The curious tale of meeting a bush chook

Let me paint you a picture, hoomans. It was a bright, slightly warm day – the sort of day where a good tail wag feels just right. I was sniffing around in my backyard, minding my own business (and by “minding my own business,” I obviously mean keeping a vigilant nose on the smells of distant barbecues and the neighbour’s cat). Suddenly, out of the shrubbery, there it was – a bush chook! This wasn’t a regular chook, mind you. Oh no, this was the wild kind, the kind with just enough sass to rival a Rottweiler on full alert. A detestable but elusive foe: the scrub turkey.

An Unlikely Meeting

Now, I’ve seen birds before. Pigeons, magpies, seagulls—they all have their quirks, but let’s face it, none of them seem brave enough to wander into my territory. This bush chook though? It rolled up like it owned the place, pecking around the garden beds as if it had paid rent. Bold, isn’t it? My tail stiffened, ears perked—this was a blatant invite for battle. Naturally, a Rottweiler of my stature had to defend home turf. I mean, what would the neighbours think if I just let this feathery scoundrel waltz around unchallenged?

First Contact: The Standoff Begins

I crept closer. Every paw step was silent, every movement precise. The bush chook didn’t suspect a thing. Well… until it did. Let me tell you something about bush chooks: they stare at you as if you owe them money. No chirping, no flapping about—just a cold, calculating glare. The nerve! I froze mid-step, locking eyes with the feathery menace. It was like two cowboys in a Western, minus the tumbleweed. My tail twitched. Its beady eyes gleamed. The air was thick with tension.

The Chase of the Century

With one heroic bark, I launched myself into action. Zoomies engaged at max speed, paws kicking up grass like it was the Melbourne Cup. The bush chook darted left, zig-zagging like a feathered Formula One racer. I darted right, determined to outwit it. Around the garden we went, past Dad’s prized veggie patch (whoops), over the flowerbed (double whoops), and through Mum’s washing line (I still hear about that one). Somehow, the feathery fiend managed to keep just ahead of me, its tiny dinosaur legs working overtime.

At one point, it hopped up onto the fence and turned to look back at me as if it had the audacity to smirk. Oh, the injustice of it all! My paws were made for sturdy ground, not scaling fences. I stood there panting, my ego bruised but my spirit unbroken. “You’ve won this round, bush chook,” I barked, “but this isn’t over.” It let out a gobble of defiance before vanishing into the neighbour’s yard.

The Aftermath

Later that evening, as I collapsed in my favourite nap spot (an old blanket that smells distinctly of bacon crumbs), I reflected on the encounter. Sure, I may not have caught the bush chook, and the veggie patch may have taken some collateral damage, but wasn’t it all worth it? The thrill of the chase, the adrenaline coursing through my paws… It reminded me of something important: life's about the journey, not the destination—or in this case, the zoomies, not the catch.

And let’s be honest, hoomans, I gave that bush chook a story to tell its mates. That’s got to count for something, right?

The Lesson in the Chase

So what’s the moral of this tail (pun very much intended)? Well, sometimes life throws unexpected challenges (or bush chooks) your way. When that happens, don’t hesitate. Channel your inner zoomies, lean into the adventure, and see where it takes you. You might not catch every goal—or bird—but the fun is in trying. Plus, you’ll always gain a great story to share at dinner when your hoomans are looking for a laugh.

Oh, and for the record: bush chooks might run fast, but they’ll never outmatch the determination of this Rottweiler. Next time, I’ll be ready.

Until our next adventure, keep your tails wagging, hoomans!

Cheers,

Thor 🐾