Pest birds have taken over my garden – I get why people are fighting back

In the 1980s, primary school chants really had something to recommend them, with crowd-pleasers like: one one was a racehorse / one two was one too / one one won one race / one two won one too.

But the one that stuck with me went like this: If I was a little bird / I’d like to be a sparra / I’d sit upon Princes Bridge / and shit into the Yarra.

Introduced myna birds have become dominant in Melbourne gardens.

Not because of any desire to further dirty our esteemed river, but because the swarms of chirpy little sparrows are mostly gone now. On Melbourne’s streets and in its backyards, sparrows are a rare sight. Pigeons, yes. Blackbirds too. Seagulls, crows, magpies, rainbow lorikeets sometimes, yes. But what happened to the sparrows?

Was the rise of air-con and the decline of eaves on houses removing safe nesting spots? Or was it our shift away from tangled, overgrown backyards in favour of larger houses and fewer trees?

Both probably contributed. But I like to blame my least favourite birds, the introduced common myna and the native noisy miner. The two species have similar names and are similarly sized, but introduced mynas – yellow beaks, brown bodies, white under the wings – are related to starlings, while noisy miners – dark grey backs, light grey underneath – are honeyeaters.

Why are these birds so loathed? They bring it on themselves. Neither species is large, but they hold their own against larger birds through their sheer aggression and pack mentality. Introduced mynas were brought in to control caterpillars and pests in market gardens in Melbourne but soon found out they could control a lot more than that. They’re considered one of the world’s 100 worst invasive species.

The problem is, we humans like our greenery to be managed and to look appealing. We often clear or avoid planting scrub and bushes (which we can’t walk through, but small birds use as places to hide) in favour of grass and taller trees. This is precisely what the bully-birds want. Mynas and miners like to sit in those taller trees, watching over their territory and driving out any hapless entrant.

Both types have adapted to cities and suburbs exceptionally well. Only large birds like currawongs can hold their own. What miners and mynas lack in individual strength, they make up for with social organisation. The problem is, they seem to have modelled themselves on Viking societies, where might makes right.

But given noisy miners are native, isn’t this just part of nature? The problem is, we’ve picked winners. The only reason noisy miners are so dominant is that we’ve cleared the way for them.

I’ve watched a single noisy miner alight on a branch next to a pigeon and then somehow summon its fellow bullies to sit on the branch and cast dark glances at the hapless rat of the air. The pigeon didn’t take the hint, so the miners attacked as a mob, driving it to the ground. I couldn’t watch after that.

For smaller birds, there’s no chance of competing. Miners and mynas force them out. Sparrows had no chance. For small birds, myna and miners are not a minor problem – they’re an existential threat.

This year, common mynas have been expanding out of their strongholds in the cities, pushing along highways and farmland to seek new territory. When they move in, they raid nests and toss out rival chicks. Not even larger birds like cockatoos and rosellas are safe. Once they get a claw-hold, they are hard to dislodge. In Cairns, there can be over 1000 mynas per square kilometre.

No one likes a bully, and especially not one that takes over your garden and poos on your washing while holding eye contact (they’re establishing dominance). Any wonder people are fighting back. Social media is full of advice about how to plant messier, shrubbier gardens to reduce their power. Some councils are replanting thickets of scrub to give small birds like pardalotes and scrubwrens a fighting chance. There are advice groups on how to humanely trap and euthanise them. People get all het up. Sample forum post: “How the f--- do I get mynas to f--- off?

But I reckon we could go further. We could do worse than looking to another playground chant: Sing a song of sixpence / A pocket full of rye / Four and 20 blackbirds / Baked in a pie.

Now, I don’t know why the Bendigo piemaker Leslie Thompson McClure decided to name his fine pie company Four’n Twenty, given he used mincemeat, not blackbirds.

But it’s given me a great idea. We’re short on blackbirds, true. But we are enormously rich in mynas and miners. Bring on the next big miner boom.

Doug Hendrie is a Melbourne writer.

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