muttarsdotcom

*Sound of trumpets*

Well, this is the hundredth post. I feel like I should make it special in some way; mark the occasion as it were. Hmmm...

I know - a nice story.

I was driving down the road the other day when I happened across a crested cockatoo sitting in the fast lane in obvious stunned distress. I supposed it had been winged by a car as it had its right wing lying loosely on the road. As I pulled over and the traffic roared past I watched the bird sway under the wash and knew the stricken animal's days were very shortly numbered.

So out into the traffic I raced, waving at the drivers to slow down while I rescued the unfortunate cockatoo.
Which wasn't happy and started squawking like it was being murdered as I lifted it and started back to my car, dodging horn blaring irate drivers (I so wanted to give them 'the bird' but my hands were full so I just yelled obsenities). Reaching the car, I must have looked a sight trying to hold onto this panicked bird as it frantically beat its (rather large actually this close) wings in a desperate attempt at flight. Several times in the subsequent seconds I took a full wing to the face. Then, discovering it couldn't flee, it turned on the offensive and clamped its beak round a finger. I was thinking right about now that it might just do having the damn thing for dinner.
Opening the door with one hand while attempting to control the freaked bird with the other wasn't easy I can tell you as the feathered one went totally apeshit when I held it tight to my chest while I opened the door.
All the while - SQUAAWK, SQUAAWK, SQUAAWK!!!
But, I managed and got the door open and proceeded to set the bird on the seat. Charlie, as I named him/her/it, (I'm not sure, we weren't THAT close) was still attached to my finger and with me spitting feathers. The only way I could get the vice-like grip off was to force open the jaws with my other hand amid screeching that would do your average aviary proud.

Anyway, I managed to get Charlie back home where I called WIRES, an Aussie wildlife rescue service. They told me to take it to a prearranged vets the next morning. Okay said I and left the, now calmer, bird in the car for the night and retired to see to my wounds.

Next morning, I opened the doors to find him down in the footwell. Next thing he jumped onto the seat and just sat (and crapped actually - luckily there was a paper there - one of those times my general untidyness worked for me!). Seemingly, despite freedom being a mere step (or flap) away, uninterested in leaving.

So I just observed for a while, wondering if I should 'shoo' him or what. I just decided to leave him there by the open door and let him go when it suited him. The closing of the other door decided it. With a flap of his (now rested and strong enough again) wings he was off.

Watched by yours truly with admiration at the ease with which he just flapped and rose into the sky.

Fly Charlie, fly and be free (We'll not mention the bite - our little secret).

Lord Protector of God's creatures, that's me.