THE PUKEKO’S STORY.

Forest and Bird, Issue 28, 1 October 1932, Page 8

THE PUKEKO’S STORY.

(By E. T. Frost.)

THE RED, WHITE, AND BLUE.

The other swamp birds call me redhead, but I am rather proud of that colour as it matches well with my blue breast and white under-tail coverts. My mother once told me that, as she was feeding quietly in a roadside lagoon, on some juicy raupo roots, that some boys were walking along the road singing a song, and every now and again she heard the chorus: “Hurrah for the Red, White, and Blue.” She was conceited enough to think at first that they were singing about her fine colours, but when she found it was about their country’s flag she felt prouder still. We live for the most part in the swamps, but sometimes we find a kind farmer who grows a nice crop of oats or wheat near our marshy home, and we like to come out and help ourselves at times. Some of the farmers get angry, but we also eat up a lot of grubs and insects that would help themselves to his crop, so we really earn our food. In the large flax swamp, where man cuts down the leaves to take away to a mill to get the fibre out of them, we really do an immense amount of good by eating up the grubs that do harm to them. I, only a few weeks ago, heard two men, who were walking through a flax swamp, say that since most of our family had been killed or chased out of the swamp, that the grubs were getting very bad, and that he would not let anyone come on the place to shoot any more of us. If we only had more of these kind thoughtful men, life would be much more secure and pleasant for us. Although not web-footed we can swim quite well, and think nothing of crossing a deep creek or lagoon. I must tell you of one strange habit we have when swimming if anything alarms us. We dive to the bottom and hang on to any weeds that may be there, until we are drowned. The brown people who used to be so plentiful in this country before the white man came, knew of this habit, and they used to chase us out of the swamps into the water wherever they could, and when any of us dived they would come in after us and take many for food. It was a foolish habit, and caused many a fine pukeko his life. We build our nests of grass and don’t mind at all if the water rises around it. My mother told me once that she had made a lovely nest and was sitting on five nice eggs, when a big flood occurred and the whole nest floated off, and came to rest again a long distance away from where she had built it. When

very young, we are like small balls of black velvet, and we can run and hide very quickly when alarmed. Our voice, like that of many other birds of bright plumage, is not at all musical, but it serves a very useful purpose. We have several notes of alarm which are sounded when danger is near. Not being strong fliers, we have an enemy who hovers overhead looking for a chance to pounce on any unwary member of our family; Should this enemy, the hawk, swoop too near one of us, the alarm note is sounded and we who happen to be near will fly to the rescue. Mr. Hawk cannot stand the din we set up and flies away in disgust. * We are not afraid very much of men, and some of us who are fortunate enough to live near a bird lover are often lucky enough to get many a meal when the farmer’s wife calls her hens for their morning and evening food. We soon get used to such kind people and I often wish there were more of them about. We were in this land long before the white man ever saw it, and all we ask is a small corner here and there to make a home in. So whenever , you see the red, white, and blue colours just have a kindly thought for the pukeko whose homes have been destroyed in many parts of the land, and do your best to see that some small portion at least here and there is reserved for them to live unmolested in.