Do not be fooled by his whacky larikin facade. He is just waiting to swoop down and plunder your snags in a whoosh of grey feathers and scratchy beak! Look! There he is up in the tree.
Run fast, small childerbeast, and flee the snatchy feet of Mr Laughin' Gear because he's going to GETCHA!
And your sausages...
...and your mother's fat pointer which apparently looks just like a sausage. I am serious! He swooped and grabbed my pointer finger then, realising it was indigestible, swooped away. Really! This is how people end up with stubby index fingers.
This pretty pink boy would never be so rude.
Put that pointer down, Ms V. He'll have it in a snip! He also went for the Dad's pointer and snatched the baby's sausage out of her fat grubby mitt as she was having a nappy change. Is there no dignity to be had? She can't say "kookaburra" so, in a most indignant voice she christened him "Bad Bugger!" From the mouths of babes...
Meanwhile, we are informed on good authority that these are the bones of a rabid cow shot by a rabid farmer. That may explain the rabid kookaburra. They are now posing as dinosaur bones in our garden.
Mother in law of the year came over while we were out and took down all the laundry and folded it like a professional laundry service! This greeted me at the front door. She's a saint!