Sticky Beak Read Online Free PDF Page A

‘Five years jail.’
    It’s not true, of course, but I could see it got him worried.
    We stared at each other for a while.
    His elephant’s-bum mouth started quivering at one corner, just a bit.
    Then he turned and stalked off down the road.
    His mates hurried after him.
    â€˜You leaving the cocky with her?’ one of them asked.
    â€˜She can keep it,’ Darryn said, looking back at me. ‘They should get on well together. They’re both spazzos.’
    I ignored that.
    I had more important things to think about.
    I started climbing the tree.
    It took me ages to get up there, partly because Dad’s taught me never to rush at a tree, and partly because I’m scared of heights.
    As I edged along the branch, my heart was pounding so loudly I was worried the cockatoo would take fright and do something silly.
    It didn’t look as though it was up to much flying. It looked as though the most it could probably manage would be a plummet to the ground.
    I tried to calm it by explaining with gentle hand movements that not all humans are like Darryn Peck, only the ones who got too close to Mrs Peck’s vacuum cleaner when they were babies and had their brains sucked out through their ears.
    OK, it wasn’t true, and the cocky probably couldn’t understand sign language anyway, but it still seemed to make it perk up a bit.
    Its crest feathers, which had been lying flat on its head in a sort of cowlick, suddenly sprang up like a bright yellow mohawk hairdo.
    When I’d stopped being startled and almost falling out of the tree, I leant forward and unhooked its claws from the bark as gently as I could and lifted it towards me.
    Its feathers felt stiff, which I assumed was nervous tension, and I could see its dark little tongue darting around inside its beak, probably because its mouth was dry with worry.
    It seemed pretty dazed, probably from seeing all those apples being wasted, and it didn’t flap its wings, which was just as well for both of us.
    I put it inside my shirt and climbed down, praying that it was feeling too crook to sink its beak into my flesh.
    It must have been.
    As I hurried towards the house, I racked my brains for anything I’d ever read or heard about helping cockatoos recover from a traumatic experience.
    Nothing sprang to mind.
    I could feel the cocky quivering inside my shirt.
    I didn’t blame it.
    Living with Darryn Peck for six years would be enough to give anyone a nervous condition.
    When people are in shock they’re given a cup of tea, so when we got home I gave the cocky one.
    It wasn’t interested, so I gave it a glass of water.
    It drank some of that, then tried to eat the glass.
    Obviously it was hungry.
    There was a note on the kitchen table saying that Dad and Ms Dunning had gone shopping, so I had to take a punt myself as to what cockies like to eat.
    It wasn’t a very good punt.
    The cocky ignored the corned beef, sniffed the cheese, spat out the Coco-Pops and did a poo on the apple fritter.
    Then it closed its eyes.
    I realised the poor thing must be exhausted.
    I grabbed an apple box and made a bed in it with some towels from the bathroom and carefully laid the cocky inside.
    That wasn’t such a good move either.
    I could tell the cocky wasn’t comfortable by the way it scrabbled its claws and looked at me unhappily with its dark eyes and did a wee on my towel.
    I remembered that some birds like to sleep on a perch.
    It was worth a try.
    I took all the clothes on hangers out of my wardrobe and pulled the top shelf out to make some headroom and lifted the cocky onto the hanging rail.
    No sooner had it gripped the wood with its claws than its eyes closed and its head dropped and I was sure I could hear faint snoring.
    It’s been like that for hours.
    I’ve been sitting here on my bed watching it in case it has a nightmare about apples.
    I’ve also been working out how I’m going to break it to Dad and Ms