Mister Cassowary Read Online Free PDF Page B

Einstein,’ he grunted, trying the chord once more. Still nothing.
    â€˜Mower fuel can go off sometimes.’
    â€˜Oh, yes?’ said Dad absently.
    â€˜Yeah, when I mow at home—’
    â€˜You help with the mowing? Flynnie! Sweeping, mowing, what else don’t I know about?’
    â€˜Dad, I’m nearly ten. I can do stuff now. And you can’t keep calling me Flynnie.’
    â€˜I know, I know. Sorry. It just seems like yesterday that I was changing your nappies.’
    â€˜Ew! Gross.’
    Dad bent down over the chainsaw again.
    â€˜Hey, Dad?’
    â€˜Yeah, mate?’
    â€˜There’s …’ I wanted to ask him about the chicks. ‘I was wondering …’ But I couldn’t tell him. If he knew I’d wandered off, he’d never let me out of his sight again. So I scanned the shed for something else to ask about and noticed an ancient tractor near the far wall. ‘Was that the tractor Grandad Barney used to collect bananas? Could you teach me to drive it?’
    Dad stood up and stretched. ‘Nah, mate. That one’s too big for you. Even if you are nearly ten. Tell you what, why don’t you ride up front with me when I start clearing tomorrow? You can be the navigator and I’ll do the driving.’
    My heart sank. I didn’t want to ride with Dad. I wanted to see the hide-and-seek chicks again. ‘Well …’
    â€˜Come on, you must be starving,’ Dad said. ‘I know I am. Let’s go make something to eat.’
    With the smiley frog watching, Dad cooked us ‘hash’, a dish he made when he was away on the mines. He mixed instant mashed potato with Grandad’s old cans of Spam and baked beans, and squirted in a generous helping of tomato sauce. I didn’t mind it. It sure beat eating vegies.
    Even the smiley frog approved. He croaked happily from the windowsill as he feasted on the insects attracted to the light from the kitchen.
    After I’d helped Dad clean up, I made an excuse that I was tired, and headed to Grandad Barney’s room.
    I was itching to find out more about the chicks. Tugging a bird book from Grandad Barney’s bookshelf, I hopped into bed and thumbed through it, looking for baby birds with brown and yellow stripes. I found them on a dog-eared page titled Casurius casuarius or s outhern cassowary .
    My hands suddenly grew damp and my fingers stuck to the page. Cassowary chicks? But they couldn’t be. The babies I’d seen looked nothing like the cassowary we hit, or the statue in town.
    The southern cassowary is Australia’s heaviest flightless bird, said the text. Dangerous if cornered, this important rainforest gardener swallows seeds that no other animal can. While the females lay the eggs, the male incubates them and cares for the newly hatched chicks. The chicks are dependent on their father to teach them foraging skills and will stay close to him until they are about nine months old.
    So where was the dad of my hide-and-seek chicks? He should have been there, teaching them which seeds were too big for them to eat.
    I scanned the book again. Male cassowaries can become very aggressive while protecting their chicks, and may—
    When I turned the page to read more, a folded piece of paper fell out. It was a crayon drawing of an Easter egg with scrawly writing across the bottom. Hoppy Easter Grandad, Love Flynn xoxox
    I’d sent Grandad Barney an Easter drawing? I didn’t remember that. Dad always made out that he wanted nothing to do with Grandad Barney. I wondered if he’d written back?
    â€˜Flynn, what are you still doing up? It’s been a big day, mate.’
    I quickly shut the book and tucked it under the covers. Dad’s eyes travelled around the bookshelves, like he was seeing them for the first time. He blinked and his lips quivered.
    â€˜Night, mate,’ he said, his voice catching. ‘See you in the morning.’ He turned