an old vulturous hag with the head perpetually tilted at a curious angle. While at rest or asleep, the head just sinks lower. The body posture reminds me of a certain leaning tower. Surprisingly, defying the prophecies of the pessimists, it has made it through not only the first, but the third weekend with us.

New names for it have been proposed by friends and colleagues (‘Toffee/Walnut’ didn’t quite catch on, except among a few of us): Fluffy, Humpy, Flumpfy, and the tongue-in-cheek Quasimododo(do).

At this age, I believe, the young bulbul should be capable of finding, or picking up its own food. But no – it’s still quite ignorant if I may admit it to be so, and it may be my fault for being incapable of teaching it the ways of the aves. It still gapes, quivers, and chirps babyishly and loudly for attention. And it knows no fear. I near-lobbed a large black hole-puncher at it, and instead of ducking and cowering away, it stretched its neck out towards the supposedly-intimidating object and opened its mouth, expecting food! A colleague suggested that I try dressing up as a big brown motherbird, peck at worms, and flap my arms. Failing which, I should at least costume my hand as such. And for good measure, I should also get a cat outfit…