There was a kookaburra sitting on the railing of our veranda this afternoon. This may be a common enough event in other parts of Australian but it’s something new for Petersham, in inner suburban Sydney. He hung around for a while, admiring the vase full of squirming tadpoles I’d bred to entertain and educate the grandchildren. The goldfish in the garden pond were looking nervous.
So when he flapped up into the old gum tree at the bottom of the garden, I raided the fridge, found the left-over smoked chicken roulade with pesto stuffing and put a slice out for him. He swooped down from the tree, eyed it off, and eventually picked it up and decided that it needed a quick whack on the railing to break its neck. The slice of chicken roulade disintegrated and our kookaburra friend pecked the pieces off the veranda floor, breaking the neck of each bit in turn.
Then he flew up into the old gum tree again, gave a perfect kookaburra laugh, and went on his merry way. Gay his life must be. I hope he comes back soon. I like him and I want him to like me. And if I don’t see him again I’ll have to eat the smoked chicken roulade with pesto stuffing myself.
PS… Next day. He didn’t come back. I ate the chicken roulade and left the fatty skin on the veranda railing. An indian mynah swooped on it and carried it off. The goldfish and tadpoles are looking more relaxed.