Suffering as I do from a mortal fear of wattled galliforms, the omnipresence of brush turkeys in Greater Brisbane reduces my otherwise dignified duck into a pile of gobbledygook as incoherent as the heaps of leaf litter these megapodes leave in their wake.
With rude boldness, the big black birds stalk parks and gardens, hills and vales. Some threaten the windows of rural homes or turn up uninvited in defenceless pantries. But mostly, the feathered fiends lie in wait near picnic tables to launch sorties that sow panic and devour unpacked goodies. Brandishing blue leggings to show his affiliation to some local mob, this individual at the Botanic Gardens harassed a nice little girl bearing treats meant for cuter ducks.
The bare-headed beasts enjoy the benefits of ill-breeding from the very start. To get their bits in some booty, males host hen parties on make-out mounds that end with all evidence of misbehaviour buried under a metre of earth and rotting leaves. Not one to count his eggs after they hatch, the deadbeat dad maintains an unflappable pretence that whatever chicks spring out from the torrid mass are no business of his. It's no wonder the young turks are hoodlums that fend for themselves by forming gangs to terrorise backyards and lay waste to flower beds.
There are sadly few safe havens from these peckish overlords. Even high boughs are infested by roosters that refuse to budge and regard lowlier fowl with raptorial interest. It's a relief to be back in a land where the birds and the beasts get short shrift by citizens who shun the flutter of wild minds for the comfort of gilded cages.
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