He mustered us like a cattle dog, dive-bombed like a magpie, clamped his jaw around body parts and leered at us through windows. I felt like Tippi Hedren in Hitchcock’s The Birds

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He came to us in exchange for a case of beer. A white sulphur-crested cockatoo of indeterminate age but full of chutzpah. He had lived the childhoods of the neighbouring farm kids and now he would entertain us.

That neighbour really saw me coming.

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