Island HIdeaway 16 - The Twitcher

It took me a while to truly believe that I had dodos living on my island, but once I had confirmed it was true I dedicated my time to finding out everything I could about them.  ​​​

I released the dodo I had captured near where I had found her, only for her to return to the bush, from which she made no sign of moving. Discreetly, using binoculars and a webcam, I kept watch on the bush for several weeks. She didn't move, and many's the time I feared she had gone there to die. I was keen not to disturb her, and only gave tentative peeks, but there was no sign of her building a nest, and only very occasional trips for food and water. Roughly two weeks later I was surprised to see another dodo waddle up to the bush. I thought at first that she had left the bush unseen and returned. Seconds later I heard a large booming shriek, the one I'd heard numerous times across the island and assumed to be some wild mammal. Birds, I'd always assumed, made pleasant songs, not loud cries.​​​

I discreetly crept to the bush and peeked in to find out what was happening - they were mating. This was the mysterious noise for which the island was partially famous, it was not the sound of some dangerous predator, it was the sound of dodos having a bit of rumpy pumpy. ​​​

​​​There must be more dodos, I realised, there must be lots more, because I heard the noise regularly, all across the island. There must be dozens of mating couples, and if there were dozens of mating couples there must be children, single birds, elderly birds, eggs, nests, the whole biological caboodle.  ​​​

​​​I set up webcams around the island with movement-triggered software.  It was a slow hunt, but I eventually found a dozen mating pairs of dodos, and a few males wandering around in search of hidden females, I never found another female in hiding, let's face it they're good at hiding, which is presumably how they've survived, unlike their Madagascan cousins.​ ​​

​​​The good news was that as owner of the island, I owned a colony of the most exclusive, famously extinct species of animal ever. The bad news was that I could never tell anyone, indeed it scuppered my plans to sell or rent the island, as in so doing I would risk betraying the dodos' secret. For I couldn't trust mankind. Not knowing mankind, they'd be sold to collectors, hunted as trophies, and my lovely isolated island would be mobbed with hunters, collectors, conservationists, journalists, not to mention disbelievers, who would come here, fail to see a dodo and leave at the end of the day convinced that they were right. ​​​

​​​The other good news, of course, was it meant that I was no longer alone. And though it would have been unethical to keep an endangered species as pets, I learned through observation that they were particularly fond of nuts, any kind of nuts, though their beaks hadn't evolved to crack them open, so I would spend hours cracking nuts and feeding them to the dodos. ​​​

​​​It was cupboard love, true, but then ultimately, it’s the same for all pets, love is merely mercenary. Come to think of it, that's probably true of love per se.