“I can’t fly? Well, I’ll be damned!” the bushy emu said to me. With a squawk and a wink he ran past me with great ease, a bush sprinter as proud as can be.
He then returned quickly as he could.
“What do you say to a little race?” he suggested coercively, “The winner gets to sample all the fine tastes of the Bush’s delicacies.”
I wracked my brains for what these delicacies could be and whether they would suit my palette, but after understanding that this emu was offering up fruits and seeds, I was pleased as punch to verse this bird who carried upon his face such a cheeky permanent grin as his habit.
“Ready, set,” he uttered, and before saying “Go” he sprinted away from the scene, the dust billowing in my widened eyes, shocked at the audacity of this bird which had just been seen.
Still, I began the race after fairly uttering my version of the starter’s “Go”, and ran and ran as fast as my tiny little human legs could push me forth, struggling as I had never ever known.
But on my path, I noticed the Emu of the Bush; he had fallen down, sprained his ankle. He was flat on his toosh. I was horrified, he looked in such pain. If I were an untoward being I could have continued on with the race, being the reigning victor without any complaint.
However, I was not of that type, I was empathetic to his plight, and from my backpack I carried everywhere, I removed my first aid kit, removed a bandage and upon his ankle it was tightly applied.
Tentatively he stood, gingerly on his sore foot, but then with a grin, he realised he could still run with some ease. And off he trotted, ahead of me, towards the end of the race’s scene.
I was devastated, I could barely lift my jaw from the floor, but I resumed my style of a slow human run, impeded by a sense of an ego made sore. Again, I spotted him having fallen by the side of the path but this time I wouldn’t, did not stop, and through the discussed ending of the race did I reach with a victorious laugh.
It was only then that Emu caught up, fossicked in the brush for my prize: a large handful of small stones known as gizzard stones, which assisted emus with grinding up their meals.
It seemed that today both of us had been taught a lesson or two.
© 2019 Alice Well Art, Lauren M. Hancock also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.