Chapter One – A Headache for Bluey

The Lonely Parrot Guide advises: closed windows are not a safe route to travel. Bluey, the crimson rosella, found this out the hard way. When moving like a cyclone with his mates, he missed the cue to veer left, and smashed headlong into the glass. This was the last thing he remembered, until he awoke in a dark place. He moved his head to one side, and was pleased it felt ok. He moved it to the other side, and apart from a slight headache, all was well. It was difficult to move his wings, as the walls of his container restricted him. With nothing else to do, he sat quietly muttering in Rosellian parrot.

Eventually, he heard what seemed to be human footsteps nearby, and the sensation of floating, before landing with a soft bump. Light suddenly pierced his bright, beady eyes. He was lifted gently from his hideaway, and placed onto the branch of a familiar magnolia tree revealing his magnificent red and blue feathers. Bluey recognised the human, as one he had mischievously buzzed many times on his travels around the garden. Shaking his ruffled feathers back into place caused a halo of colourful down to float off with the breeze, and with a screech of thanks, he flew off to find the rest of his band. The entire drama was watched from the safety of a massive blue gum by a kookaburra named Jackass, who couldn’t help laughing at Bluey’s embarrassing escapade.

Meanwhile, the rest of Bluey’s gang, had collected in the uppermost branches of an old camphor laurel tree, and were feasting on the multitude of seeds available. There were occasional quarrels between the birds, but they were short-lived and not serious; there was plenty of food for all. When Bluey finally returned, it was as though he hadn’t been missing at all.

Bluey and his friends were a group of young adult rosellas who spent most of their time in aerial acrobatics and eating. They lived in a lightly wooded area close to a rainforest, so there was always plenty of food for them to choose from. Their favourite hangout was the garden where the big camphor laurel tree stood. Two humans lived there, with a dog and no cats. The dog, Chuddly, loved to lie around in the sun most of the time, and wasn’t interested in chasing birds. However, he did like to chase cats, which was why it was a good place for the birds. The humans had a special puddle-on-a-stick in the garden, and it was nearly always full of fresh water for the birds to drink and splash about in.

The rosellas were amused by the human’s attempts at mimicking their calls, which sounded completely garbled to the birds. Sometimes for fun, Bluey would sit near the humans with his head cocked to one side pretending to listen to the strange sounds they made, and then he would suddenly turn and fly away, leaving his screech ringing in their ears.

The camphor laurel tree was like an immense block of units to the many birds in the vicinity – a community birds’ nest. They all had their favourite feeding and roosting places throughout the leafy canopy, and the branches were filled with wonderful nooks and crannies to hide from the worst of the weather.

 

 

Chapter Two – Barklava’s Council

Every year on a particular day, all the birds would gather in the camphor laurel to catch up on events and discuss any common problems; even birds who didn’t live in the tree, but who used it as an occasional resting place, would turn up. Somehow, each bird knew exactly when to be there without being told.

At the beginning of birdsong on this day, the racket was incredible. The colourful plumages represented were a riot of greens, reds, blues, and staccato blacks and whites. With the amazing variety of calls and whistles as the birds greeted each other, it was no wonder the humans appeared. Even though the sun was stretching its rays across the horizon, they looked as though they were still sleepy, rubbing their eyes and yawning deeply. It always baffled Bluey, humans never seemed to wear the same feathers. Today they were draped in stripes with extra large fluffy feet. Chuddly was yawning and stretching as well.

The galahs, who found most things funny almost all the time, began pointing at the humans and making rude screeching noises. They hung upside down, swinging around the branches and fluffing out their combs; screaming so loudly they almost deafened their neighbours.

The willie wagtails flitted around chattering, and harassing the magpies who sat majestically trying to ignore them. A group of high-speed projectiles came crashing through the canopy, heralding the arrival of the white-headed pigeons who are supposed to be known for their unobtrusive behaviour. Obviously they hadn’t studied their code of conduct guide.

Things were getting beyond control until the arrival of the peewees, Herr Lipp and Frau Beater. They soon had everything nest-shape, as they goose stepped around the unruly mob, pecking out orders… “You vill be qviet und be shtill, NOW!” they screeched. No one dared argue, and silence followed.

It was an unspoken agreement the meeting be led by a tawney frogmouth, Barklava, whose presence wasn’t apparent until he opened his large orange-yellow eyes and stopped looking like a branch. Even though tawney frogmouths are not strictly owls, they do share the quiet wisdom of the species.

“Are we all ready now?” his soft tones inquired.

A cacophony of bird noise erupted, as everyone said yes all at once. This time the peewees were aided in their quest for quiet by the whipbirds, Eye Lash and Chief Whip. Silence prevailed once more.

“What are the main concerns of the group at present? Please keep to one speaker at a time!” added Barklava.

A king parrot, Charles, was the first to speak and his fears were shared by most of the smaller birds.

“There’s some worry over the arrival of a family of goshawks in the area. They seem to think our garden is a smorgasbord. A couple of our relatives have disappeared, and I don’t think they’ve gone on holidays. If they have, they left their feathers behind.”

Snowtop, a white headed pigeon added, “I found a pile of soft down under the old pine tree the other day; all that was left of my cousin Frosthead.

A mass of chittering and squeaking erupted from some of the smallest birds – the spinebills, wrens, and finches. They were an easy meal for many of the carnivores and didn’t relish another one to prey upon them.

One of the finches, Pita, spoke up as loudly as she could, with a catch in her voice, “One of our babies was taken as she fluttered from the nest. I thought the garden was off limits to the eating of neighbours?”

“Yes, it’s an unspoken agreement, we do not prey upon other birds in the garden,” spoke Barklava. “The goshawks are living just outside the boundary and taking advantage of the many birds living here. I think maybe it’s time we sought out … Ornith.” At this, the air erupted in whistles and screeches of such force the tree shook from its roots to its tips; the rough bark of its trunk threatened to crack away. Kookaburras in the blue gum nearby began a hearty cackle. Peta blurted out, “You don’t mean … the Lord of the Wings?” Very few birds had actually seen Ornith, but his reputation was fierce. Fledglings were told stories of his exploits before they left their nests, which both inspired and caused fear.

One tale, tells of a willie wagtail who dreamed of becoming like Ornith. From the day he first heard of the magnificent wedge tailed eagle that flew high and proudly throughout the land, he was determined to be just as grand. His parents were loathe to shatter his dreams and believed he would forget the idea as he became older. Unfortunately, this willie, named Mason, never seemed to realise his stature was somewhat smaller than an eagle. Mason practised soaring and diving to such extremes, he really did fly higher and faster than any willie wagtail ever before.

One day, as Mason was swooping and diving around calling out, “Chase me if you can!” he came a little too close to a bad tempered magpie named Bomber, who decided to teach him a lesson. As Mason came in for another pass, Bomber grabbed him around the throat with his large, vice-like beak.

“Now who’s a big tough eagle? Huh?”

And with that he shook Mason very roughly and flung him into a nearby grevillea. Mason was so upset and frightened, he lay shivering and shocked amongst the prickly foliage for quite a long time; ants crawling all over him, before he raised the courage to crawl out and fly back up into a nearby tree.

From that day on he had a stutter. It was as though the word “chase” became stuck in his throat. This is why all willie wagtails make the ch…ch…ch…ch…ch…ch sound when they are out in public. They can only sing their beautiful nightingale song when they think no one is around. Mason never tried to be an eagle again, and realised he was a very special type of bird just as he was.

As the commotion eased, a tiny, high-pitched voice could be heard, “B…bbbut, who will make contact with Ornith?” asked a fairy wren, Pixie, as she flitted around the gathering.

“I don’t mind going in search of Him,” returned Grubber. Grubber was a particularly large and brave magpie who took his role as territorial defender very seriously. He suffered attacks on his person by the peewees and willie wagtails in good humour, and would never harm any in his garden. Grubber came from a large family. He had many aunts and uncles and cousins who shared the workload of feeding the young magpies and defending their territory from trespassing birds. Sometimes the young magpies needed to be put firmly in their place in the pecking order; Grubber was very skilful at this job which he enjoyed immensely.

When he and his sister were fledglings, flapping about awkwardly with their continuous, “Feed me, feed me …” noises, a group of olive coloured bower birds landed nearby and began hopping about – more like kangaroos than birds – and they were being quite rude to Grubber and his sister Carol. Pushing past to get to the tastiest grubs first and ganging up, making fun of the young magpies; they simply had no manners. As the rest of the magpies were some way off feeding it suddenly occurred to Grubber he should stand up to these bullies, for his sister’s sake. He fluffed out his motley feathers and lifted his wings slightly to make himself look bigger, and with a missile-like charge, launched himself straight at the greedy, green gaggle. Well, they hadn’t expected that! With much hissing and abuse they flew away to another part of the garden to feed. And you know, they never bothered Grubber or Carol again. From that moment on he knew he had a purpose, and no bird was ever going to pull the feathers over his eyes. His black and white plumages shone in the sunlight like a gentleman in a morning suit; his bright brown eyes missed nothing.

“Well, it does seem as though we need help from higher up,” said Barklava, his huge eyes staring into those of Grubber. “If you are quite prepared to risk the journey for the sake of the rest of us, then we must thank you. May the wind carry you with speed, and return you safely to the garden.” Having said, he closed his eyes and turned back to looking like a branch.

This was the sign the gathering was over, and there was an almost deafening kerfuffle of screeching, piping, whistling, squeaking, and cackling as the many birds left the tree to go about their normal daily business. Grubber however, remained where he was, planning the journey he was to undertake, and carolling quietly to himself.

Throughout this whole meeting in the camphor laurel, the humans who owned the garden had been watching and listening from the ground, fascinated by the variety of birds chattering to each other in the leafy canopy. They could recall the same thing happening on other occasions, about once a year, and by using their binoculars, they could make out most of the familiar birds of their garden.

“Look, I’m sure that’s the crimson rosella we rescued the other day. He’s making as much racket as the rest of the birds” said the woman.

She was busily scanning the tree, trying to recognise as many types of birds as she could. “There’s a satin bowerbird sitting on the branch just below our rosella. He reached up and pulled a blue feather out of the rosella’s tail!” the woman laughed. “Listen to the screeching now!”

The dark, glossy, almost black bowerbird, with violet-blue eyes, was now attempting to appear as innocent as a newly hatched chick; a bright blue tail feather was sticking out of his pale beak.

“It certainly was worth getting out of bed at this early-morning hour to see! I wonder why the birds gather like this?”

“Well,” yawned the man, “I don’t know about you, but I’m ready for breakfast now.”

With that, the two humans and Chuddly disappeared back into their nest.

Grubber continued to go over the expedition, in his mind. There were many dangers beyond the garden, as he well knew. This quest offered him a chance to really prove himself to the other birds. If only he could find Lord Ornith …

 

 

Chapter Three – Parrotroopers

Meanwhile, Bluey and friends screamed off into the fresh morning air in search of breakfast. During a lull in feeding, Bluey told his friends about a plan …

“How would it be if we formed into an elite wing of parrotroopers to watch over the garden while Grubber’s away? Then, if we see any hawks around we can sound the alarm.”

Bluey’s friends were impressed with the idea. Any excuse to show off and do some aerobatics was fine with them. Grubber was down the far end of the garden with a group of his family, feeding on worms and grubs they mysteriously knew how to find beneath the ground. The parrots approached to ask his advice, careful to keep away from his torpedo-like beak. Grubber eyed them suspiciously as though he was looking over the top of a pair of glasses; they came near one at a time. He was well aware of the pranks they played on the rest of the birds in the garden, although so far they had left him alone. Sometimes it was worth having a reputation for being tough.

“Ahem, excuse me Grubber, are you busy?” began Bluey. The others had elected Bluey as spokes bird; it was his plan. Besides, no one else was game enough to get too close to Grubber.

“What do you lot want?”

Bluey was careful to keep a low profile and out of range of that huge beak. He looked at Grubber with only one eye as was respectful amongst birds. He explained his idea of the parrotroopers and was surprised when Grubber seemed to like it. One of the problems Grubber had considered was the lack of security in the garden while he was gone. If only he could train these feather-brained missiles, it would ease his mind a little.

“Well now, what makes you think you could carry out this job without turning it into a circus act?”

“We’ve all lost someone close because of the hawks, it’s the least we can do.”

“If you can follow my teaching, and carry out the flight manoeuvres over the next few days then I’ll consider it.” He turned his back on the parrots and stabbed his beak viciously into the earth to extract a particularly juicy lawn grub.

This was the signal to leave as far as Bluey was concerned. He turned and flew as far up into the gum tree as he could, followed by his friends. One of them, Arnott, was so nervous he couldn’t help pooping as he took off, hitting Grubber on the head. Well, it’s supposed to be good luck!

The next morning there was excitement throughout the garden as the birds anticipated the first training session of the parrotroopers. This time the silence was almost as deafening as the noise at the gathering; the sound of bird droppings falling onto the dewy ground beneath the trees was the only sound to be heard. Grubber selected the birds; four crimson rosellas – Bluey, Arnott, Cracker, and Screech. Two king parrots – Arthur and BeeBee, and two lorikeets – Lauri and Skeet. He also decided because of the nosiness of the willie wagtails and their ability to harass anything that came too close, he would include them amongst the flight crew. These were Willie Nelly, Tooshie, and Nelson. Of course no training would be complete without the aid of Herr Lipp and Frau Beater, whose voices could be heard clearly and who commanded respect from most birds. And so they began …

“Qviet und listen!” shouted Herr Lipp. “You vill all line up shtraight across dis branch und be shtill!”

“Ja, ja,” added Frau Beater. “Shtraight!”

At this, the galahs perched on the branches above began to screech hilariously, mimicking the peewees; “Shtraight, shtraight!” Spinning like cartwheels, their feathers created a kaleidoscope of pink and grey. It was all too much for the kookaburras and their laughter rang throughout the garden adding to the din.

Grubber was beginning to regret the whole idea until he looked up and saw the parrotroopers lined up looking smarter than the rows of corn in the vegetable plot. This was more like it. Somehow they needed to find an area away from the maddening crowd of feathered followers.

“That’s it. Come with me!” he called. They all flew off in the wake of Grubbers tail feathers. He led them on a flight around the garden and over the edge into the next paddock where he landed on a wooden fence post. The parrotroopers set down on the top wire alongside in a very neat row. This was more like it.

He held their attention briefly as he explained the way he wanted them to act.

“You must be able to take evasive action if the hawks come after you, like this …” and he flew into the air to somersault and dive skilfully before landing again nearby.

It was soon clear none of them were able to be still for long. The willies were wagging their tails from side to side and leaping up to grab insects from the air. The rosellas began a tight wire act causing all the birds on the wire to move along to make room for them. This in turn annoyed the king parrots who began to whistle in such a high pitch, the fence wire vibrated like violin strings.

Despite all this, somehow the message entered their birdbrains and they took off in a formation that would have brought tears to the eyes of Biggles, a notoriously brave and skilful pilot. They formed a tight unit of aerial poetry as they glided together almost as one. Eventually it became too much for Laurie and Skeet who had issues with other birds being too close to them. They began to screech and try to take chunks out of those nearest. The peewees were there in a flash of monochrome to bring order again. “Nein, nein! Shtop! Shtop fighting! You must follow orders! NOW!”

So the lesson continued until Grubber, after praising their efforts, released them to meet again at the training area the following morning. This continued over the next two days until Grubber was convinced the troopers were as good as they would ever be. At least the garden had a sort of alarm system now. Hopefully there wouldn’t be too many false alerts or missing birds while he was gone.

 

 

Chapter Four – Pythagora’s Fearem

The next morning he set off. His wings made a whooshing sound with each downward thrust, as he headed toward the pale pink clouds. How wonderful to be flying through the crisp, mountain air. The aromas were strong rising up to meet him and he could almost taste the worms and grubs in the leafy carpet of the forest floor way below. Grubber had an inbuilt navigator; he flew without any mind to the direction he was going and his only thought was of the task assigned to him by Barklava. He would carry it out to the end, no matter what challenges he met along the way.

Meanwhile, back at the garden, the rest of the bird population were busily filling their beaks and bellies with food. The butcherbirds were hanging their food up to ‘season’ for a while along the branches of their favourite stringy bark tree; the honeyeaters were fluttering from shrub to shrub in a frantic way as though there weren’t enough seconds in the day; the kookaburras sat on their favourite branches in the blue gum daring some unfortunate rodent or lizard to show its face down below, and the whole garden was alive with birdcalls.

The parrotroopers, a credit to Grubber and the peewees, were on guard and alert for any attempts by the hawks to grab a sly feathered snack. They took turns at watching and buzzing the hawks so they weren’t all tired out at the same time, and could feed in between sentry duty. The plan seemed to work – the hawks became raddled being bombarded by such an odd mixture of birds every time they came near the garden and so they flew away to hunt further afield.

Grubber in the meantime, many wing beats from home, was becoming weary. He simply wasn’t used to flying so far in one go. There was a hoop pine up ahead so he decided to land at the top and rest. A pair of currawongs watched him warily with their bright yellow eyes when he landed near them. Their mainly black bodies and very large black beaks looked menacing, even to Grubber. He decided to be polite and introduce himself.

“I am known as Grubber and I don’t want any trouble, I just need to rest for a while.”

“Well Grubber, I am known as Piper and this is my mate Hosanna. You can rest here.”

“I’m heading to Mount Griffin. Do you know how far it is from here?”

Grubber heard Hosanna gasp slightly at the mention of his goal. Piper gave her a warning glare.

“It’s many wing beats away from where we are, but you’re heading in the right direction. We’ll leave you now to rest. May Ornith be with you.” They were gone in a flutter of blackness.

Grubber felt strangely uneasy as they disappeared into the forest, but he couldn’t quite put his claw on why. He now settled further along the branch he’d landed on and closed his eyes for a brief sleep. Grubber awoke with a feeling of urgency; he was looking into the face of an immense carpet python.

“G’day sssusstenansssss,” it hissed.

The coils of the snake were already surrounding his body and it wouldn’t take long for the pressure to disable him. There was something hypnotic in the reptile’s stare and Grubber couldn’t take his eyes away from it. Normally when birds sleep there is one bird left on lookout for danger. Grubber had been so tired he’d taken a chance and it seemed he’d decided wrongly. In his mind he saw flashes of the garden. Himself as a chick. Growing to an adult. Watching the other birds in his care. He felt the crushing pressure of the python’s coils. Pain and fear began to overpower him as the pressure of the python squeezed the last breath from his body. If only he’d been able to find Ornith instead of making a meal for a snake! Delirium set in as he thought he heard a shout …

“Pythagora! Stop! He’s on a mission to the Lord of the Wings!”

That was all he remembered until he awoke, coughing to get the air back into his lungs. In front of him were the worried, staring faces of Piper and Hosanna; there was no sign of the snake.

Grubber wasn’t quite sure where he was or who he was with at first. As the air and light began to arouse him, the full horror of his experience came back and he shivered even though it wasn’t cold.

“It’s just as well we came back when we did or else you’d be tomorrows compost,” from Piper.

“How can I thank you for saving me?” he coughed. “I really thought I’d taken my last breath.”

Both currawongs looked uneasy. “No worries. We birds should always look out for each other, isn’t that right Hosanna?” Piper looked at his mate then back to Grubber. “Why don’t you come with us and have something to eat? Then, if you want to rest again we can watch for you.”

Grubber was keen to go along with them to get as far from the snake as he could and to see whether he could find out any more about Lord Ornith. The three birds flew down to the ground to a clearing in the forest where the feeding was easier and the sun warmed their ebony backs. They stepped along together, listening with heads cocked to one side and probing the ground to extract worms.

 

Chapter Five – The Eagle and the Kangaroo

Back in the garden all appeared to be peaceful. However, as the peewees were strutting around the perimeter fence they came across a hideous sight.

“Alert, alert, alert!” they screamed in unison.

At this, every bird in the garden took cover in the nearest tree or shrub until they were to hear the all clear. The parrotroopers gathered together with the peewees to find out what the problem was. It soon became apparent their vigilance hadn’t been enough. There amongst the long grass of the fence line were the feathers of a crimson rosella, all that remained of Ruby, one of Bluey’s cousins. The hawks were cunning; whilst one of them had circled in full view of the watchers, the other had sat in ambush out of sight, ready to spring at the unsuspecting victim. The birds seemed to heave a common sigh, and their eyes glistened as they shuffled about unsure of what to do. The parrotroopers decided to double their efforts on the following days, to ensure the rest of the birds would be safe.

Meanwhile, Grubber and the currawongs were full for the moment and flew into a nearby lillipilly. Now he had a chance to find out more about Ornith.

“Would you tell me what you know about Mount Griffin?” he enquired.

Hosanna looked sideways at Piper before replying.

“We only know what we’ve been told through the stories. None of us have ever been near to Mount Griffin. It’s said it’s a magical place and once you’ve looked towards the peak you’ll never be the same again.”

Hosanna began to relate a tale handed down by generations of currawongs …

Back before the beginning of temporal time all creatures were part of the Monoverse, the time before actual creation. Before the separation happened, this huge bird called an eagle and a massive animal called a red kangaroo were friends and spent a lot of time together discussing the benefits of flying as opposed to strength and speed. Somehow, when they should have been disunited, they were fused together and formed a colossal creature with the head and wings of an eagle, and the body of a kangaroo covered in feathers. This creature became known as a griffin and it had the wisdom of the eagle and the strength and speed of the kangaroo. It was difficult for the two creatures to live together harmoniously in the same body and there came a time when the kangaroo tried to run away from the eagle – which was impossible because they were one creature. He bounded on and on desperately trying to escape the incessant preaching of the eagle about the benefits of flying and being closer to the sun god. Eventually, they came to a high mountain, and when they reached the top the kangaroo was exhausted, so he lay down to rest. He dreamed that at last he was free of the eagle and when he awoke he found it was true. The eagle sat majestically on a rocky outcrop at the highest point of the mountain, whilst he was a kangaroo, strong and fast, able to outrun any other creature.

Once more they could be friends but chose to live far from each other. The eagle stayed on the mountain and the kangaroo left to live on the plains as far away as he could. The mountain became known as Mount Griffin and from that day on there was always an eagle living at the top.

Grubber was impressed with this tale, which was similar to one he had heard as a fledgling. Suddenly, they were surprised by the stealthy appearance of Pythagora. He’d been listening from the shadows on a branch lower down on the tree.

“I wish you wouldn’t do that!” shouted Piper. “It really gives me the creeps.”

It gave Grubber more than that; he took flight at the first glimpse of the python, and landed in the tree opposite where he could keep an eye on it. He knew how to face his fears.

“It’s ok Grubber, he won’t eat you!” This was easy for Piper to say, he hadn’t felt the coils of death squeezing the life out of him. “Come back and meet him. He really is a sound friend once you get to know him.”

Grubber wasn’t sure why he should do as these two currawongs asked, but somehow he felt compelled. Reluctantly, he returned.

“I mussst apologissse for missstaking you for a sssnack. Sssometimess nature jussst insssissstsss on ruling onesss actionsss.” Throughout this whole speech Pythagora looked intently, hypnotically into Grubber’s brown eyes and Grubber could feel himself relaxing and growing almost sleepy.

“Pythagora, that’s enough! He has a wicked and twisted sense of humour. If you aren’t wary he’ll have you acting like a galah.”

This reptile was really beginning to get under Grubber’s feathers. In fact he’d had enough of him. The sun was beaming directly onto the top of Grubber’s head; it was time to move on.

He began to thank the currawongs for saving his life and befriending him but they wouldn’t hear of him leaving just yet. They wanted him to meet with some other local birds who had better knowledge of the journey he was on. Now he thought about it, there hadn’t been any other birds around.

 

 

Chapter Six – The Magic Nest

As the shock of the latest victim passed, the birds of the garden continued with their lives. Chicks still needed to be fed, nests cleaned and repaired and meals delivered. For a while out of respect, even the galahs stopped spinning so much.

The humans appeared in the garden wearing different feathers again, and began to potter about with strange clawed sticks. They did this occasionally as though they were searching for food on the ground, but they never ate what they dug up. Instead they gathered up the grass from amongst the plants and put it in a pile near to where the vegetables grew. This was a great place to find worms, and the birds couldn’t understand why the humans never seemed to feed from this treasure trove. Instead, they would leave it there for many sunrises then rummage through it, pick it up and put it back on the garden. Humans had strange behaviours.

Herr Lipp had a serious problem to deal with. It seemed there was another peewee trying to muscle in on his territory. He’d noticed on several occasions when he’d been near the human nest, an especially fine-looking bird had been swaggering around right in front of him. To make matters worse, Frau Beater insisted on preening and mincing around behind his back. Whenever he challenged this fellow he simply vanished! Once again, he approached the human nest in order to sort him out …

“I see you! Kom und fight like a true gegner[1]! You sink das you is zo clever huh? Cowverd! Cowverd! Cowverd!” he shrieked.

This guy was strong; as soon as Herr Lipp sprang at him it was as though he was hitting a slippery wall. Bluey noticed the whole kerfuffle and flew down to help.

“It’s no good,” said Bluey, “the nest is solid magic. The humans can enter and leave as they wish, but it refuses to let us in. Although, some birds have somehow entered and told unbelievable stories of the caves that lie within … A red brow finch I know called Cherry, was actually taken inside the nest by the woman. Cherry was only a fledgling when one very windy night she was blown out of her tree and onto a round platform next to the human nest. The woman came out of her nest and caught Cherry – very gently – and carried her inside. It was broad daylight inside even though it was black as a crows belly outside! Well, Cherry’s heart was ready to explode and when the woman relaxed her grip Cherry flew out of her grasp and crashed into a wall, in the sky! By now she didn’t know which way was up or down but she saw a level spot and headed for it. From where she was she could see the humans down below watching her; there was a small sun hanging from a vine nearby. The humans talked to her, and although she didn’t have a clue what they meant, they sounded kind. They left her and the sun suddenly vanished with them leaving her completely in the dark. As there was nothing else for her to do she went to sleep. She awoke at birdsong and could hear the muffled sounds of her family and friends outside, but she was trapped. She flew from corner to corner of the huge nest and although she could see out from one part, she couldn’t get through. It reminded her of the surface of the puddle-on-a-stick in the garden when it was frozen – she could see through the water but couldn’t get through it. Finally, the humans came back in and moved the frozen spot to one side; she felt the breeze ruffle her feathers, so she made a dash for it and was outside again – free! So you see, the peewee isn’t really there you know; it’s part of the magic.”

Herr Lipp wasn’t totally convinced; he made one last spring at the illusive opponent before flying away to the bottom of the garden where he scattered a group of magpies before settling down to feed.

 

 

Chapter Seven – The Man Tree

Grubber began to feel chills down his spine even though he was in the bright sunshine. Piper, Hosanna and Pythagora were in a huddle muttering together, occasionally looking over to Grubber. In the distance there began a sound like the wind whispering through the trees, building momentum as it travelled. The sky darkened and as Grubber looked up he saw a nimbus of darkness above. It was black cockatoos and there seemed to be hundreds of them. Their extensive wings moved in effortless slow motion and the noise was incredible as they screeched their raucous call … “Rain … Rain … Rain!”

Piper and Hosanna seemed quite unprepared for this intrusion and glared at the invaders angrily, a point which was lost on the cockatoos. Pythagora slipped silently and slowly into the deep shadows and coiled himself around the darkest part of the trunk, where he remained unmoving and undetected.

Grubber had met many black cockatoos before, but never in such vast numbers; it was a truly impressive crowd. Most of them alighted on the nearby trees which swayed and creaked under the strain. They began to prune the branches and foliage, until soon a rich perfume of hoop pine nuts and eucalyptus infused the air.

The cockatoos had appeared from the direction Grubber was intending to head, and as a few of them landed nearby he flew over to find out as much as he could about where they’d come from. These birds were massive; some had dark beaks and yellow cheeks with eyes appearing to be red rimmed. Grubber edged carefully toward a large individual keeping his body low and submissive.

“Pardon me, can I ask where you’re from?”

This startled the fellow who had been concentrating on snapping off a goodish chunk of tree at the time with his secateurs-like beak.

“Rain! Rain! Rain!” He screeched. “Oh, sorry. Didn’t mean to frighten you,” he said to Grubber who was now cowering on the branch below where the force of the eruption had sent him. “Nature just kicks in when you least expect it!”

“So I’ve heard before,” replied Grubber.

“Now what can I do for you? I’m Blackjack by the way.”

“I’m Grubber and I’m heading to Mount Griffin. Would you be able to tell me about the path to take?”

This caused a brief glint to appear in Blackjack’s eye; it was gone quicker than it came.

“Might I ask why you’re going there?”

Grubber told Blackjack his story so far, including his encounter with Piper and Hosanna. Blackjack listened with his head cocked to one side, occasionally raising his comb.

“You need to be aware of a strange and powerful force which lies between this place and Mount Griffin. Have you noticed the lack of bird life around here? We only use this as a fast food stop on the way to our main camp.

“But why aren’t there any birds here?”

“It’s because of the force I mentioned. This forest used to be chockas with birds, but men came and put up a huge metal tree on the mountaintop known as Moonshine. This tree is higher than the tallest tallowwood, with strange nests attached to it that hang sideways. It seems to have a strong magic which sends birds crazy and they lose all sense of direction. Eventually they get very sick and die. We now know to go around the force. This is the edge of its power and as close as we dare to go. Birds who stay here too long will succumb and die. Don’t trust those currawongs, Piper and Hosanna. They’ve been here since they were hatchlings and refuse to leave the creepy snake Pythagora. Somehow they haven’t become ill but they have turned quite deranged. We’ve tried to get them to leave but they seem to be mesmerised.

“Tell me more about this man tree.”

“You can hear it from miles away. Even from here when the wind is right. It sounds like a gathering storm.”

“Do you know why they put it there?”

“No. Men go there sometimes and disappear inside it – then they come out and leave again. Even they won’t live there.”

Grubber heard a fluttering behind him and Piper and Hosanna landed.

“You don’t want to listen to gossip from this lot you know,” stated Hosanna. “They’ll tell all sorts of stories just to hear the sounds of their own voices!”

“Why don’t you two leave here and be with your own kind?” asked Blackjack. “You still haven’t managed to raise any chicks have you? Don’t you ever wonder why they seem to vanish just before they reach the flying stage? No wonder Pythagora enjoys your company.”

“We’re quite ok on our own thanks. We don’t need anyone else. Chicks only complicate things anyway.”

Grubber couldn’t understand this way of thinking. To him and his kind, raising young was the reason for living! Watching the family grow made him happy.

“When you leave here,” began Blackjack, “follow the trees until you reach the edge of the forest, then veer off towards the place where the sun rises and the coast. You’ll know where it is when you catch the reek of fish and seagulls,” continued Blackjack. “And be careful of the sea eagles, they don’t mind a bit of mountain flown meat occasionally. Follow the coast with the first light on your right wing from one sunrise to sunset, then turn inland again until you see the form of Mount Griffin appear in front of you – you really can’t miss it!”

Piper and Hosanna were looking uncomfortable.

“Why don’t you stay here with us for a few days and rest?” from Hosanna.

“I must leave. Every delay could mean another of my friends becomes a meal. Thanks for your hospitality, but now I’m off. You could always come with me,” he added.

A spark of light passed between the two currawongs. As Piper opened his beak to speak, Pythagora appeared from nowhere and with his eyes fixed intently on Piper’s, crooned …

“You could never leave ssssuch a ssssspecial plassssse asss thissss. Everything you need isss right here – with me.”

Piper looked as though he had dew in his eyes when he turned to Grubber, then he shook out his feathers and flew away to another tree with Hosanna close to his tail feathers.

Grubber was troubled by this whole exchange.

“There isn’t anything you can do for them. We’ve tried. Until that snake tires of the taste of currawong chicks, they’re stuck,” from Blackjack.

“I’ve never heard of a python farming food before,” answered Grubber.

“As I said, this area causes some strange effects. Best not to hang around. We’ll be off now, may the air currents and Ornith be with you!”

“And you!” replied Grubber.

At that, Blackjack winged his way into the air screeching, ”Rain … rain … rain!”

The rest of the cockatoos took up the call and joined him to form a massive, locomotion as they melded into the distant gathering clouds.

The feathers on Grubber’s back began to tingle as he realised that Pythagora was on the move and closing the distance between them. He felt an almost overpowering need to look into his eyes and was about to do just that when an urgent shout and the familiar form of Piper woke him abruptly; Grubber took flight as fast as his wings could carry him. When he reached the clear sky he felt better, as though a mist had passed from his mind and the further he travelled away from the currawong’s forest the more his sense of direction returned.

He flew on, feeling the wind in his face and the warmth of the sun on his feathers. It seemed as though no time had passed at all before he noticed a strange smell in the air; it was similar to the smell he noticed sometimes near the creek when he went for a drink, but this was much more intense. Then he saw it. A water hole bigger than he’d ever imagined could exist.

 

 

Chapter Eight – Chuddly Meets an Angel

Chuddly was a very calm and quiet dog. He didn’t bark without reason, and his deep, dark, pool-like eyes missed nothing. He loved his humans more than the food in his bowl and he was alert to their every mood and movement. They gave him love and cared for him in every way possible.

Chuddly’s life hadn’t always been as rosy.

These humans were his second family. The first people he lived with when he left his mother and siblings didn’t really take much notice of him after he’d grown out of being a cute little puppy. They ignored his needs most of the time and he was left alone in the small yard that became his prison. His long, silky, grey and white hair became matted and dirty and his food and water bowls remained empty most of the time. One day, a large truck came and there was a lot of movement back and forth, while the furniture and everything in the house was taken away. Chuddly thought he’d been left behind; he was wrong. The woman of the family came back and put him into the family car. He hadn’t been in the car since he was a puppy, nearly two years ago. “At last,” he thought, “they’ve remembered me!”

He was put into the boot of the car and the lid was closed, leaving him in almost total darkness. As they moved along he was buffeted and thrown around amongst the junk and dust, which added to the scurf and grime of his coat, and his short legs had trouble keeping him upright. When the car finally stopped he was bruised and sick, so when he was lifted out and placed on the ground he threw up all over the woman’s red shoes.

“You stupid dog! Look what you’ve done!” as she aimed a kick at his belly. He was too quick however, and easily dodged her foot, which caused her to slip and fall into the mud. Realizing he’d better move fast, Chuddly ran, dragging the lead from her hand. He didn’t know where he was; there seemed to be fences everywhere and no escape! His freedom didn’t last long, as someone grabbed his lead and halted his mad, panicky run.

The voice he heard was gentle and kind; he turned to see a woman with eyes like the sky and hair like the clouds on a spring day. Chuddly knew he was safe with her. She crooned softly to him and he felt as though she was leading him to heaven.

“That’s him!” came the harpy’s shriek. “He’s nothing but trouble, and he’s vicious! Look what he’s done to me!”

“That’s OK. Leave him with us and we’ll deal with him now,” said the gentle voice.

“My shoes and dress are ruined thanks to him. After all I’ve done for him too. He should be put down … ” The witch’s ramblings faded away into oblivion.

The angel – that’s how Chuddly thought of this new woman – squatted down in front of him and looked closely into his eyes.

“You don’t look like a demon dog to me. But you are filthy and smelly! We can fix that in no time.” She stood up and led Chuddly into a building that smelled very strongly of dogs and cats. He hated cats; he did trust this woman though.

Chuddly was scrubbed with shampoo, then brushed and dried so at last his true appearance emerged. He was given a haircut which he desperately needed so his eyes were able to see beyond the fringe, and finally placed into a secure kennel with fresh food and water.

“There you go little one. Get some food and rest and we’ll see about finding you a new home.” Then the angel was gone. Chuddly wolfed down his food and curled up into a tight ball in the clean soft bedding, more content than he’d felt for a long, long time.

He awoke to the sounds and smells of dogs all around and could see other dogs in kennels opposite him. They were looking towards the main gate at the end of the compound and barking excitedly … “Breakfast, breakfast, breakfast!” they chorused. The noise was incredible.

A human in overalls appeared with a trolley smelling of food. He went to each kennel along the row and placed food into the bowls and patted every dog he came to. They all seemed to know him and the wagging tails could have turned the sails of a windmill. When at last he came to Chuddly, he reached in and patted him with a, “G’day Boy, how’s it goin? You look like you could do with a bit of meat on those ribs of yours. Tuck in.” Chuddly did.

When he’d finished, he heard a large, black Labrador from opposite call out to him …

“Oy, what are you in for? Did you bite someone or something?”

“No, I chundered on my human’s foot though.”

The kennels erupted into dog laughter, which to humans sounds very much like barking.

“You little beauty,” said the Labrador.

“What is this place?” asked Chuddly.

A brindle coloured Staffy answered, “It’s where dogs and cats are brought to when humans don’t want them any more. The lucky ones are given new homes. The others just disappear.”

“You mean even cats are given new homes?”

“Yeah, it’s hard to believe isn’t it?” answered the Staffy.

Chuddly’s kennel caught the morning sun, so he lay down and dozed, satisfied the angel woman would somehow find him a new home. Towards mid morning she appeared in front of him, crooning kind sounds. She opened the gate and clipped a lead onto his collar before taking him out to a huge grassy area where she let him go. There was a wire fence around the perimeter but plenty of room for Chuddly to run around and do what dogs do when they’re let loose after being confined for a while! He could smell a multitude of doggy smells and was oblivious to the sound of being called. When he did look up he saw the angel laughing at him and he ran to her as fast as his little legs could take him.

“I don’t think those people who left you here knew your real name.” She stared into his eyes and asked him politely to tell her what it was. As he looked adoringly back at her, she said, “It’s Chuddly isn’t it?” At this he rolled over onto his back and wiggled and squirmed with delight. She knew!

It’s a strange thing that dogs and cats are able to understand most of what humans say. Maybe because they’ve lived with us for such a long time, but Chuddly understood the angel much better than his first family, and she certainly understood him.

The same day when it was nearly dark, the angel came back to Chuddly’s kennel and took him away again. This time to her car, where she sat him on the back seat on a special soft rug and clipped him into a harness to keep him safe. She drove for quite a long time, but the car was smooth and comfortable and didn’t make him sick. When she let him out she didn’t put a lead on him but allowed him to look around as best he could in the dark. It smelled fresh and exciting and he would have loved to explore a lot more but she called to him … “Chuddly!” He ran eagerly to her and was let into the house.

Inside, he was greeted by a man with very dark eyes that seemed to look right into his soul. “So this is Chuddly? I’m pleased to meet you at last. I’ve heard so much about you.”

He was shown around the house from room to room by these two humans and finally taken into the laundry where there was a bowl of food and another of fresh water. He was so hungry he gobbled down the food; a snugly soft bed in the corner beside the hot water heater is where he headed next.

“Good boy Chuddly. See you in the morning.” He was left to dream away the night.

 

 

Chapter Nine – Chuddly’s Home

Chuddly was awake with the birds the following morning. At first he wasn’t sure where he was, and then it all came back to him. At the sound of footsteps he stood and stretched out his whole body; watching and waiting for the door to open. At the sight of the angel he whined and writhed in absolute ecstasy, licking her hands as she tried to pat him and jumping as high as his chunky legs were able.

“Ok, little one, let’s go outside and see the birds!”

He bounded out through the open door to be greeted by the fresh air and the cold, crunchy, frost covered ground. There were so many smells to explore his nose became overloaded with delight. His hairy tail was wagging so fast he nearly took off! The sound of beating wings close above his head alerted him to the fact he wasn’t the only creature out.

“Look where you’re going,” came a cry from a large magpie.

At the same time a group of Rosellas who’d been quietly feeding on grass seeds scattered out of Chuddly’s zig-zag way.

“What the … where did you come from?” he heard.

“I’m sorry!” said Chuddly. “I was so excited I wasn’t looking where I was running. It’s a long time since I’ve been able to smell the grass and there are such a lot of strange and wonderful scents around here.”

“Well, that’s alright then,” said the magpie. “I’m Carol, you’re lucky it wasn’t Grubber you disturbed or you’d have a chunk out of your floppy ear by now!”

The rosellas had returned to the ground and now surrounded Chuddly, although they kept out of reach for the moment.

“My name’s Chuddly, the angel woman brought me here. I think I’ll be living in this place from now on.”

“Do you normally chase birds?” asked Bluey.

“No, not at all. I didn’t see you. I’ll be more careful in future. Is it alright if I chase cats? I can’t help chasing cats!”

“Hunt as many as you like! The more the better!” all the gathered birds agreed with this.

“Chuddly!” he heard.

“I’d better go now. I don’t want to be disobedient on my first day here! I hope we’ll chat again.” He turned towards the sound of his rescuer and raced into her arms nearly bowling her over on the slippery ground.

Chuddly settled into his new home very well. No longer was he confined to a tiny yard. He had freedom of the huge garden during the day and a warm soft bed in the house each night. He was able to spend most of his days with the humans, who he learned were actually called Angela and Fergus. They were at home most days and loved to be outside in the garden, or going for long walks in the forest or across the neighbouring farmland.

Chuddly found he was a great gardener. When Fergus or Angela were out weeding or planting, he would help them by grabbing the weeds pulled out and making sure they were dead, shaking them vigorously with his mouth before strewing them around the garden. Or else, submerging himself in the holes they hollowed for the new plants and sending extra earth flying as he dug furiously with his stubby front legs. He would emerge with his face caked with dirt, looking like a refugee from an earthquake. He also found the delights of manure, unable to understand the angry shouts from his owners when he would drop his shoulder into fresh cow dung and roll with delight. He learned to lag behind them on a walk so they wouldn’t see him binging on a newly deposited cowpat. Humans missed out on so many pleasures!

Another of his newfound pastimes was to simply lie in the sun and listen to the birds. As he lay on the grass, the birds would come around and feed contentedly and tell him all the gossip from around about, knowing he was also on the lookout for stray cats. When he first moved in he’d chased a large black tomcat off the premises and it hadn’t been back since. He was now an official ‘bird friend’.

 

 

Chapter Ten – Digging a Hole

The birds in the garden were entertained one day by the humans digging a hole down near the blue gum. At least, one was digging the other was chatting and pointing at the ground where the digging was going on and making wide arm movements. Chuddly ran around grabbing mouthfuls of dirt and grass, flinging them off into the distance, and digging at the humans’ feet. The earth was being piled up around the edge of the hole which grew larger with the sun’s movement, until by last bug call it was a worm rich excavation of earth. Bluey caught up with Chuddly before he ran off to join the humans inside their nest.

“What are they doing all the digging for Chudders?”

“Well, it’s going to be a pond. Isn’t it great? I’ll be able to go swimming whenever I like in the hot weather. And you birds will have plenty of water for drinking and bathing right under your beaks.”

“You realize the frogs will love it too don’t you?” returned Bluey. “Which means the snakes as well.”

“They’re part of our world too aren’t they? Anyway, they’re mainly red bellied blacks and they keep out of the way most of the time. When I’m around I can smell them and let you know where they are. They’d rather eat frogs and mice anyway.”

“It’s easy to talk when you aren’t in their easy food guide,” from Bluey.

“How’re the parrotroopers going?” Chuddly asked.

“Ok. The hawks seem to be a bit tired of being chased. We’re a bit tired of chasing them too.”

“Grubber should get back soon shouldn’t he?”

“I hope so. There are a lot of chicks ready to start flying and it’ll be a nightowl[2] trying to watch them all.”

Since moving in with Angela and Fergus, Chuddly had made friends with the two toy poodles who lived next door. One was a strawberry blonde with a very highly-strung nature. She told Chuddly the tiny birds made fun of her red hair whenever she was out for a walk with her humans. According to Nutmeg they called her ‘ginger’ and ‘carrot top’ and some other names she didn’t quite catch, so she would chase them every chance she had, leaping and spinning with her ears flapping crazily. Her high-pitched yapping was louder than a smoke alarm yelling at the burnt toast. This made the birds call her even more names. Chuddly had told her to simply ignore them and they would soon get sick of it, but Nutmeg wouldn’t listen; and so it went on every time she ventured out. As for the Princess, she strutted along haughtily with her downy tail curled over at a cocky angle and snapping at any dog that came near. She did love humans however, and no lap was safe from her snugly, black form.

The following day as the humans began digging in the dirt again, their neighbours walked over wearing their large black clumsy feet, accompanied by the sounds of Nutmeg squealing at the trees and spinning like a whirling dervish. The Princess trotted along pretending that it wasn’t happening, unless Nutmeg got too close and then she would turn into a furious puffball of growling teeth, completely unnoticed by Nutmeg.

“When you said you were digging a pond we didn’t think you meant a dam,” laughed Irene, causing her large form to wobble, which then created mini avalanches down the length of her body. Her gumboots picked and slid their way through the workings; Terry’s pocket-sized figure followed her footfalls and was at risk of leaving his own boots behind in each dent made by her cave-like steps.

Nutmeg had noticed the wonderful expanse of raw earth and began to chase Chuddly round and round squealing with excitement. She grabbed mouthfuls of the red clumps and flung them off, hitting the Princess and causing her to growl like a sewing machine, her teeth bared like rows of pins in a pinwheel. Chuddly was enjoying the game until Nutmeg spotted some red brow finches on the grass nearby and broke away to scatter them to the wind. He chased her, grabbing her by the scruff of the neck, “Don’t you dare go after the birds! This is their home!”

“Sorry Chuddly, I forgot! Sometimes I just get carried away.”

“Sometimes you should be carried away. No wonder the birds call you names.”

Meanwhile, Irene and Terry were chatting earnestly to Angela and Fergus about a colony of starlings who’d moved into the trees on their property. They were taking up valuable nesting sites normally used by many of the native birds, and they were at a loss as to what to do about them.

“We’ll give it some thought and see if we can come up with anything,” said Angela.

Irene and Terry called their poodles as they headed home across the paddock separating the two houses. Nutmeg ran in circles, doing doughnuts around the Princess, as they headed home with their humans.

Angela and Fergus discussed the starling problem while sitting under the trees with their morning coffee; Chuddly sprawled at their feet like a dirty, old mohair jumper. They knew if something wasn’t done, the feral birds would move into their trees as well. It wasn’t going to be easy to solve. Chuddly may have looked as though he was sleeping but he was listening to every word. An idea was forming in his mind but it wasn’t quite ready to break out into the open yet.

 

 

Chapter Eleven – Grubber Meets the Sea

Grubber’s eyes scanned the view in front of him. He was so stunned by the massive stretch of water, at first he didn’t even notice the smell. It caught him in the back of his throat and he began to gag. This must be what Blackjack had warned him about. He landed on a scraggly banksia tree before the land ran out. The noise of the moving water was as though a huge storm was crashing on the glary, pale ground. As he gazed in disbelief another sound merged into his senses.

“Yeeaark! Yeeaark! Yeeaark!”

Some very strange silver and white birds were down below on the stretch of ground between Grubber’s tree and the moving water. It looked like a terrible row was going on with feathers and flappy red feet mixing with the raucous sounds they were making. Pieces of some sort of food were flung through the air to be grabbed by other birds amidst the screeching. The commotion stopped; suddenly; and the group of silver birds proceeded to sit quietly, staring at the water and preening themselves as though nothing had happened.

Grubber gathered his courage and flew down to find out more about them. As he landed, he was taken completely by surprise as his feet sunk deeply into the soft, moving ground. He flapped about awkwardly to get his balance whilst the birds he’d come to meet leaped out of his way and then began to yell out that awful “Yeeaark!” once again before lunging at him with their sharp, red bills and toeless red feet and legs. It didn’t take long before all the birds joined the scrap.

Grubber felt his beak fill with the gritty earth and thought he would choke as his eyes became blinded by the sharp bits of dust. When it seemed there was no part of his body that wasn’t full of this horrid stuff the kerfuffle stopped. He coughed and spluttered the dirt from his throat and shook himself so hard he took off from the ground. He landed again and through sore and bleary eyes saw the attackers sitting calmly observing him with their own red rimmed peepers.

“Not bad for a landlubber,” he heard from one.

“The fish must have nibbled the webbing out of his feet, yaark,” from another.

“I’m Grubber, who the heck are you guys?”

“We are a handsome group of silver gulls, yaark. I’m Long Gone, and this is my mate Silvia,” came the screeching reply from one of them.

“Is that how you normally greet strangers?”

“Well, yaark, it is actually. You’re lucky we were only playing or you might be fish food by now, yaark.”

“What’s this awful white dust?” Grubber asked.

“Sand of course. Beach. If you had proper feet you wouldn’t sink in, yaark,” from Silvia.

“What’s that smell like something gone bad?” from Grubber.

“Bad? There’s nothing bad around here. There’s our lunch, yaark,” replied Long Gone pointing to a skeleton; all that remained of a fish lying on the sand near the waters edge.

As the end of a wave ebbed towards him, Grubber moved forward and cautiously dipped his beak into the shallowest edge for a drink.

“Arghh!” he spat it out and shook his head. “How big is this dam?”

“What dam? This is the ocean, yaark. You don’t drink it,” from Silvia. “It goes as far as you can fly and keeps on going, yaark. What are you doing away from the upper lands anyway? There was another one like you came past here not long ago. She was lost.”

“I’m heading to Mount Griffin. I’ve been sent to find Ornith.”

“Yeeaark! Yeeaark! That’s where we told her to go, yaark.”

“Who was she? Did she look the same as me?” Grubber was interested that one of his kind had been here recently.

“Yaark, all sharp toned feathers and spiky feet!” returned Silvia. “No shade. Just blaark and white! She could fight too. Lots of courage yaark!”

By now most of the other birds had lost interest and left, but the voices of these silver gulls were setting Grubber’s beak on edge. They were even more irritating than the sulphur crested cockatoos who dropped into his home garden sometimes. He heard more screeching coming from further down the sand, and saw another scuffle going on over a crab one of the birds had caught. Long Gone and Silvia took off together adding their raucous voices to the fray, without even saying goodbye. “Wait, yaark! Give me some, yaark!”

“Thank Ornith for that,” Grubber thought, and took to the sky to follow the coastline, keeping the sun on his right wing in the direction Blackjack had suggested he fly.

 

 

Chapter Twelve – Never Forget the Melody

Grubber knew he needed to rest and feed, so he headed slightly inland until he came upon a lightly wooded area with small paddocks and a normal looking water hole. He couldn’t get over how many human nests he could see as he flew over the land. As he alighted on a paper bark tree to check the area before going to ground he heard a distress call from above, and looked up to see a magpie being attacked by a white bellied sea eagle.

His protective instinct took control of him without thinking, and he took to the air heading straight at the eagle which had the magpie firmly in its talons. He repeatedly struck the eagle from above with his large beak and claws screaming, “Let her go!”

The eagle didn’t expect this attack; she’d thought the magpie was alone. “There’s easier meals to be had than this,” she muttered, letting go of her prey.

The released magpie dropped suddenly, spinning out of control towards the earth like a leaf discarded from a tree in a storm. Grubber followed missile-like to yell, “Wake up! Fly!”

The falling bird began to flap frantically but it was too late to stop her from hitting the ground. Her feeble wing beats lessened the impact and she was lucky enough to hit a patch of newly cut pasture which cushioned her landing. She was bruised and dazed and lay on the ground without moving. Her breathing was shallow as Grubber stood over her, gently prodding her with his beak, and softly carolling a fledgling lullaby.

Her eyes began to clear as she moved herself into an upright position. Wobbly at first, she gradually gained her balance and finally felt strong enough to shake her feathers back into place. She looked at Grubber with a puzzled expression, “Thank you,” she croaked.

Grubber was now feeling as though every egg had hatched. He shuffled off and began to search for grubs, bringing a very juicy morselback to his patient, which was gratefully received and eaten. He repeated this many times until she told him it was enough and began to forage for herself.

They moved along side by side without speaking until flying up onto the paper bark tree at the same time, although the injured bird found it painful to move her wings too much.

“By the way, my name’s Melody, you have a very pleasant singing voice,” she spoke coyly.

“Ahem, I’m Grubber,” he replied whilst shuffling his feet and scratching under one wing.

“That was a very brave thing you did there. I thought I was about to be fed to a clutch of sea eaglets.”

“Well I’m glad I happened to be about because it would have been an awful waste. Do you live around here?”

“No, I was with my family when a huge storm hit. We were tossed and scattered by the force of the wind and rain. I couldn’t fly against the barrage and wasn’t able to land so I was blown completely away into strange territory, alone. I ended up at a foreign place of huge water and soft glary earth, and some raucous, smelly birds told me to head up this way to look for Ornith. I didn’t know whether they were serious or not and then the eagle grabbed me from above.”

“Do you have any idea where your home is?” asked Grubber.

“No. All I know is it’s inland from here, towards the sun’s resting place.”

Grubber didn’t want to leave this refugee especially as she was so pretty, so he was torn between continuing on to Mount Griffin and Melody’s health and wellbeing. Both birds needed a lengthy rest. Grubber had taken part in a scuffle with the seagulls and tangled with the eagle; as well as an extended flight on this day, he was near to exhaustion. It was clear that Melody could barely keep her eyes open either. They both moved to a sheltered part of the tree and snuggled together to sleep, like yin and yang. He’d worry about it tomorrow.

By birdsong the next day both were feeling more lively and refreshed. They flew to the ground to feed and soon were surrounded by the local birds. A pair of willie wagtails began to harass them with their chattering and swooping attacks. Some of the other types of birds were new to Grubber and Melody who both came from the mountains. There were also magpies. As both of them knew, magpies are not known for their hospitality to foreign magpies in their territories, and it wasn’t long before the local birds began to make it clear that they weren’t welcome.

“Come on let’s get out of here before we cause a riot,” began Grubber.

It was then he felt the full impact of a magpie’s beak across his shoulder, knocking him flat. Before the rest of the group could join in, Grubber scrambled to his feet and took off. Melody was close on his tail feathers as they made their escape accompanied by the irritating willies and their chivvying.

After a while the willies gave up and the two magpies flew towards the coast once more. This time the sight of the bright sand and the strange smells didn’t cause them any surprise. Grubber knew he had to talk to Melody about his mission so he alighted on a banksia tree on a headland overlooking the endless moving water.

“I have to tell you where I’m going so you can decide what you’re going to do. You see, the birds of my home have sent me to find Ornith to get his advice about a problem we have in the garden. I don’t want to leave you …” This is where Grubber began to look at his claws and cough slightly whilst pulling at the bark of the tree. Melody watched him patiently, until he looked into her eyes.

“I would like to come with you if that’s ok. In fact I would follow you to the end of the sky if you asked.” Melody whispered.

This was all he needed to hear, and he felt as though he could glide without wings. Grubber gently stroked her cheek with his beak and without speaking the two birds took to the sky.

Grubber and Melody flew as far as they could on that day, only landing when they found water and to grab some berries and grubs. Around bat time, as darkness set in, they settled into a big old banksia tree, within hearing of the moving water as it crashed and tumbled onto the beach. They hid amongst the gnarled and dried cones of the tree and took turns at being on watch throughout the night.

By the time the sun was yawning awake they were in the bush scavenging for more grubs and berries. As soon as their bellies were filled they began to wing their way up the coastline once again. They had a few minor clashes with local birds during their flight – mainly sea gulls – and as the day wore on both Grubber and Melody felt as though their eyes were all scrunched up from the glare of the water and sand. “It’s no wonder the sea gulls have red rimmed eyes,” she thought.

At bat time, they once more settled into a paper bark tree to rest until the beginning of birdsong, when hopefully they should be able to turn inland once more and be closer to finding Mount Griffin.

Mid morning found Grubber and Melody flying upcountry where they were both more at ease, leaving the ocean behind. In the distance they sighted a range of mountains that became more impressive as they drew closer to them, and the fresh aromas of the forest thrilled their senses. There were very few human nests to be seen, unlike along the coastline where they seemed to take up every piece of ground.

They were beginning to tire and so alighted on the top of a hoop pine to check the surrounding area. In front of them was a mountain and a huge granite eagle appeared to be rising from the flames of an inferno as the sun set directly behind it. The two magpies felt as though they’d entered the legend of Mount Griffin. Melody and Grubber watched in awe as the fiery figure slowly disappeared with the darkness.

 

 

Chapter Thirteen – An Answer

Neither bird was able to sleep very well through the long night. Grubber dreamed he was a massive eagle soaring throughout the land, his keen eyes missing nothing; gliding without effort at heights he’d never flown before. He visited the garden and watched the parrotroopers chasing the goshawks. He was amazed to see a large pond of water near the blue gum and noticed a big flock of starlings in the trees of the paddock next door. With his keen eyesight he spotted the poodles out for a walk with their humans. He couldn’t resist swooping in very low with his talons extended aiming at the ginger Nutmeg. What a tasty morsel for an eagle! When only a few wing beats away, he heard the screams of the human, Terry. Pulling out of his dive he soared back up into the heavens. He’d always wanted to do that!

Throughout his dreams he flew. Across strange lands of parched earth with no vegetation, where animals of all different varieties lay dead beside the dried waterholes. Dingoes, wallabies, sheep and cattle. There was no birdsong. He saw streams struggling to flow, their fingers of moisture recoiling with the sun’s intensity.

On he flew, to places of storm and violence as Mother Nature tried to balance herself once more. She stirred up monstrous waves in the ocean which engulfed the lowlands, sweeping people, and animals alike into her waiting arms. He dodged his way through hailstones the size of emus’ eggs and was buffeted by air currents, feeling as though they would lift him beyond the sun and moon.

The air became dark and rank, choking his lungs until he felt he was blacking out. He heard a rushing sound as though all the winds of the world were inside his head. Everything disappeared.

Grubber awoke, feeling as though his feathers no longer fitted him properly. It took him a few heartbeats to remember who he was. It was still dark, and beside him Melody was in a twitchy sleep. She dreamed as well …

What beauty lay beneath her outstretched wings! The earth glowed with energy and health. She could feel it soaking her impressive form to the tips of her eagle fingers. She unfolded her legs to display the feathers reaching right down to her talons. She flew higher and higher so her piercing eyes could keenly watch the world below.

All was well. There was water and food enough for each creature on the earth. Harmony was in abundance as the multitudes of worldlings coexisted without any need for war or greed. The oceans were clear and healthy – free of toxic wastes and the air felt as though it’d been washed in Mother Nature’s own pool. The trees were happy and abundant, their leaves rustled and twitched with wellbeing; the world was in balance. On she went, delighting in the sights and sounds of the land from such heights, until she began to recognize familiar landmarks below and glided down to investigate. There was her home and family tribe. It was as though she’d never left as the birds went about their daily business of hunting for food and nest building. However, she couldn’t see her father on his familiar branch. A sudden dizziness grabbed her and she began to fall …

“Wake up Melody!” Grubber was flapping his wings at her in a distressed way and his face looked like he’d lost a fledgling.

Melody came back to her body with a feeling like a branch had snapped off from under her feet. There were tears in her eyes but she couldn’t remember why. It was just before birdsong and she didn’t know where she was until her eyes cleared and she saw Grubber beside her.

“I had to wake you,” said Grubber. “You were crying as though your heart was about to fly away.”

“I was dreaming about my home. Some of my dream was so beautiful I didn’t want to waken.”

“You were lucky then.” Grubber didn’t mention his own nightowl.

There were stirrings of other birds coming awake as the dawn songs began to harmonize around them.

Melody and Grubber added their own voices to the choir as a way of recapturing their true natures after the events of the night. Their carolling sounded sweeter than ever before and a sense of peace filled their feathers.

The image of the eagle on the summit broke through with the light, beautifying the regal figure, and they felt as though its wings enfolded them protectively.

Far above, only just visible, was an actual eagle gliding on the air currents as easily as a fish swims through the water. It slowly descended, wings outstretched and drifting with the breeze. She was a magnificent bird. Her wingspan in flight seemed to be more than four magpies abreast and her glossy deep brown plumages were contrasted by her pale-pink hooked beak.

She alighted beside the granite eagle like a whispered blessing and called to Grubber and Melody to come up. They both took wing toward the mountaintop, uncertain how to approach this symbol of wisdom and bravery. Alighting on a rocky platform in front of the eagle, they both stood with heads bowed.

“So, you seek my advice?” she enquired.

“Well, yes,” answered Grubber as he looked at the eagle with only one of his eyes.

“You don’t need my guidance. You must learn to trust in your own. All things in nature are in balance, sometimes humans alter that balance with their need to dominate and change things. We creatures of the sky, land and sea must follow our true natures and either adapt or die out.”

“What will happen about the hawks?” asked Grubber.

Ornith replied, “They are only doing what hawks do. If the butterflies and worms came to me asking what to do about you birds eating them, I would give the same answer. I also need to eat. Am I wrong to prey upon other creatures in order to live and feed my young? It’s only when a species exploit their dominance that it is wrong.

“If you don’t mind, I thought that Ornith was a male eagle?”

“Things don’t always turn out the way you expect,” she replied with a glint in her eye. “You are a bird worthy of esteem Grubber, and this will come about, though not the way you think. I will leave you now, but the eagle dreaming will always be with you.” She took to the sky without visible effort and was gone before he could reply.

When Grubber turned to look at Melody they were both somehow back in the hoop pine looking towards the mountaintop. She turned towards him, her facial feathers twisted into a frown, her head tilted to one side, “Who are you talking to?”

“The eagle of course.”

“It can’t hear you from here,” she replied, looking to the sky at the eagle soaring without exertion above.

“No, she can’t can she?”

 

 

Chapter Fourteen – Chuddly’s Very Cunning Plan

The pond was finally finished and filled with water from the nearby creek. When the humans eventually went back inside their nest at last bug call, the birds all collected around the edge to check it over. There were new plants around the edge which meant there were worms near the surface disturbed by the digging. The magpies made the most of the easy feeding and the peewees strutted around … “ You vill be careful! Is deep!” cried Frau Beater. “Back avay, too close!” from Herr Lipp.

Bluey and his crew were acting the fool on the edge and he was pushed into the water with his wings flapping madly. This knocked a galah, Bozo, in as well, which started a free for all, with birds splashing about and screeching so much, the kookaburra Jackass added his own accompaniment to the ruckus.

Herr Lipp and Frau Beater were almost hysterical trying to maintain order …

“Nein! Nein! Shtop! Shtop! Is danger! You vill listen NOW!”

Eventually, the commotion eased. As the darkness crawled further across the garden the bats began to crawl from their roosts and view the upside-down world; the daytime birds changed shift with the creatures of the night. There was a brief time of quiet until the frogs and crickets took up their songs and the owls, frogmouths, and nightjars shook their feathers into place as they pierced the darkness with their nocturnal eyes.

Later in the evening, when Chuddly went outside for his last wee break before bed, he came across Barklava, who silently swooped past him to catch a moth before setting down on a post nearby.

“How do you do that?” asked Chuddy.

“What exactly do you mean?” replied Barklava.

“That stealth approach. It’s eerie.”

“It isn’t to us. Not all birds need to be exhibitionists like some I could mention. Observation and timing means you use far less energy in useless noise and flapping about.”

“I had an idea …” began Chuddly.

“Very commendable, for a dog,” cut in Barklava.

“I mean about the hawks in the garden,” he decided to ignore the witticism.

He went on to tell Barklava about his plan. He respected the tawney’s way of thinking despite his remark. As Chuddly expressed the idea which had formed in his mind, Barklava’s eyes became even larger and rounder than normal and his head moved up and down and sideways. When Chuddly had finished Barklava chuckled.

“I think maybe it could work you know,” sounded his quiet voice. “Leave it with me and I’ll think it through.” He then flew off silently into the darkness.

Chuddly felt glad he’d finally been able to express his idea. It had been maturing for a couple of days, like a bone that’s been buried until it’s ready to dig up and really savour. Now it was up to the birds to carry the plan through. As he sat on the dew covered grass sniffing the air, he could sense a change coming. Not in the weather but something more subtle, more meaningful. The moon would be full in another couple of days; surely Grubber would be back by then.

He could have sat there happily all night. It was much quieter than the daytime. The night-time creatures were far stealthier in their doings … except for the frogs. They croaked and grebitted with gusto, until the owls and snakes began to prowl, and they ate more than the frogs’ legs. There were many more twinkling lights in the sky in this place than his old home, where the streetlights and noise blocked out the natural world. He felt he’d never tire of watching that sky … until he was buzzed by an over enthusiastic micro bat as it zeroed in on an elusive moth.

“Sorry!” it squeaked as it winked by.

“Chuddly!” he heard from the house.

This was the end of his reverie. With a last look at the dancing lights he headed inside to dream doggy dreams of rotting bones smelly muck rescuing his humans from utmost dangers running growling rolling whining peeing poohing barking digging …

 

 

Chapter Fifteen – Harmony at Last

Melody and Grubber began to retrace their wing beats toward the coast. They felt the temperature rise with the drop in altitude and wondered how any creature could survive for long in the heat and humidity of these lowlands. The air seemed heavy and slow and it was almost like flying through a clear mist. Before they neared the spot where they’d met Long Gone and Sylvia, Melody slowed and landed in a banksia tree with a puzzled expression across her face.

“Something is drawing me towards the hinterland. I think maybe it’s where my home lies. I feel as though I’m being pulled towards it.”

“But to get to my home we have to go further along the coast before heading inland,” Grubber protested.

Moisture began to appear in Melody’s eyes. Grubber looked away. He hated tears. They made him feel so helpless. He was in a rush to get home and every delay meant another one of his friends may be gone. He suddenly felt a tingling feeling all over and a thought came to him he should go with Melody to her home; his garden was in safe talons.

“Ok. Let’s go to where you’re guided,” he said.

Melody gave a carolling whoop and took to the air in a double somersault before heading inland away from the strange sights and sounds of the coast with its endless glare. With every wing beat she felt as though she was being directed by a force stronger than herself; she was going home.

They flew all day almost without a break. By bat time they were both feeling as though their wings couldn’t do another flap if they tried. They landed in an immense blue gum just in time to be invaded by a flock of sulphur crested cockatoos coming in to roost. They could be heard from a vast distance as they all screamed out to one another … “Are we there yet?” and “Not far now!” “Keep together!” and other cries.

They would land and stomp up and down the branches and then take off again screaming, “Too high!” or “Not high enough!” “Where’s your father?” etcetera.

This went on until darkness seemed to calm them and they huddled closer to each other muttering and preening.

All the birds roosting in the tree were restless because of the brightness of the moon rising from behind a hill. It was two more days till the full moon when Grubber had hoped to be home but it looked as though he might not make it now. Some birds behaved as though it was birdsong and began to sing their greetings to the sun. Grubber and Melody suffered a very disturbed rest that night.

When the real birdsong arrived, rasping voices could be heard from the many different birds sharing the roost; mainly because of over use and lack of sleep. There was a field of pasture around their tree and Melody and Grubber glided down to the ground to forage before the murmurings of the cockatoos turned into their regular screeching babble. The mutterings became louder and louder until one individual let out a screech, and then it was on for all. The blue gum shook itself free of all the birds and the cockatoos began to really get into their voices for the day.

Grubber and Melody resumed their breakfast and tried to ignore the racket but the local willie wagtails who hadn’t slept well, couldn’t help but fling themselves at the white rabble, “Ch … ch … ch … choof off! Ch … ch … choof off!”

The paddock they were in was occupied by a number of cows who grazed closer and closer to the magpies. Soft moist muzzles chomp, chomp, chomped through the pasture. One matriarch guarded the crèche. Her gentle, profound eyes watched the antics of the calves, alert to intruders.

The calves’ curiosity brought them galumphing across en masse with legs flinging out in all directions and heads nodding, like string puppets. The matriarch called to her charges to stop but they avalanched on, and then crowded around the two magpies pushing and shoving to get the best look. Some of their hides were the palest cream and some varied to almost black. The matriarch waddled over, her teats swaying in rhythm with her movement.

“You’re strangers here I think,” she breathed the words at Melody and Grubber with the scent of fresh cut grass.

“We’re on our way home,” explained Melody.

“I must apologise for this lot, you’d think they’d never seen a magpie before. Anything or anyone seems to cause the same reaction. Where’s your home? What types of cows live there?”

“I’m not sure where home is, I’m just going by instinct. You see I was lost in a storm and now I’m on my way back. The cows at my home are called dairy cows and they’re the same colour as us magpies although some are the colour of dried grass. They’re very friendly and gentle – as I’m sure you and your friends are also.”

The other cows had now gathered as well and were looking over the heads of the calves.

“Do these noisy birdbrains visit you as well?” one of the cows asked looking up at the white cockatoos.

“Sometimes. But thankfully not too often,” replied Melody.

“Your mate doesn’t say much does he?” this from pale coloured heifer.

“Oh, he’s not my mate. We’re just travelling together.”

“Is that what they call it now?” from the matriarch.

“Don’t you think we should be off?” queried Grubber who was feeling a little outnumbered by all these females and wanted to be gone.

“Well, safe flying. And don’t waste time – you should be nest building,” added the matriarch, with a wink.

By now the calves had moved in as close as they could and the wet nose of one of them touched Grubber on the back before letting out a snort knocking him over. This was as much as he could bear and he took to the sky with gusto causing the whole bovine crowd to scatter with heels aimed at the sky and much loud mooing. Melody followed Grubber, waving to the cows as she went. “Why should I be nest building?” she wondered.

By sun’s fade they had reached their goal. Melody found new strength as she recognised the stands of brush box and eucalypts surrounding the pasture and the smell of wattles wearing their pungent yellow blooms. They landed amongst a group of magpies which caused a riot of welcome for her and conflict between a young male magpie and Grubber. The two adversaries lunged at each other with their vicious beaks and struck with claws and wings whilst screaming abuse … “Get out you mangy trespasser!” and, “It’ll take more than a hatchling like you …” As the fight began to escalate Melody jumped between them … “Stop! He’s with me. He’s my friend!”

Standing amongst the battle feathers strewn around like confetti, she explained how Grubber had saved her life when she’d been attacked by the sea eagle. She went on to tell of their long journey to Mount Griffin where Grubber spoke with Ornith. It wasn’t until she had finished her story she noticed her mother in the background. Her father was nowhere to be seen. The scrappy young male was Melody’s brother Digger, who recalled what happened on the night of the big storm …

“The wind came through like the wings of a horde of eagles and the trees were rocked and tossed about as though they were made of grass. The rain and ice pelted trees and birds alike. Flocks of us were hurled out of our roosts, as you were, and flung many wing beats from home. Some took a few sunrises to get back. Some still haven’t returned. We found our father, Jabber, the next day. He was on the ground trapped beneath his favourite branch. Now, he’s with Ornith.”

Melody felt as though she had been dropped by the sea eagle again. Her father had been the head of the tribe, loved, and respected by all, especially Melody. It was then that her mother Aria stepped forward.

“It seems Melody, you’ve found a brave and trustworthy mate. I decree he be our new tribe leader now your father, my mate, Jabber is gone. We need a young and proven leader to replace him. It’s time for some new blood in our tribe and I’m sure your father would wish it.”

This was agreed by all the magpies except Digger, whose face resembled the underside of a crow’s wing.

 

 

Chapter Sixteen – Grubber Returns

It was an idyllic home ground; lightly wooded, with a large water hole in the middle of a biggish paddock where a herd of Friesian cows contentedly grazed. The human nests were quite a distance away and there was a good variety of bird life. Grubber was told a few hawks lived around but tended to hunt further afield. Despite all of this, he wasn’t sure he wanted to be the new leader of this group. Grubber loved his own tribe. He’d grown up there and knew every twig and stone of the garden. He also knew he couldn’t leave Melody who seemed part of his very being. He still needed to go home and complete his duty. What would the birds in the garden do without him? The following day he told Melody and the rest of the magpies he must go home. He’d use the journey to think about what he was going to do about this new responsibility. Melody understood how he felt. She would go with him, even though she would rather lose her beautiful song voice than leave her home.

Digger looked like the bird who swallowed the maggot when he heard Grubber was leaving. That was until Melody spoke up.

“Would it be ok if Digger came with us?” she asked.

Grubber was annoyed at the idea at first but then realised if Melody had to come back without him at least she would have Digger’s company. Digger wasn’t so pleased at the idea but could never let his sister down, so he agreed to go with them.

Once more Grubber had to rely on his instincts to guide him home. It was about midway between sun and moon time when he felt the strange pull of Mount Moonshine on his left wing and landed in an acacia tree to get his bearings again. It meant he wasn’t far from Piper and Hosanna’s lair. He was keen to get home and didn’t wish to look in on them now, but knew he’d see them again sometime and try to convince them to leave that snake.

The jealousy between Grubber and Digger was put aside during the journey as they both felt protective of Melody. Not that she needed defending. Female magpies are as willing to have a go as their brothers. In fact she’d beaten Digger many times when they were fledglings. Now, there was a camaraderie between the three birds as they flew away from the force of Moonshine and ever closer to Grubber’s friends.

At last, there was his beautiful blue gum and the splendid camphor laurel! He heard Jackass alert the rest of the garden residents with his unmistakable cackle and then suddenly they were surrounded by birds. How he’d missed this lot! There was an uproar of birdcalls as they all gathered to say hello at the same time. Grubber was stunned to see the pond from his dream actually existed down below. He glided to the ground and was followed by screeching, squeaking, clacking of beaks, and much patting on the back by outstretched wings. The sun was getting itself ready to roost and make way for the full moon to take up its position. Chuddly, who was about to go inside with Angela and Fergus, heard the ruckus and broke away to the bottom of the garden to see Grubber in the middle of enough feathers to fill a quilt. For once the peewees on the outer edge of birds couldn’t even be heard above the cacophony. They looked as though they were miming as they frantically strutted and screamed. As the welcome continued, Melody and Digger perched unnoticed in the upper branches of the blue gum.

Melody became increasingly distressed by the scene below. She knew she could never be happy knowing she caused Grubber to leave the home he loved and the birds who adored him. She turned to Digger.

“Come on, let’s go before it gets dark. We can be many wing beats from here by the time Grubber realises we’ve gone.”

“But …” began Digger.

Melody had taken wing before the words left his beak.

The chattering went on into the darkness as Grubber was told about the goings on in the garden since he’d left, and he filled his friends in on what he’d seen and done. It turned out that Chuddly had come up with a solution to the hawks’ feasting. His suggestion, the hawks be encouraged to eat the starlings – which didn’t belong – had been agreed to by the goshawks. Not only did it take the fear out of the birds in the garden but it solved the problem of removing the starlings and freeing up nesting sites for the indigenous birds. Chuddly was a hero and well worth his weight in marrowbones.

Barklava swooped down like a silk scarf on the breeze startling Grubber as he landed.

“It seems you have proved yourself to be a brave and intrepid magpie worthy of praise. It’s a shame your friends didn’t hover around to meet us.”

“What do you mean? They’re here …” He looked as though he’d been hit by a falling branch as he realised that Melody and Digger weren’t there.

“I’ll kill him,” was his response, thinking Digger had forced Melody away.

“It wasn’t him it was her. She told the other one to go with her,” replied Barklava.

By now all the other birds had decided to go silently to roost for the night. Being near an angry Grubber was not a good place to be.

Grubber was exhausted. He decided to rest for a while until the moon, which was a massive yellow orb rising beyond the trees, was well into the sky, and then he would follow Melody. He turned to Barklava.

“Tell the birds I had to go. My cousin Beaker is a dependable and brave magpie and he should be the new tribe leader. I’ll come back to see you all again.”

Barklava nodded in agreement as Grubber turned away to close his eyes which had filled with the tears he dreaded.

 

 

Chapter Seventeen – A Bird with Bark

When Melody and Digger left the garden they were very tired and because it was nearly dark they didn’t pay enough attention to the direction they took. Melody simply wanted as many wing beats as possible between her and Grubber in case she changed her mind. Digger knew they had taken a wrong direction but didn’t dare mention it. He thought they could solve it when the sun returned the light. Melody finally landed in a hoop pine. Her body drooped and her wings hung below her claws. Her croak of ‘safe roosting’ could barely be heard by Digger who looked much the same as she did.

Bright moonlight struck Grubber in the eyes and at first he wasn’t sure of his surroundings. His memory slammed into place and he took flight into the full light of the moon. He had to bring Melody back. He felt as he had in his dream, like the wasted and unloved land below. Grubber had never flown far at night before and wasn’t used to the dangers lurking around him. All was well until clouds moved across the face of the moon and the world turned dark. He heard what sounded like the poodles from next-door barking nearby. That couldn’t be right because he’d left the garden well behind.

Suddenly, he was struck from above. Sharp claws pierced his skin and he let out a scream of anger mixed with fear. A barking owl tried to hold him and it wasn’t keen to let him go. Grubber was determined not to give in. He kept an image of Melody in his mind as he struggled against the slashing talons. There wasn’t much difference in their sizes but the owl had the advantage of grabbing him from above.

“It’s no good,” barked the owl. “Might as well give up!”

“I don’t know what ‘give up’ means,” snapped Grubber.

The more he fought, the more the claws tore at his skin and feathers. As they moved through the darkness another, familiar voice cut in.

“Leave him Woof-Woof! He’s too old and stringy to eat anyway.”

“Well, Barklava, what are you doing in these parts?” from Grubber’s attacker.

“I was following this bird to make sure he was safe. I see you are looking after him well. He can fly without your help, I think.”

Woof-Woof quitted his attack and Grubber flew away once more

“Thanks Barklava!”

The clouds withdrew from the moon and Grubber was able to see again.

It was birdsong before he reached Melody’s home and he dropped exhausted, to grasp the stringy bark of a tall messmate tree. He clawed his way to a branch. His eyes closed. He blacked out.

Grubber was roused by whispered bird talk. Eyelids snapped open to see Melody’s tribe peering at him from above and below. It was full sun time. She wasn’t there.

“Where’s Melody?” he heard her mother’s voice.

He turned to look into Aria’s hopeful eyes. “I thought she’d be here, with Digger.”

“No, they aren’t here,” was the reply he didn’t want to hear.

“They must have gone the wrong way. I’ll find them,” he rasped.

“You’ll rest and feed first and no argument. There’s no way you’d get far as you are.” This speech from Melody’s mother, Aria, was given with authority. He wouldn’t be allowed to leave until she was satisfied he’d roosted properly. He wondered whether Melody took after her mother and shivered.

Grubber was accompanied to the ground by the host of magpies who then poked and prodded around the ground bringing him food so he didn’t waste energy foraging. When Aria was satisfied he was well fed he was sent to roost in an ironbark tree and surrounded by magpies. For once, he didn’t mind being bullied by another bird. He knew she was right.

 

 

Chapter Eighteen – Pythagora Pounces

Melody and Digger flew as far as they dared that night. The place they chose to finally halt, felt a little creepy to Melody, but they were both worn out. Digger was glad Melody had finally stopped as it was dark now and he didn’t want to be evading the silent predators of the night in strange surroundings.

“Do you remember the story our father told us about the powerful owl when we were fledglings?” Melody asked Digger.

“How could I forget?”

“Do you think it’s true?” she asked.

“I don’t think it’s the best time to bring it up. Do you?”

“I just thought it might pass the time,” Melody continued.

“He reckoned when he was young, there used to be a feral cat living in the scrub nearby. The cat used to hunt around the territory and eat rabbits and small marsupials. Sometimes when she had kittens and couldn’t hunt far afield, she’d prey upon birds as well. Anyway, the human who lived nearby used to care for injured birds and had cages to keep them in while they recovered from their injuries. A magpie from our tribe was attacked by the cat one day, but the human came along before the cat could kill her. She took the magpie home to look after her. Now, according to this magpie, the human had an injured powerful owl in a cage next to her. The cat must have been desperate or lazy this night because she prowled around the cages where all the birds were. She was so intent upon the magpie, thinking it would be an easy meal, she didn’t see the owl perched in the darkness of her cage. The cat snuck into the wrong cage. The powerful owl swooped on the unsuspecting cat and in the morning all that was left were some tufts of black fur.”

Digger, who wasn’t pleased about being in a strange place in the dark, shivered as the story ended; he felt slightly better when the moon broke from behind the clouds to throw some light on the landscape.

“If you’re finished with story telling then maybe you should sleep. I’ll take first watch.”

Melody chuckled to herself then curled her head under her wing to sleep.

She always did like to try and frighten him, Digger thought; delighting in the scariest stories she could find.

Digger was so tired he’d fallen asleep on his guard. When he woke, Melody wasn’t there. The sun was already up but there was no bird song. The silence was thunderous. He searched the tree from where he sat, his eyes piercing the leafy shelter above and around him. The familiar form of his sister was nowhere to be seen. He was about to fly into another tree to have a better view when he heard a voice behind him …

“Don’t worry, your ssssisssster iss sssafe.”

He turned, and his eyes were abducted into the stare of a monstrous python, then everything became dark.

When Grubber had rested and fed once again, he was allowed to leave his caretakers to search for Melody. Aria sent three magpies with him; Dug, Nick and Dibble. There was still plenty of daylight left and Grubber had a fairly good idea where the missing magpies could be. He only hoped that Pythagora wasn’t too hungry.

During the journey, he had warned his companions to be wary of looking too closely into Pythagora’s eyes. He had no difficulty finding the lair of the snake, now he must find Melody and her brother. They landed in the hoop pine Grubber remembered from his first visit. He called out …

“Piper, Hosanna! Where are you? It’s me, Grubber!”

He caught a dark movement off to one side and saw two sets of yellow currawong eyes watching him from the shadows of a lillipilly.

“I know you’re there. Why don’t you show yourselves,” he called.

Still they remained amongst the foliage, watching.

This was too much. Grubber went across to them. What he saw chilled him. On a branch, in the deepest part of the tree sat Melody and Digger. Unmoving as the frost in winter, their eyes were as glazed as frozen puddles. Piper hopped over to Melody and fed her a bug from his beak. She swallowed it obediently and went back to being a statue.

A familiar slithering sound was heard from above… “She’sss far too thin. She needsss fattening, don’t you think?”

Pythagoras’s long, resplendent, muscular form watched from a branch above Grubber’s head. He was an impressive carpet snake by any measure, and as he spoke, his fangs glistened in his dark and cavernous mouth. His eyes were fascinating and it was difficult not to become entrapped by their intensity. Still, there was no sound from the currawongs. When Grubber looked closer he discovered they weren’t really seeing him; they were in a trance of some sort.

“What have you done to them?” he demanded of Pythagora.

“Done? Why, nothing. They’re sssoo sssleepy. Need ressst. I’ll sssee they sssleep sssoundly,” he crooned.

“Let them go Pythagora! They’ve served you for long enough. They deserve to live a proper birds’ life.”

Grubber had had enough so he called to the rest of the magpies. They arrived as Grubber attacked the python with beak and claws, raking at the skin of the snake with a fury normally used defending his territory from invaders. Dug, Nick and Dibble joined the attack and soon Pythagora resembled a piece of torn, discarded wrapping paper, as he writhed and twisted to escape the onslaught. He wasn’t going to give in easily however, and he slashed at the magpies with his piercing fangs and grabbed at them with his powerful body, attempting to crush the breath from any body he could hold. Pythagora seized Grubber in a strangle hold that felt far too familiar to the magpie. The fury Grubber felt when he thought of the python’s behaviour to his beloved Melody gave him a super-natural strength. As the snake stared at him, Grubber lunged at Pythagora’s head and struck him between the eyes with his beak, causing the snake to release him suddenly, blood pouring from the wound. The rest of the magpies renewed their attack; they were too quick and numerous for him and so he curled himself into a patterned ball, tucking his head away from the onslaught of furious birds.

“Enough! Enough I sssssay! I’ll releasssse them!”

Grubber called the gang off. “Leave him for now!”

“There’ssss no need for all thisssss!”

Pythagora then turned to the magpies, Digger and Melody, blood running freely from his wound. He looked intently into their vacant eyes; “You are free assss birdssss now.”

They awoke with a shaking of feathers, from a deep sleep. “Where are we?” appealed Melody. “Where did you lot come from?” asked Digger.

The python was hesitant to release the currawongs.

“Release Piper and Hosanna as well, Pythagora!” commanded Grubber.

“But they are sssso happy with me,” he wheedled.

“They deserve a normal life with their own kind, which is what you should do as well,” reacted Grubber.

“Sssuch a wassste,” was the mumbled reply as he turned to the currawongs.

He repeated the words of release to Piper and Hosanna and they shook themselves awake. They both backed fearfully away from the strange group of magpies but then recognised Grubber amongst them.

“When did you arrive?” from Piper.

Grubber explained the reason for his visit and they were horrified to learn of their own part in the episode.

“We’d never have willingly done anything to hurt you or your friends. Pythagora makes us do things. I knew he’d told us to feed the magpies to fatten them up, but we weren’t able to disobey him – we were hypnotised,” was Hosanna’s reply.

Dibble spoke up, “Why don’t you leave here? You could come with us. There’s a group of currawongs not far from our home. They lost a few birds in that bad storm, so they’d probably be glad of a couple of additions.”

“I don’t know …” began Hosanna.

“Of course, what a great idea!” from Grubber “We’re leaving now, so come on!”

While this conversation was taking place, Pythagora had been forgotten and he’d slipped away to watch them from the deepest, darkest part of the tree’s trunk. By the time he’d wrapped himself around the moss covered bark he was invisible to the gathered birds.

Grubber counted everybird to make sure none were missing. He wouldn’t put it past the snake to grab a sly meal. When he was sure all were there, they took to the sky and with a whoop of freedom winged towards home.

 

 

Chapter Nineteen – Melody’s Nest

The greeting of birdcalls to welcome them was staggering. Even the cows grazing well over towards the creek came gambolling across to see what the noise was about. There was a bit of confusion at first when the strange currawongs landed with the magpies, but it was soon sorted out and they were heartily welcomed.

It was decided there would be a special gathering to celebrate the return of the magpies and the official coronation of Grubber into the flock. The local currawongs were invited to meet with Piper and Hosanna who were very nervous. They hadn’t been with a proper family group since their own had mysteriously disappeared. They needn’t have worried, as the currawongs welcomed them with open wings.

There were parrots of all different varieties so there was no need for coloured decorations as the trees looked as though they were draped in streamers. A collection had been taken up and now the ground was full of grubs and beetles, berries, flowers and pinecones. The feast could begin! Grubber was in pride of place on a fallen branch, a perfect platform, and all the birds wanted to hear his adventures from the garden to his new home in ‘The Scrub.’ They were especially keen to hear the tale of Mount Griffin. He was somewhat shy about the whole tale, so there were many bits filled in by Melody about his bravery in the face of peril.

Grubber’s biggest surprise came from Digger, who came to stand beside him and wrap his wing around his shoulder as he said, “I felt jealous of Grubber when he first came here. I resented him and didn’t feel he deserved to be our leader. To me he was a blow in and trespasser. I was wrong. He’s a brave and most worthy bird and I cannot thank him enough for rescuing Melody and myself from the darkness of the python’s gut. I’d follow him to the end of the sky and back if he asked me.”

Huge applause followed this speech and the flapping of wings was enough to fill a parachute. It was as though the galahs and sulphur crested cockatoos had been waiting for this cue. They took to the sky in an aerobatic display to rival the Roulettes. There were spins and dives and brushes with death accompanied by screeching and screaming loud enough to break the sound barrier. It was sufficient to scare away the birds of prey for weeks to come. Melody and Grubber sat side by side like a pair of salt and pepper shakers.

“I suppose we’d better start building a nest now,” from Melody.

Grubber gave a start and looked confused.

“That cow was right; there should be the flutter of little wings around here soon,” she finished.

Now Grubber felt warm all over while he sat watching the birds of his territory playing and feeding in the last of the sunshine for the day. A change had come in his life, and although he would miss the garden and all of his wonderful friends he knew this is where he belonged. He could still visit occasionally, but he knew they didn’t need him anymore. Beaker was ready and able to look out for them now. There was a niggle in the back of his mind about Pythagora and Mount Moonshine, like a worm that wouldn’t let go of the earth, so he buried it until he could deal with it in the future.

It was time to pass the scrub over to the night shift, so the birds left to roost in their favourite positions until birdsong the next day. The bats and owls, nightjars and frogs emerged to take their places and begin the night-time performance. A dingo slunk from her den to sniff the breeze, ears pointing skywards, her coat blending with dry grass at the edge of the scrub. She let out a haunting howl to the now waning moon before disappearing into the undergrowth.

 

 

Chapter Twenty – Chuddly’s Delight

Back in the garden the birds got on with what birds do. They still expected Grubber to appear to reprimand the young birds and it surprised them when Beaker stepped up to the post. He was a worthy chief, and it didn’t take long for the birds to learn to avoid his clacking beak and piercing claws. Bluey’s parrotroopers weren’t really necessary anymore as the goshawks seemed content with the taste of starling, but they decided it was too much fun to give up, and besides, there were queues of young birds keen to train with them. They also enjoyed taking the pee out of the peewees who didn’t realise they were the prey of so many pranks. Herr Lipp and Frau Beater now had a new chick of their own which kept them very busy. It seemed to be always hungry and its cries for food were never ending … “Feed me NOW! I am shtarvink! Vorms NOW!” und so weiter[3].

Angela, Fergus, and Chuddly were always in the garden planting, mowing, pruning, mulching, weeding, and simply sitting. The pond was full of frogs and so were the snakes, although they didn’t hang around when there was too much gardening happening, a bit like human children. It was a peaceful place to be except for the sulphur crested cockatoos, but they didn’t stay all the time. They liked to share themselves around the district. The black cockatoos were more obvious just before the rain as they glided over like a formation of Caribou aircraft dropping provisions and calling, “Rain! Rain! Rain!”

Chuddly was so excited one morning that he bounded outside racing round in figure eights with his tail tucked low for speed and yapping like the Nutmeg next door. He bucketed along scattering birds to the breeze until he ran out of puff and collapsed on the ground with his tongue hanging like an over pulled toilet roll. Panting as if the air was about to run out he finally went to the pond where he lapped the water so enthusiastically it caused white topped waves.

All the birds gathered around him when he finally calmed down to find out what had caused such high jinks.

“It’s the children,” he panted. “They’re coming to stay for the holidays.”

The birds still didn’t get it.

“The grandchildren. Brenna and Ewan, my favourites.”

Chuddly loved those two. They took him with them everywhere they went. Sometimes when they rode their pushbikes it was difficult for him to keep up, but they would slow down to his pace or even pick him up and carry him on their bikes so he was never left behind. He felt as though he was flying as the wind rushed across his whiskers and his ears flapped about like wings! Ewan slept in the spare room at the back of the house. When everyone was in bed he would sneak Chuddly into his room where he would jump up onto the bed and snuggle up cosy and warm. In the morning Ewan would let him out so no-one would know their secret.

To the birds, the children were simply miniature humans, every bit as strange as the big ones. They didn’t really understand Chuddly’s exuberance. All the birds loved Chuddly though, so they tried to sound enthusiastic for his sake.

“That’s fantastic Chudders. No wonder you’re so excited,” lied Cracker, a crimson rosella, and cousin of Bluey’s.

“Yeah, terrific!” added a galah called Boofhead as he rolled his eyes and raised his comb.

They were to arrive the following afternoon and Chuddly could hardly wait. He sat at the door all night and the next morning anticipating their arrival. He knew they would want to ride their bikes up to Mount Moonshine because last visit they’d talked about it with their grandparents. Angela hadn’t been keen on the idea then, she thought they were too young. But that was months ago and Brenna had celebrated another birthday in that time. Besides, Chuddly could go with them and make sure they were safe, couldn’t he?

Everything was complete with life in his garden now. Each day brought him increasing happiness and he knew there were more exciting times heading his way in his new home.

The goshawks perched in a gnarled old radiata pine in the next paddock watching the garden greedily. How long would it be until they ran out of starlings to eat? A varied diet is important, isn’t it? The parrots would soon get tired of their silly games, zooming around like so many fireworks at the showground. Now their chicks had grown and left, the goshawks didn’t need to hunt so much. The hawks were patient. There was plenty of time …

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[1] opponent

[2] Human nightmare

[3] Etcetera