Winging it on a Sunday arvo

For regular readers, you will know that Old Mate I live with is a pet detective, as are many of her birdie gang.

Ashley Robinson. Photo: John McCutcheon / Sunshine Coast Daily

For regular readers, you will know that Old Mate I live with is a pet detective, as are many of her birdie gang. They help save, find and rehome pets and wildlife regularly.

They are a good crew – like-minded and possibly a touch “different” but good people, ready to help anyone and anything at the drop of a hat.

Now Old Mate has done her bit and has taken her contact off most organisations, but every now and then something pops up.

Take last Sunday. I came home from work, did a few odd jobs for her, took the dog for a walk, bought and had some chilled beer waiting and was ready to watch Harry Grant and the Tigers at 6pm.

Very excited. As well, I had pies ordered for dinner – a perfect Sunday evening.

Even better is that Old Mate loves Channel 9’s The Voice, so she whacks the headphones on and I get to have my own adventure in the other room with footy and refreshments. Awesome!

As I came in the front door pumped for what the next two hours held, I saw a familiar sight: Old Mate with the phone in the crook of her neck, writing down an address about a lost bird.

She looked at me and said, “I need a favour? Can you drive to Maroochydore and pick up a bird for me? It’s in an English chap’s lounge room on the eighth floor of a high-rise”.

Now, this has been a job for me occasionally with a pet bird or a magpie. But this was a bit different. It was a macaw.

Wing span over a metre and the body size of a well-fed staffie pup.

So I headed off with instructions and a carry case and I was wondering if it was going to fit a small dog with wings. I arrived at the high-rise and the nice man met me in the foyer, telling me this bloody big bird basically flew into his lounge room while he was cooking dinner and he didn’t think it was native.

I agreed and said it would be if we lived in Central America.

Up we went and there was the bird sitting on the lounge quietly. A beautiful thing.

I walked over and told it to step up and it jumped up and happily sat on my shoulder.

I looked like I knew what I’m doing, photo opportunity and all.

All went well until I tried to get it off my shoulder. It squawked, bit and flew into the bloke’s laundry (he retreated to his bedroom – I guess supposing the bird might kill me).

The host had surprising pace off the mark.

I walked towards the macaw like I was about to walk the plank and the bird flew at me and landed on my head, which was fine for him: he got a perch. But it was somewhat painful for me.

He then moved to my shoulder and latched on to my ear.

Just out of pure luck, we (the man came out of the bedroom once he realised I was the target) got our feathered friend into the box with no injury apart from my ear and my finger.

By the time I got home, the pet detectives had found the owner.

We had a happy ending, thanks to the bird gang and a caring unit owner, and I got to sit down to see the last minute of the footy where the Titans beat the Tigers just as I opened my beer.

Story of my life.

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