Emu story: Scary
Alright here’s the story. It involves drunken shenanigans, bad decisions, trespassing, attempted theft…and I think that’s about it.
In my younger days I was a huge fan of Steve Irwin. So much that I ended up getting stung by a stingray because I’m an untrained moron that is living proof idiots somehow survive, anyways…
Me and a few friends were out on a rowdy night riding around some back roads. This farm we went by had an emu in a field that we’ll call “Steve”.
We’re several beers deep and on who knows what else we had been into that night and I had on my “Steve Irwin” shirt (khaki brown Columbia fishing shirt with roll up sleeves) and my Miller High Life straw cowboy hat so I’m feeling extra ballsy.
“Steve” is at the top of this hill in his field illuminated by a full moon and just looked majestic as fuck. So it was decided then and there, I should go get him, and bring him back down to the car (Acura RSX-S, 2 door, 4 seater, no we didn’t think this through other than he would be pumped to have his head out the sunroof).
I get out, hop the fence, and go walking up to this sleeping beast of a chicken, I took my shirt off in advance to throw over his head to keep him calm.
After a few interesting minutes, I have his head covered and we’re walking down the hill towards the car to everyone’s amusement. About halfway down the hill, I slipped. Nothing major, I had this massive chicken to hold on to. He stumbles, I stumble, we’re all good. For some reason I feel him moving his head/neck a little more than he was, I turn to look and I see eye to eye with “Steve”. In that split second of eye contact I see that “Steve” is now aware he’s being kidnapped (or whatever emus call it) and is very pissed at this new found stranger in front of him.
With a battle cry that puts Braveheart to shame, this mammoth of a bird flaps his wings and does this black belt judo jump that knocks me down. He then proceeds to stomp with the fury of a thousand pissed off chickens while screaming at me as I’m now rolling down the hill, crawling, trying to stand up to do whatever I could to get away from this thunder bird.
As I’m clambering down the hill at Olympic bobsled speed, I see my friends out of the car running to help me. Somewhere during this time I managed to get up on my feet and sprint a 40 yrd dash that would’ve probably made NFL scouts think about me all while screaming “Get back in the car, it’s already whooped my ass!”
I Forrest Gump jump the fence and bust my ass again in the gravel next to the road. Beat, bloodied, covered in mud emu shit, I see “Steve” prancing merrily through his field screaming with his head sticking out of the arm hole of my Steve Irwin shirt wearing it proudly like a belt, showing off the champ that he was.