Orphan rook who stole my heart ... . . . and my meat, potatoes and comfy armchair!
Reading the story about the ‘Rook of Love’ (Mail) bought back fond memories of 1959 when a sickly baby rook was brought to me, joining my family of orphaned or injured wild birds. Ricky was about three weeks old, thin, dirty and extremely hungry. after a feed of mashed dog food (tipped from a spoon into his open beak), the exhausted fledgling chose to sleep on an old blanket laid in an armchair. next morning i was woken at 6am by Ricky cawing loudly for breakfast. during his baby days he always expected me to dish up his first feed at that time. even when he could feed himself, he would jump on my bed, tug at the covers and turn up the vocals until i stirred. He adopted me as a substitute parent, showing affection by sitting on my shoulder, ‘kissing’ me and rubbing his head against my face. He had a naughty habit of wiping his beak in my hair and then nattered as if to apologise for the inconvenience. everywhere i went he insisted on coming along; he adored travelling in the car, cawing in excitement all through the journey. Being a distant relative of the jackdaw and magpie, he naturally had the same tendencies for hoarding bright objects. There wasn’t a single cushion in the home that hadn’t had scraps pushed behind it. not only did he hide paper and silver foil, his secreted collections also included meat and potatoes. These items were then brought to me in bed on his morning visits, when he’d poke the ‘gifts’ under the bedclothes. Living in the country, we were gradually able to introduce him to the outdoor life in the hope that he would eventually return to his natural habitat. i’d take him out in nearby fields for a fly around and he never failed to return, homing in on the roof. Then he’d flutter down, walk in the back door and, with a squeal of delight, settle down in ‘his’ armchair. Soon he was staying away for longer periods; he ceased to be interested in riding in the car and accompanying me to work. i would come home in the early evening, stand at the back door and call him, banging his food dish with a spoon, before a familiar black shape would swoop in for a feed. He still slept in the old armchair and took himself off each morning to join two other rooks with whom he’d struck up a friendship. and then one evening, as i stood with his food dish in my hand, my call of ‘Where are you, Ricky?’ remained unanswered. There was only silence from across the meadow.
ELIZABETH WRIGHT, eastbourne, east sussex.