Sticky Beak Read Online Free PDF

Dunning that we’ve got a new addition to the family.

 
    Sometimes good luck comes along exactly when you need it.
    Like this arvo.
    Dad and Ms Dunning came back with heaps of shopping, not just supermarket stuff but loads of parcels and boxes too.
    While I was helping them carry it all in from the truck, I saw them looking at each other sort of sheepishly.
    â€˜Urn, Tonto old mate,’ said Dad, ‘we haven’t actually got anything for you.’
    It was perfect.
    There’s nothing like parents feeling a bit sheepish to help things along when you’re asking if you can have a cockatoo.
    Dad and Ms Dunning were a bit alarmed at first, probably because they thought I was talking about buying a new one and they’d just spent all their money.
    But when I showed them the one dozing in my wardrobe, and explained it was an abused bird that I’d rescued from a dangerously unstable kid, they relaxed.
    I told them that if the cocky could live with us I’d feed it and care for it and teach it to use the bathroom.
    â€˜Please, please, please, please, please,’ I said until my hands ached.
    I saw from Dad’s face that he wanted to have a serious talk. Not with me, with Ms Dunning. I almost went and got his black shirt with the horseshoes but decided not to.
    I stayed in here on my bed while Dad and Ms Dunning went into the kitchen.
    I crossed my fingers so tightly they went numb.
    After what seemed like ages, Dad and Ms Dunning came back in. They had their arms round each other, which I knew was a good sign.
    â€˜Well Tonto,’ said Dad, ‘if you promise to feed it and clean it, you can keep it. I’ll build it a cage in the packing shed.’
    I gave them both a huge hug.
    â€˜There’s one more condition,’ added Dad. ‘Darryn Peck’s got to agree you can have it.’
    I told them I was sure Darryn would agree because it’s doing him a favour too.
    This way he won’t ever get into trouble with the law for mistreating a bird and possibly end up in a bloody shoot-out with officers from the RSPCA.
    Ms Dunning held out a big shiny red apple.
    â€˜It’ll probably be hungry when it wakes up,’ she said.
    I was really moved because it was exactly the same as the one I gave her the day she moved in with us.
    Watching the cocky happily snoozing away I can see it’s already feeling like one of the family.
    Judging by the snores, though, I don’t think it’ll be waking up till the morning.
    A big sleep’s probably just what the poor thing needs.
    In the morning I’ll cut its apple up and we can have breakfast together on the verandah.
    I’m feeling really attached to it already.
    Almost like a parent.
    Which is fine with me because in my experience parents hardly ever snap and even when they do they hardly ever chuck desserts, eggs, chemicals or nonwashable paint.

 
    I knew something was wrong as soon as I woke up.
    Dad was shouting.
    Ms Dunning was yelling.
    I could smell fish frying and nobody at our place likes fried fish.
    I jumped out of bed and hurried towards the kitchen.
    Something stabbed me in the feet.
    I looked down and saw that my carpet was covered with lumps of apple and splinters of wood.
    My floor looked like Tasmania, the bit that’s been woodchipped.
    The kitchen looked worse.
    Apart from the woodchips all over the floor and the table and the sink, it was full of smoke.
    Dad and Ms Dunning were standing on chairs holding brooms. Dad was shouting at Ms Dunning to get down because she shouldn’t be climbing on chairs in her condition, and Ms Dunning was ignoring him and poking her broom up the chimney.
    A cloud of soot floated down into her face, followed by a white feather.
    My heart was thumping.
    â€˜Get down here, dork-brain,’ Ms Dunning yelled up the chimney, ‘or you’re dead meat.’
    I was shocked.
    That’s no way to talk to a cockatoo with a nervous condition.
    I