There wa a currawong in, this evening who had seen better times.
It'd had a depressed fracture of the skull, just above the beak.
One eye was, as far as I could see covered with scar tissue, and the other, due to the deformation of the skull, sat a couple of degrees off centre.
It was anything but the prettiest bird in the flock, but it was active, alert, behaving normally.
From the look of the scarring it wasn't a recent injury, either.
It came, it got something to eat, it left, just as the other birds did.
They all come here, the battered, the broken, the survivors, with their unspoken tales.
Shy little birds?
That female galah has been taking assertiveness lessons from Takeaway.
- I'm not happy to sit in the tree, or on the fence, and bleat at you, no, I'm here, on the ground, demanding to know where the food is.
And just to make sure you're clear on this, I'm going to peck this passing cockatoo, for emphasis (and startle it, in the process. The poor thing didn't know what was going on).
She takes pushy to a whole new level.
I'd better watch myself or I'll end up getting my feet bitten, ha ha.
