Magpie

Finally, it’s safe to walk the streets again. No longer do I have to grow eyes in the back of my head and be wary of ambush. The nestlings are finally old enough to quell their parents protectiveness.

In Brisbane, the pattern is familiar. As soon as Spring hints that it may be shrugging off winter’s dry, adult magpies begin to warble. Within a couple of weeks their song quietens and walkers begin to get nervous. They perch silently, waiting for strangers to pass close enough to be suspected of being a threat. And then they swoop. Low, fast and menacing, they strike from behind and tear at hair, ears or anything else they can injure with their beaks until you have passed out of their territory.

Walking backward past them is one sure way not to be struck: they prefer surprise. But the two at the end of my street are particularly cunning. They execute their guardianship with a craftiness I have rarely seen in birds. One sits in the open to distract while the other attacks from a blind spot. The first time it happened to me, I was as impressed as I was injured that they had outwitted me. Their tactic worked. I did what I could to avoid walking past them for the remainder of their nesting season.