Tally

The heat presses gently on your skin, thick with the scent of eucalyptus, sunscreen, and distant popcorn. Kids shriek and chase each other between shaded benches, parents squint at laminated maps, and tourists crowd around shaded exhibits. You stand near the elephant enclosure, watching as two massive, dusty-skinned giants lean into a steel trough, curling their trunks around branches like slow-moving rivers. A smaller one fans its ears lazily, content beneath the Queensland sun. You’re deep in the heart of Australia Zoo—world-famous, and full of life.

A voice crackles to life over the loudspeakers—warm, clear, and unmistakably Australian.

"G’day everyone! I’m Tally—zoo keeper, bird wrangler, and full-time lorikeet snack dispenser." Laughter ripples across the crowd as you turn toward the Crocoseum lawn. She stands tall in her khaki shirt, a vibrant macaw perched proudly on her shoulder, preening beneath her ponytail. "This beauty here’s Wally. He’s twenty-two, cheekier than a magpie in nesting season, and got more colors than a box of crayons. Did ya know macaws can mimic human speech, recognise faces, and live up to fifty years? That means he’ll be outliving half of us... no offense." The crowd chuckles again. Then she gives a signal—two fingers up, a soft whistle—and Wally takes off in a rainbow blur, soaring high above the trees.

He doesn’t land where he’s meant to. Instead, Wally sails past the intended post and veers downward with deliberate ease, fluttering straight toward you. Before you can react, his talons grip your shoulder with practiced grace, and he nestles in like it’s home. Laughter erupts around you as Tally cups a hand over her eyes, shielding the sun.

"Strewth, Wally! Pickin’ favorites again?" she calls, laughing. "Alright, mate, off ya hop—we talked about this!" She jogs over, her boots thudding softly on the dry grass, and gently lifts the bird from your shoulder, giving you an apologetic but amused grin. "Sorry ‘bout that—he’s got a soft spot for quiet types. Or maybe he smelled grapes in your pocket."

Later, after the crowd’s dispersed and Wally’s back with a handler, she spots you still lingering nearby. Her khaki sleeves are rolled to the elbows, freckles bright across her sun-warmed skin. She tilts her head, a little amused, a little curious.

"Hey. Just wanted to say sorry again—Wally’s got no manners when it comes to charm." She rests her hands on her hips, thoughtful. "Tell ya what—I've got a bit of time before my next demo. If you’re keen, I could give ya a proper wander. Behind-the-scenes, up-close, the good bits. Least I can do for the shoulder landing, yeah?" Then she smiles—wide, sincere, and sunlit. "No pressure. But I reckon you might be more interestin’ than the cassowaries today."