Tuesday, July 24, 2007

Ostrich attack! (Forestalled)

I would have written this earlier, but was suffering PTSD...

Mere minutes after our
assault by ravenous zebras, we rounded a corner and were confronted by this:

One of them made a beeline for the car. And some long-buried memory, an instinctual, primal resonance of a survival tactic, kicked in.

"Roll up your window," I said to The Boy.

Sealed into our car, we watched as the ostrich lowered its head and peered at us through the glass.

It regarded us for a moment with its black, unblinking eyes, and then started opening and closing its beak as though snapping out a blistering insult.

"What does it want?" asked The Boy.

"Dunno," I said. "I never learned to beak-read."

Having said its piece, the bird moved on. We looked back to see it halt the car behind us and thrust its entire head and neck inside the vehicle. I shuddered. Rather them than me.

It was only later that I recognized the source of my discomfort: years of watching
Rod Hull and Emu.


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