Recently, I was sitting at my desk in a bit of a funk. I was having problems with a story.

Big problems.

I couldn’t seem to get it to work no matter what I tried. I hated everything I was writing.  Maybe I don’t have any more stories, I worried. Fear curled up in the pit of my stomach like a sleeping snake.  So I just kept on writing  – anything! – trying not to disturb it.

Then one morning, early, while I was writing, writing, there was a scratchy kind of tapping noise at my office door.

I got up and opened it. And watched in disbelief  as a strange bird walked in, climbed up onto my desk and plonked itself next to my keyboard.

I had never seen a bird like it.

It was as big as a duck with owlish eyes and mossy green feathers.  And I don’t mean to be rude, but it was quite fat.

‘Well, since you seem to be all out of stories,’ said the strange bird, ‘how about you write one of mine?’

It can talk?

‘You better believe it,’ replied the bird. ‘And have I got a story for you.’

‘You do?’

‘I do.’

Well, I had to admit, I was intrigued. For a writer, that’s a good sign. So I inched towards my chair, trying not to go too close to the fat feathered creature, and sat down.

‘Ahem,’ I sorted of coughed, my hands hovering over the keyboard. ‘So..um.. what’s your name?’

‘Hector,’ said the bird, ‘And I am a kakapo. That’s K – A  – K – A – P – O.’

Glorious photo of a Kakapo by Mike Bodie