A Lewin's honeyeater let me know that a brown tree snake was on the move. (Lewin's honeyeaters complain about everything, but are particularly vocal when snakes are around.)
This individual flew up to my office window to attract my attention — like a feathery Lassie or Skippy with a beak [needs work:– Ed.] — and then led me to the corner of the carport.
It was midday, but this usually nocturnal BTS had decided it was time to shift. No doubt it was muttering to itself about the decline of the neighbourhood. The honeyeater was doing the same, but at the top of its voice.
The snake investigated the possibilities to the west, but decided that area was not up to its exacting standards. So it slithered around the corner.
Where this much larger brown tree snake was already in residence.
There was a small adjustment.
And the first snake headed off again to find another location for a nap.
It eventually found a spot not far from where it started, as is often the case.
And the Lewin's honeyeater flew off, not angry, just disappointed in my lack of action. This, too, is often the case.
