He chased a galah. It chased him back.

Why galahs aren't to be underestimated (especially when you’re mid-zoomie)

KONG toys make great distraction tools—unless, of course, your distraction is a flying pink menace with wings like a ninja and the attitude of a rugby prop forward.

Spoiler: I went in with confidence. I walked out with feathers in my pride.

You ever have one of those days? The sun is shining, your hooman’s in a good mood (they gave you the cheese, not the dried liver stuff), and your tail’s got a rhythm like it’s playing percussion in a bush band. That was me. My world smelled of hose water, bacon bits, and opportunity.

Now, just behind our yard, there’s an old gum tree so big even the possums call it Grandad. And perched upon that tree, like it ruled the entire Southern Hemisphere, was a galah. A pink and grey feathery creature hoomans seem to find cute. I had other opinions.

I sniffed danger. I charged anyway.

With the grace of a Rottweiler who may or may not have eaten too many breakfast sausages, I bolted across the grass. I barked. I barrelled. That galah looked at me, ever so calm. Almost smug. Which should’ve been my first red flag.

You see, hoomans often think of galahs as cheeky distractions — noisy, silly, harmless. But let me tell you, this bird was built different. It didn’t fly off in panic or fluff its feathers like the usual sky chooks do. Nooo. It stared me down. Tilted its head. Then clucked the bird equivalent of “Come at me, bro.”

The pink tornado strikes back

I leapt. The galah took off—but not away. It looped around, low and fast, swooping like a feathery frisbee with a grudge. I ducked. I yelped. I zigged and zagged. My ears were doing their own dance, catching the wind of its dive-bombing flight.

Now here’s the wild thing: I wasn’t chasing it anymore. It was chasing me. Around the bush. Over the flower bed. Past Mum’s outdoor boots (sorry, Mum). That bird had tactics. It knew the soil patterns. It anticipated my turns. I was in its territory now, and somehow, I felt like the intruder. Well, darn.

I always saw birds as snacks with wings. That day, I met the one who disagreed.

Snout bruised, ego dented, lesson learned

Eventually, I flopped under the shady awning next to the water bowl, panting like a lawn mower after a steep hill. The galah fluttered back to the tree, puffed up like it had just won a featherweight title.

My hooman came out just in time to catch the last swoop. “Oh wow, Thor! Did the bird get you?” she asked, trying to muffle a laugh. I barked. Once. Firmly. For dignity.

Here’s what really changed:

• Before: Confident guard dog with an unbeatable zoomie record.
• After: Slightly more cautious mammal who now double-checks branches before charging.

“You can’t out-fly shame. Or a galah hell-bent on revenge.”

So what’s the takeaway?

Some adversaries don’t come with teeth. Some fly sideways, laugh like a pirate, and make you question every past decision involving feathers. But here’s the beauty of it—learning doesn’t always come with a treat. Sometimes, it comes with a swooping bird and a bruised ego.

For dogs like me—and the legendary Rottie devotess reading this—it’s a reminder that strength doesn’t always look how we expect. Durability isn’t just gear. It’s spirit. And occasionally, it’s knowing when to bow your head to a pink puffball with wings.

Because bravery isn’t always about chasing—it’s knowing when to let the bird win. Just once. Maybe.

Until the next (less feathery) adventure,
Thor 🐾

Follow my adventures on Facebook: Thor's Pawesome Reviews

And follow check me out on Instagram : Live Thor's World