So, I hear this godawful racket outside and figure it's a miner in the bird of paradise bush below my window. It continues.

I walk outside to scare it off - it's not a miner. It's two kookaburras. One's on top of the other pecking at it. My dad scares the top one off and carries the injured one downstairs - it couldn't fly. Indeed, couldn't much move.

It's now sitting in a bulk-toilet roll box with a towel and a couple of cubes of meat.

Did I mention the second one has my dad's middle finger in a vice grip with its beak and is holding on for dear life? My dad showed me afterwards and he's got a dark red line from top to middle knuckle just from the pressure this damn bird put on his finger.

This is like the crested dove all over again.