Mending Fences

A low flying wombat whizzed past me just missing my head.  I ducked just in time as a wallaby cartwheeled through the air and bounced off the wall behind me.  Being a wallaby it just kept on bouncing which made it luckier than the possum which ended both its journey and its life with a sad, wet splat.


"Is this what you like?" screamed my Tasmanian correspondent in a foam flecked fury.  "If you like animals, I've got plenty more." A squirming mass of what looked like deformed worms hurtled in my direction, fortunately I recognised them as baby tiger snakes at the last minute and dove for the panic room I had installed after my correspondent's last visit.  My tech support sent me a surreptitious text.


One of our dispute resolution consultants has a clear shot. 


It was tempting but I decided to try negotiation, after all this was partly my fault.  It is fair to say that my Tasmanian correspondent didn't take the news that I now had a New Zealand correspondent terribly well.  The comments about deer in the previous blog entry stoked her fury until something snapped.  She was now engaged in hurling pretty much the entire animal population of Tasmania at my head.  No concession was made for rare or endangered species (and its fair to say all of them were getting rarer and more endangered by the second) and I'm pretty sure that the last thing to bounce off what was left of my furniture was one of her dogs.  Suddenly I was grateful that Mr Moo had already shuffled off this mortal coil and that her children were at school.


I attempted a note of sweet reason.
"You seriously don't need another AVO so soon after the last incident," I suggested helpfully, "and Greenpeace is going to be seriously pissed if you don't calm down soon."
Something else slammed into the wall.  I got a glimpse of a scaly tail and far too many razor sharp teeth.
"Holy shit, was that a velociraptor?"
"It was," replied my correspondent.  "Apparently your tech support have some sort of bizarre wildlife park happening down near Middleton.  They've broken loose and are causing carnage among the local population."
I put in a priority call to my tech support.
"Guys, are you genetically engineering dinosaurs in Tasmania."
"We might be," they almost admitted.  "We have big plans for them."
"A dinosaur themed amusement park?" I suggested.
"No, we were planning on them breaking loose and causing carnage among the local population.  What idiot would think of a dinosaur themed amusement park?  It just happened a little earlier than we anticipated."


On the other screen my correspondent was beating a tyrannosaurus into submission with her bare hands.  I knew what the next animal hurtling my way would be.
"Are you guys seeing this?" I asked.
"We are," they replied.  "Can we make a suggestion?"
"What?"
"Try not to piss your correspondent off in future."


I made an immediate resolution to make amends with my correspondent whatever the cost.  The cost as it turns out is a trip to Tasmania next year to join her in the midnight depravity that is Dark Mofo.  I'm actually looking forward to it although the rather cruel smile on my correspondent's face when I agreed indicated I probably shouldn't be.