The Attack

There was no warning.  No nightmares, premonitions or sinister omens.  No hoarse ravens croaking on a bust of Pallas and no slinky black cats.  It wasn’t the thirteenth of the month, and it wasn’t a Friday.

It was, in fact, a blissful sunny Saturday.  My family was enjoying a barbecue in the bush, surrounded by towering gums and eucalypts.  Everyone was having a great time, inhaling deep breaths of fresh mountain air, relaxing and laughing at each other.  The picnic table was groaning with food.  The bread was buttered, the salads were bursting with freshness, the burgers and chops and sausages were sizzling merrily, and all was well with the world.  The glorious aroma of barbecuing meat wafted into my face.  I could feel myself salivating in anticipation.

In these circumstances, who could have anticipated that a vicious attack lay just around the corner?

~~~

Chatting animatedly, I approached the table.  My father was wearing his standard barbecuing cartoon character comedy apron.  He handed me the tongs and I helped myself to a ubiquitous Australian delicacy – the sausage in bread.  It’s an important part of our cuisine.  We may add fried onions or a touch of mustard if we’re feeling fancy, but the basic model is a sausage tucked neatly into a surrounding triangle of white bread and liberally slathered with tomato sauce. 

With the sausage safely transferred to its bread hammock and the tomato sauce squirted on top, I took an approving sniff followed by a big bite.  Mmm!  The tanginess of the sauce perfectly enhanced the rich flavour of the sausage.  Why does meat always taste so much better when it’s barbecued outdoors?  It’s one of life’s mysteries. 

~~~

The unseen assailant sat in silence, as still as a statue.  For all we knew, he’d been there since we’d arrived.  He was biding his time, waiting for the right moment to strike.  His beady little eyes were intensely focused on me as he studied my every move.  I was unaware of the danger.

~~~

After thoroughly enjoying my first mouthful, I opened my eyes and looked down to take a second bite.  I discovered I was now holding a sauce-smeared triangle of white bread.

Where was my beautiful sausage?

It took us a few moments to register what had happened.

Up in the topmost branches, far above the ground and beyond our reach, a terribly violent scene was under way.  Time and again, the poor victim was slammed mercilessly against unyielding wood.  The smacking sound was sickening.  Each thwack was executed ruthlessly with all the force in the attacker’s body.  There was nothing we could do to stop it. 

~~~

Laughter filled the air around me.

My family were utter barbarians!  How could they possibly find this funny?  What kind of sociopath laughs so hard at a display of violence?

Would they laugh so hard if someone had stolen their sausage?

~~~

The kookaburra had swooped while my eyes were closed and helped himself to my sausage.  He’d done it so silently and swiftly that I hadn’t noticed his presence.  He believed my sausage was a snake, a natural source of prey for him, and he was savagely beating it to death on his favourite branch before swallowing it whole.

~~~

I looked up quizzically at the little feathered fiend.  I’d heard that birds of the kingfisher family were cunningly designed by nature to swoop noiselessly on their prey.  I hadn’t heard him coming, that’s for sure.  Well, let the little monster have his sausage.  We have plenty.  I’ll just get another one.

~~~

The second attack drew blood.

I fronted up to the barbecue for Sausage Number Two.  It was just as juicy and delicious as the one that had disappeared down that thieving kookaburra’s beak. 

This time, rather than taking the sausage out of my hand, the kookaburra got personal. 

I’d just taken a bite when something sharp struck my top lip.  Once again, the attack came completely out of the blue.  It also hurt.  I opened my mouth in shock and surprise, only for that pesky kookaburra to snatch my mouthful of sausage and fly away.

He’d pecked me right in the face and stolen my food directly out of my mouth.  I couldn’t believe it.

My treacherous family were loving it.  Some of them guffawed so hard that they staggered about and needed to sit down.

I wiped a little spot of blood from my lip.  Looking up, I saw the kookaburra land softly on his branch, tilt his head back and swallow the morsel of flavourful sausage I’d been enjoying just moments before.  A burbling noise erupted from his throat, followed by a loud, echoing cackle that rang through the treetops.

That thieving little bunch of feathers was laughing nearly as hard as my family.