![]() The flock belongs to David Graham, who has long been captivated by the beauty of birds. The galah, a type of cockatoo found throughout Australia, is one of six species included in Auckland’s bird ban. There are yellow-headed Amazon parrots, renowned for their mimicry gang-gang cockatoos, small ashen parrots with fluffy crests and a call that sounds like a rusty gate hinge conures the colour of a tropical cocktail shrewd African grey parrots that regard me from lofty perches squeaking galahs elegant scarlet macaws even a couple of kākāriki. Here, in a sprawling network of aviaries, a discordant orchestra of squawking, screeching, croaking, whistling, and the odd “Hello, my darling!” rings out. “They’re so smart and so comical,” he says, stroking the long tailfeathers of one of the birds. ![]() It’s a gruelling job, but for Dima, it’s worth it. Then, he becomes a full-time parrot parent, feeding tiny pink featherless chicks every two hours-day and night-for eight or so months. When breeding season starts, he will carefully collect the birds’ eggs and place them in incubators. Every day, he cares for hundreds of parrots, preparing their meals and cleaning their cages. On the previous spread, one of Dima’s other parrot wards, an Australian sulphur-crested cockatoo, poses for the camera.ĭima is the aviary manager for a private collection of parrots, pheasants and other birds near Whangārei. Both Dima and this macaw species come from Brazil. “Now I’m living in my paradise, working with birds.” Aviary manager Leno Dima cares for hundreds of parrots at a private collection near Whangārei, including these young blue-and-yellow macaws that he raised from egg to fledgling. Originally from Brazil, where he trained as a parrot biologist, Dima came to New Zealand to learn English. He gently scritches the feathers on the back of one of the macaws’ heads, and the parrot closes her eyes in bliss. They screech and flap and cling to the cage mesh and screech some more.ĭespite the cacophony and commotion, my host, Leno Dima, is unruffled. I’m standing in an aviary with seven blue-and-yellow macaws, just a few months old. ![]() She stretches her wings, fluttering them awkwardly. Her curved hook of a beak looks thick and strong enough to break my finger, so I refrain from stroking her plumage-bright blue and buttercup yellow with an emerald crown and a hint of zebra stripes around her eye. She’s huge, nearly a metre from top-of-head to tail-tip. The bird watches me with an inquisitive eye. Written by Ellen Rykers Photographed by Richard Robinson
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