"Beep beep!" they said. "Beep beep beep!"

My new, attractive little zebra finches were busily inspecting the new garden aviary they were to share with a mix of Australian finches and Gloster canaries. A beginning bird keeper might expect to start with dull-looking varieties before embracing the more exotic (expensive) species, but zebra finches are anything but dull.

The cockbird has liver-coloured flanks with white spots, bright orange cheek patches with black and white bars, topped by a superb red beak. His mate lacks the coloured plumage apart from the cheek bars, and has an orange beak. Their chunky little bodies are rounded off by the black and white striped tail feathers that gave rise to their name (as well as the cheek bar).

I felt it was a bit twee to individually name a dozen aviary birds; however, after a spell of illness when my zebbies were brought indoors, they re-emerged as Zebedee and Didi.

I learned a lot about them in that first year, including the way they reinforced their bond by preening each other. Didi would peck, none too gently, at Zebedee's neck. He'd lean his head back blissfully whilst she preened him; then he'd preen her - until he got bored and left her with her head still leant back whilst he scritched himself or flew off to feed. (Men!)

They also loved to bathe, splashing happily in their bath tub, adapted from a kitten's litter tray. I laughed at the two little drowned rats sitting on a perch later. They rapidly beat their wings, sounding just like a dog shaking itself after bathing…and so comical with all my other birds joining in.

And how they loved their shiny new seeds! I'd pour the seeds into the large, round metal feeders and before I'd even finished they were in there, beaks clonking on the bottom as they quickly found the ones they wanted and chucked out all the rest. I was treated to a glimpse of zebra finch butt in return for my efforts. Nice!

After a further bout of illness, Zebedee and Didi were returned to the aviary in late September, and began actively seeking a suitable nest site. When Zebedee found one he liked, he'd make this cute little whimpering noise. Didi would join him, then they'd whimper together, whilst "rattling" their beaks in agreement. I was delighted when they built a nest on a ledge above the door but anxious that it was so late in the season. I needn't have worried. Given the right conditions, zebra finches can breed all year round!

One day the proud new mother was bouncing excitedly on the perches, joyfully announcing the happy event to all. Zebedee strutted as he proclaimed his fertility with a loud, trumpeting song - in between hopping up to check his littl'uns were ok. I heaped praise on the new arrivals, and heartily congratulated the ecstatic parents.

Then one day, hearing some rather anxious, soft beeps coming from the nest site, I went to investigate. Sittting tightly on the nest, with Zebedee and Didi hovering nervously nearby, was Lesa, the childless Bengalese finch. She gaped fiercely at the parents, refusing to give up the nest.

Negotiations prevailed, and finally they got their nest back, but it seemed to be with the proviso that both societies, Benny and Lesa, were allowed to babysit. In fact, Zebedee and Didi soon capitalised upon the bizarre arrangement. They could forage, have a bath, relax and preen each other, and even start preparatory nestbuilding activities for brood number two. It was quite funny seeing the two society finches squashed together on the nest whilst the two zebbies lived the high life.

Two weeks later, when I arrived for daily cleaning duties, three pairs of tiny black eyes peered suspiciously at me from grey blobs of fluff on the floor. "Beep, beep, beep!" they all said, in an adorable, wobbly imitation of their parents. The grey plumage and black beaks contrasted sharply with their parents', which I understand is a ploy designed to hide them from hungry predators in the wild, who'd be forced to snack elsewhere.

Zebedee and Didi worked hard to feed them. They begged by pushing their heads to the ground, with beaks pointing upwards. And the din! It was hard to believe such tiny scraps could make such a racket. The parents fed each in turn, although after it had been fed, one naughty chick scrambled over another to be further down the line, and was rewarded with an extra feed!

Not surprisingly, the societies fed them too. Apparently they are renowned birdie foster parents. Mum and Dad weren't thrilled, but the little ones couldn't care less! They begged from every adult bird in the aviary, earning disdainful stares from the canaries before they rudely took off.

If I picked these cute little chicks up, they would just snuggle into my hand and go to sleep. Aah!

It was funny watching them learn to fly. Mum and Dad would hop down beside their youngsters whose beaks immediately opened in anticipation of grub coming their way. Then they were left looking up in open-beaked confusion as their parents abruptly took off, to what must have seemed the highest perch in the aviary, and beeped down at them.

From the plaintive peeping that ensued, it must've looked an awfully long way up to the three forlorn pairs of eyes on the floor. I empathised with their predicament, thinking their parents' expectations were just a little unreasonable, and promised I'd have words. Mum and Dad listened attentively. They were still a bit overambitious but occasionally would select a perch at the right level, and were rewarded when Junior negotiated it successfully. Junior was rewarded too - with a well-deserved snack!

If the juniors didn't fancy trying to fly up as far as Mum and Dad wanted for their lunch, they'd merely seek out Benny and Lesa, who were more than happy to oblige. If the chicks could have said "so there, nah!" to their thwarted parents, I'm sure they would have!

Sometimes when the three gaping beaks and constant racket were overwhelming, Mum and Dad would fly up to a high perch to escape them. Except that when the babies were bigger, they simply followed, and hassled them there instead!

Not everyone loved them, of course. Two star finches with their own youngster, were determined to eliminate the competition. Whenever they could, they'd harass a chick from its perch, sending it careening towards the aviary mesh, beeping frantically. It would dangle precariously until continued mobbing made it fall to the floor. Its panicked cries would bring Mum and Dad beeping angrily into the aviary. They'd chase off the smaller star finches, who would sit muttering to each other in a corner, staring menacingly at the chicks. The chicks usually bounced back, none the worse for the experience.

Over the next few weeks they began to acquire their adult plumage, and their beaks changed from black to horn, then to red for the males and orange for the females. I thought we'd got a chattering budgie in the aviary until I realised it was the little male zebra finch practising what would become his distinctive, trumpeting "song".

Zebedee and Didi produced two further broods, and they grew up in a close-knit, friendly little zebra finch family. They all became very trusting towards me. I'd be about to put their seed dish back on the shelf, when they'd suddenly descend on the rim, and jump in! It wasn't unusual for six of them to be sitting either on the rim or inside the dish, chomping - within a hair's breadth of my fingers.

Sometimes when I emerge from the aviary, I'm surprised I'm not completely bald. The zebbies seem to think my long hair would make excellent nesting material. If I stand close to a perch, Didi tugs at my hair, making a telltale "I know I shouldn't be doing this" sound. The others, particularly the males, think it's a great trick too, but they don't bother with silly things like perches. No, they land directly on my head, my shoulders, and try to fly off with my hair. It's a bit like that chair-o-plane ride you see at a funfair. They end up swinging round at the end of it. It doesn't stop them trying, though!

Zebra finches are attractive, adorable and friendly, and I love them to bits. However, they have quickly outnumbered all the other birds in the aviary, and we now have some 18 of them. That has given us another problem - how to get rid of them!

...you wouldn't, by any chance, like a few….please?!

Article © Karen Dean 2004