So. Let me explain.
With a reasonable amount of unemployed time on my hands lately I've been wandering a nearby forest to clear the head and come up with new ways to make a buck. The other day while walking the forestry roads, completely lost in thought, I made it to the top of a previously unconquered (by me) steep hill.
That evening I mentioned to Mrs P the breathtaking views and sense of achievement. Long story short, she fancied a bit of the same so on Saturday morning we set off with George.
Going up was strenuous but the payoff at the top was well worth it. We sat on a log and looked out over the landscape. Or rather she sat and looked at the landscape and I wandered around apologising about the bottle of much-needed water I'd meant to bring but which was warming up nicely in our locked wagon far below.
Anyway.
After enough grovelling on my part she decided it was time to head down. And here's where the fun started.
Partway down the gravel road, with George some five metres ahead of us, a giant bird swooped on him.
Now, to be honest, I'm not good on bird varieties so I couldn't tell you exactly what it was but if I say it was a giant eagle I'm sure you will get the picture.
George wasn't too worried about the exact ancestry of the behemoth either. He was too busy trying to work out what had just happened.
Mrs P on the other hand knew exactly what was going on. She yelled at the creature, which by this stage was circling close by, and began waving her arms at it to scare it off.
Unfortunately it had the opposite effect and, presumably wondering what all the fuss was, the monster came back in again for another go.
Luckily I had my wits about me by then and showing all the speed and agility that made me a West Coast under-13 rugby league rep in 1976 I thrust myself between the creature and the woman I love. And the dog I'm quite fond of too. Obviously.
My selflessly brave actions had the desired outcome and the bird wheeled away and parked in an overhanging branch close by, awaiting its next opportunity to strike.
Back on the ground, George had decided he was going to be a bird too – a chicken in fact.
He literally jumped into my arms as I bent down to offer a reassuring pat. That's where the lick on the face came in. Poor little bugger must have been frightened because he weed on my arm shortly after.
Mrs P was also a little shaken and concerned we were in for another bombardment so she grabbed me and George in an embrace and held on tight.
So, picture if you will, the three of us. Me, carrying the medium-sized dog, and my wife stuck to me like a limpet shuffling down the gravel hill.
We were shuffling because I was the "driver" and I couldn't see where I was going.
The reason? Mrs P had taken off her jacket and put it over our heads – presumably in case the eagle saw my bald head and came in again thinking it was an egg which had rolled out of its nest and it wanted back.
Anyway. After what seemed an age of shuffling along in the dark our little caravan came to a stop.
Mrs P gingerly peeled back our bird-repelling canopy and peered outside just as a bloke on a mountain bike cycled past.
I've no idea what he thought was going on but I reckon it'll be a long, long time before I see such a bemused look on someone's face again.
• Kevin Page is a teller of tall tales with a firm belief too much serious news gives you frown lines. Feel free to share stories via editor@whanganuichronicle.co.nz
