![]() Males tend to look a little more plump than females.Small birds, about the size of a chaffinch.But there is more chance of the sparrow being wiped from the face of New Zealand than the tide turning on the fate of the lorikeet. He is determined not to give up his fight to see them flying free, and is regularly writing letters to the Minister of Conservation, Sandra Lee. Rex Gilfillan argues there is no evidence that the lorikeets have threatened the local flora and fauna. But I don't." But the man charged with releasing the rainbow lorikeets in the first place is still adamant that DoC has got it all wrong. "I guess some people think our native birds are boring. "The problem is done and gone - until someone releases them again," he said. Simon Mowbray, DoC's project manager for biodiversity, classes the operation, to recapture the lorries and keep them off our island bird sanctuaries, a success. But the culprits, it appears, are a bunch of chattering red-heads - otherwise known as the less-offensive rosella. There is still the odd flash of bright colour and a raucous shriek heard from Auckland treetops. The last one rounded up could even speak a little English. The recent captures have been more tame escapees - pet lorikeets that fled their aviaries or were spooked while stretching their wings. Four were shot by a farmer, two were the prey of cats. And yet the public have come forward in droves to report on the intruders - apparently 84 birds have been recaptured in the swoop. It's hard to feel hostile towards a pretty perky parrot - it's not like a snake or venomous spider invading our backyard. Today, the rainbow lorikeets are all supposed to be back behind cage bars after a two-year bird-hunt. DoC believes the blue-headed birds are a threat to locals such as the tui, the bellbird and the stichbird, all vying for the same food. Last week, the parrots came off New Zealand's protected species list, but they had already been declared pests. While some escaped, most were supposedly set free. Rainbow lorikeets have been a splash of colour in Auckland after the Australian imports flew the coop a few years back. Another bird could be missing from your skies this summer - but the Department of Conservation will be happy to see the back of its fancy tail feathers. Feeding them only helps spread the killer disease as the birds jostle wing to wing for stale breadcrumbs. Milo should really forgo his daily entertainment this summer if he wants the sparrows to make a healthy comeback. MAF scientists suspect they are susceptible, but so far there is little evidence. But there is general concern that salmonella 160 could also strike New Zealand's native birds. Farmers are quite happy to be rid of the little pests. As a safety measure, we want people to phone us if they find 20 or more dead sparrows or blackbirds." Of course, it's generally town folk who call up, concerned by the absence of the birds. "It's not like people are getting headaches from being hit by falling sparrows," he says. Dr Roger Poland, the ministry's programme coordinator, says the problem is far from plague proportions. Last year, the disease killed one elderly Christchurch man and put 80 people in hospital. The fear is that it could ultimately spread through animals and humans with a vengeance. The Ministry of Agriculture and Forestry is endeavouring to find out why this strain of salmonella, known as 160, has attacked our common garden birds with such venom, and where it came from. The bitter winter has not helped the diminutive sparrows' survival, either. Salmonella typhimurium is leaving flocks of sparrows' claws up in the country's backyards, where they once hopped about as commonplace as dandelions. Our cheeky little feathered friends have been hit hard by a lethal disease that kills humans, too. In fact, after striking a deal with his mum, the finicky cat now eats cheese and biscuits for his afternoon tea, while keeping one eye on the dining birds. Let me assure you that Milo is not single-handedly wiping out the sparrow population of our village. Today, when he yowls for his adopted mother to begin her daily ritual - throwing stale bread from the upstairs deck - a paltry 20 birds turn up. This time last year, Milo was entertained every afternoon at four by a troop of 100-odd brazen sparrows on his front lawn. By SUZANNE McFADDEN Milo, the artful marmalade cat next door, is a little down in his whiskered jowls this spring.
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