Not as entertaining as the baboons outside our hotel in Zim, nor as delicious as warthog (I’m guessing), the hadeda plays a much more fundamental role in our existence here in South Africa. If you grew up on a farm, no doubt a crowing rooster beckoned the coming of the dawn. That would be sweet music indeed, compared to the riot that greets us each morning around six.
A hadeda’s call falls somewhere between a goose’s honk and a crow’s caw, and is as loud as an air horn. Lest you think this just early morning grumpiness, a gang of cackling hadedas dive bombing over our flat at sunset has been known to propel me from my seat in terror. In flight, they are disturbingly pterodactyl like. Not that I was around then, but I’ve seen, like, drawings.
The myna doesn’t bother much of anybody, and I’m hard pressed to recall ever hearing one. More than anything, its corn yellow legs remind me of the cartoon crows Heckyl and Jeckyl. Its tendency to kangaroo hop along the ground in great bounds is good amusement (or at least it is to the shiftless blogger who has time to stand around watching birds).
A hadeda’s call falls somewhere between a goose’s honk and a crow’s caw, and is as loud as an air horn. Lest you think this just early morning grumpiness, a gang of cackling hadedas dive bombing over our flat at sunset has been known to propel me from my seat in terror. In flight, they are disturbingly pterodactyl like. Not that I was around then, but I’ve seen, like, drawings.
The myna doesn’t bother much of anybody, and I’m hard pressed to recall ever hearing one. More than anything, its corn yellow legs remind me of the cartoon crows Heckyl and Jeckyl. Its tendency to kangaroo hop along the ground in great bounds is good amusement (or at least it is to the shiftless blogger who has time to stand around watching birds).
Your descriptions make me smile:-)
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