I love animals. I really, really do. From the age of eight to twelve, I wanted to be a vet when I grew up. Then someone told me it involved giving needles, and I decided that maybe a new career path was in order. However, it seems that animals, or, I suppose, wild animals, don't like me very much. For those of you who have been reading for a while you will remember the incident of the Killer Wasp, something that I do not wish to recount *deep breath*. Well, I now have Proof 2 that they are ganging up on me: let me introduce you to THE KILLER MAGPIE.

Let me set the scene for you: beautiful day, riding my bike, sun is shining, wind in my hair, smile on my face. See some birds flying around me, just cruising. Smile with joy at Mother Nature. Yes, people smile at Mother Nature. Birds seem to be flying lower. Just cruising. Now there are two. Flying in kind of circles. Remember that it is mating season. Remember my fear of magpies.

I feel a slight tap on my helmet. "Oh my gosh," I think to myself. "That bird just shat on my head." Slightly disgusted and a little peeved, I start feeling for the poo on my head. Another tap. Those stupid birds keep shitting on me and flying off! That's it, enough is enough, it's time to face these arrogant birds.

Have you ever had a moment where you are so gripped with sheer terror that you kind of freeze? You know something is happening, but it is too thoroughly terryifying to comprehend? It's happened to Harry Potter, it's happened to all of us. Well, as I turned around to face those magpies, I was faced with the most evil looking bird swooping straight for me. I saw, he flew, I freezed, he squaked. We had a bit of a moment, me looking into his black, pitless eyes, him looking at, well, me. Then I broke out of my reverie and realised, Holy Crap, there is a giant bird attacking me and I am sitting here having a moment with it. I put my head down and pedalled. And pedalled. And pedalled. I think I got about 15 kilometres away before I thought it was safe to stop. Did a thorough check for any birds in the area. Hand the brow, wipe, sigh, look cool, and stare at the camera thoughtfully.

For this little number, I can tell you the root of my problems. It would be my brother. Ah, and isn't that the root of them all. When I was 6 years old, I walked to school everyday with my brother, and we had to walk through a wooded type area with massive trees that housed magpies. One day, we saw some magpies flying around and my brother decided to tell me the story of little Bobby. "A couple of years ago," he told me, "there was a little boy called Bobby in the newspaper. He was walking to school one day, just like this one, when this giant killer magpie swooped down and pecked Bobby's eyes out. There was blue goo coming out every where!" I know. What a manipulative little bastard. I'm getting this in writing here so that in twenty years time I can show this to my psychiatrist and she can nod thoughtfully and say, "So this is why you're so freaking messed up!"

xx Miss Moi