When I was a child when the cockatoos came in to land I sometimes felt that dream state return, you know the dream state somewhere between fiction and realty. It seemed unreal our feathered friends would fly in so close, so near, so friendly, so funny and bright. I loved those birds that came to perch on a balcony made of wood back in Sydney, Engadine. It was strangely a hot sunny day when a fight broke out. The sky was inviting, crisply blue and feathered itself here and there by a puff of downy cloud and the sun, well the sun was pretty showy that day. The sun was big and full and warm and beaming bright. It might all have been about the sun if it weren’t for the fight. They had been so happy. The way they came in to see us twice a day was reassuring, like a clock on the wall or a watch that was forever or a person that meant what they said absolutely. It was between two cockatoos and the pair seemed to fight over a mate. It’s not something I’d seen of cockatoos before. It was treacherous. I had tried to get in between them but they took off in the air, darting and weaving, pecking at each other’s form with a ferocious will. The screeching was both sad and angry and hanging over the balcony in horror, my small five or six year old body was nothing at first, but a helpless child unable to intervene. The pair wrestled on the ground in a crazy frenzy until one of them, the smallest and usually most charming seemed to collapse left for dead, or so I thought. 
When I ran to him he seemed to want to slip away. His little foot was gone. He was tired. His eyes were opened only in part like a shutter or a blind caught between the moon and the sun. All of a sudden he popped his head up cheerfully though,
“Hello Cocky, said he.
“Hello Captain Hook” said I.
He lay back down after that but got up again gingerly after I patted his head then he lay back down again, then I patted his head. He was a smart little bird. He was a smart little bird alright. It was an injured bird, an injured bird that was as sharp as a tack. It was an injured bird who wanted to be loved. He became very easy to love too.
It came to pass that the same bird continued to fly in every day at the same time, twice a day with one foot. He remained resilient against the change in body but confused by the rejection of his tribe. They all came in too but tried with all their will to shut him out. Every day for many weeks he would dance towards them, gingerly sidestep and attempt a sideways glance to which they all moved away or flew to another part of the ledge. It was difficult to watch. We fed them wild seeds, which was probably the wrong thing to do but we were children too, we were wanting to come close to these beautiful flying larikans. We were wanting to know another species and especially a species that could do something so free and wild, a species that can FLY. I still adore birds for that reason. I recall feeding Captain Hook by hand and he came to rest on my arm too. I tried to bring him closer to the other birds but usually they would turn away or even fly out and back to the bush which seemed incredible given food was on offer. They had decided most stubbornly the bird was an outcast and I can honestly say Captain Hook became depressed. He barely ate after a while and was fading fast. I decided to put on a concert for the birds since I was a huge fan of records and my record player. This seemed to cheer up Captain Hook no end. The other brids were not particularly interested. He was particularly taken with my rendition of Maria from West Side Story. My parents were into show tunes and so this was one I’d heard quite often.
It was funny but much like that Wendy Matthews Song The Day You Went Away, but in reverse it was a cloudy and chilly day when Captain Hook Flew in with a Little Magpie, just a baby with……one foot. I was astounded. Captain Hook seemed happy again. I felt the dream state return and yet it was really happening. One should always remember the possibility of such moments on the darkest of days as it is a pretty lovely feeling.
That bird came back every day for years He never forgot me that bird. Some small children came to stay at our house and I’d always show them Captain Hook, or better still Captain Hook came to show off his marvellous dancing skills. I didn’t need to show them anything because he was a bit of a show off in the most endearing of ways all on his own. He was also fiercely loyal and brave and very very cute.
We moved away to Melbourne and some of the rest of the story is not for me to tell because those children haven’t given me permission to and people’s stories should be told together in truth where possible I think but Captain Hook did come to reside with one of those children, thankfully, because he was the best person to match that kind of love and intelligence and loyalty and clowning around too.
About six months ago I was off to work and noticed a man on a motorbike with a cockatoo travelling with him on his shoulder. It reminded me of Captain Hook, who later became known as Mario, husband of Maria.
A few days ago I dreamt Captain Hook was hunting through cupboards looking for my little childhood overalls and that he fell asleep on top of them. His last word was “Maria.”
He was a good bird, I mean a really truly good and beautiful bird. Sometimes animals protect people more than we care to protect them even though Mario’s family kicked him out of the flock too. Mario sure did make up for that loss in his own behaviour. Let’s make sure we do a bit better with that I reckon. Wildlife warriors unite. Yeah, that’s what I’m talking about.
