Pythons eats a Cock-or-two
Up until now I haven’t givent the full account of the Python vs Cockatoo sagas, as I was under obligation to the media. Diane from Adventure before Dementia has had a slithery visitor recently and wanted to know where the story was. So here is possibly the longest python post in the world….
Tropical North Queensland is a hotbed of prolific wildlife activity. Both day and night we witnessed the most incredible scenes right in our backyard. My home backed onto Deep Creek (where a very old salty lived), and out front Dead Man’s Gully (I assumed someone met the salty, judging from the name of this creek). Lots of water, constant temp & humidity and remnant rainforest are the favoured habitat of wildlife around here. Humans are merely visitors in this landscape.
Our house was surrounded by fruiting rainforest trees which brought the cockatoos (cockies) by day and bats by night. Unfortunately Beak and Feather Disease is rampant amongst the older birds, resulting in the slow loss of flight capability. A pair of “dodgy” cockies visited my yard everyday, but one evening one of them could no longer launch itself into the air. It decided to spend the night in my bougainvillea, approximately 2metres above ground. Bad decision.
Around 8pm I heard an almighty screeching from the backyard. Running outside with a torch, I searched the yard until coiling movement in the bougainvillea caught my eye. As I approached, I knew that it was too late to try and save the poor cocky - it was literally breathing it’s last breath as it’s eyes slowly closed (above photo).
The python seemed unperturbed by my close presence, coiling tighter around the cocky’s body. I ran inside to grab the camera, and then spent the next 2 hours witnessing nature’s life cycle first hand.
During the killing process, the python kept his head well above the “action”, appearing at times to be almost disinterested in what the lower part of his body was doing. Once the cocky hung limp, he lowered himself under the bird and opened his jaws around the back of the cocky’s head. The snake’s whole body rippled with each convulsive bite - scales shimmering with that trademark purple sheen.
Having eventually succeeded in swallowing his prey, the scrubby was happy just to “sit a spell”, tongue flickering at me as I took his portrait shots. Eventually he headed off toward the fence and into the darkness of the bush.
The next few days saw the remaining cocky pine away for it’s mate, as it too lost it’s ability to fly. Eight days after the first attack, at around 9pm, I once again heard a piercing screeching from the backyard. I didn’t have to go outside to know what it meant. This time the cocky was very much still alive, looking me straight in the eye, squawking for dear life. I had only earlier that day removed a paralysis tick from this cocky’s head, and had rung the vet about him. I thought I’d try and save this one. I grabbed the hose and turned it full bore on the python.
If a python could say “pfffft”, then this guy would’ve. He didn’t care less about the water or my presence. Once again the snake appeared distinterested in the bird until it was dead. At least this again was a quick death.
This python was slighty smaller than the last visitor (2.5 m compared to the previous 3.5). Once again, coils cleverly aligned wings and feet into a neat tube-like shape, as the cocky was slowly consumed.
We had a few witnesses to these attacks, and the python didn’t give 2 figs. My son recorded the whole incident on a digital movie format (lasted for about 1 hour), the neighbours came over and took some snaps (one had a visiting American friend who was completely aghast at the ferocity of Aussie wildlife), and even the cat and dog watched on.
Now the bounganvillea is referred to as “The Tree of Death” by the neighbours. I only wish the scrubbies could “take care” of the massive bandicoot that digs up the garden every night!
