Roger Moroney: Feeding birds makes me feel fine

This beautiful waxeye is one of Roger Moroney's favourite birds. Photo / NZME

I like feeding birdies.

It is a strangely rewarding thing, knowing that without the crumbled remnants of a bread crust the small but well-winged chaps, and their girly chums of course, would struggle for a feed.

Well not struggle, for there is tucker out there, but I like the sense of providing a bit of an additional smorgasbord to the snacks they pursue to stuff into their stomach-stuff places.

We put seeds and things out also, so they have a choice, although we don't do desserts.

My enjoyment of feeding birdies goes back to the days growing up on the beachfront where after tea every night, one of us had the duty of "feeding the birds".

Which meant you took the scraps from that night's tea across the road, to the beach, for the waiting seagulls to launch into.

And feeding birdies can make you think.

Yes, any spark to help me think during these times is always a tweet ... I mean a treat.

Now, here's a weird thing.

Roger Moroney

Two days after the scheduled Ranfurly Shield nuzzle with Waikato was abandoned I heard, and saw, two magpies in a tall tree in a nearby schoolyard down the road.

Hadn't seen the squawking black-and-white birdies for more than a year or so.

But there they were ... a couple of days after the Magpies (in jerseys and sensible shorts) had been locked in to play the mooloo cow chasers from up north.

It was kind of eerie.

Out of the blue, which of course is where the birdies come from.

Did they know something was amiss?

This whole state of things does have a sporting touch I suppose.

Someone, just the one, was caught offside but our whole team was red carded.

But enough of that ... I'm over it.

A week before I saw the magpies (the feathered and trouserless ones) I watched as a beautiful native pigeon soared magnificently down a tree-accompanied street up near McLean Park (where the shield match was going to take place so yeah ... another weird connection?)

I hadn't seen a great native pigeon in the city since one actually perched up in our silver birch tree about a decade back.

While the great pigeons are hard to spot in the land of urbanity it seems the tui, the dear parson bird, has become more comfortable and familiar with this part of the land.

We see them two or three times a week now in the neighbouring trees ... where they show off their vocal abilities so sharply I occasionally end up applauding ... and yep, they fly off.

I remember one of the grandkids remarking they had seen a bird with a white bib on and that it "barked like a dog".

I bewildered them by saying we had a tui in the small tree down the back and it had been nesting there for about a fortnight.

"That's what happens when you throw empty cans into the air," I jested ... to a rightly blank response.

So here we are, in the early stages of spring, despite the temperatures telling us otherwise, and the birdies are getting louder.

For they are seeking partnerships, and seeking clumps of dried grass, straw, shredded string and cloth to join the building trade.

Nesting time is on the horizon ... like seagulls, which seem to appear across the distant horizons in all directions at the end of the day.

My favourites?

Ahh, the fantails and waxeyes, and there are a few of them sniffing about which is why the cat wears a bell-laden collar around its neck.

And the little yellow-hued sparrow-style squadrons are terrific.

They join the common little sparrows, thrushes, starlings and blackbirds who call by for their eats.

And their favourites?

Crumbled-up rye bread ... oh they're costing us a fortune, but it's money well spent.

Roger Moroney is an award-winning journalist and observer of the slightly off centre.