I WAS only few hundred metres from home on my daily walk. Two birds flew across my eyes swiftly. It felt like an arrow. They were so fast, but I managed to identify that a wattle bird was chasing an eastern rosella. I was in awe of their speed and admiring their nimble flying ability.
Next second I heard a heavy thud. The eastern rosella hit the wall of a house and with a dull sound fell to the ground near the rainwater tank. It didn’t move for a good few minutes. It was hard to tell from the distance but one of its wings seemed damaged.
Satisfied with the chase, the wattle bird was long gone, had flown away from the scene. Here I was hopelessly left alone with the possibly injured bird, with no clue what to do to save this tiny creature. One thing was clear. I couldn’t keep on walking as if I hadn’t witnessed anything. I had to do something, but I didn’t know what. I felt an urge at least to tell someone to offload my laden chest. Witnessing the fallen bird was simply too weighty for me to carry. Luckily Rob was home, working on our front garden so I returned home to tell him what I had just witnessed. I realised I was quite upset when I was telling him about the poor bird.