Originally from: PoppaC
                        
http://www.abc.net.au/rural/telegraph/viewpoint/stories/s1054653.htm

Rosemary Abbott, Callignee in Gippsland, Victoria
Mornings are my favourite time. Tap-tap-tap on the bedroom window followed by ‘cheep-cheep-cheep’ more suitable for a wren than an emu. Barefoot, I step outside. Ian Emu is so excited, his frenzied ‘Cheep-cheep-cheep, cheep-cheep-cheep,’drives us both to distraction.

Eyeball-to-eyeball his long neck presses against my chest. Relaxing, he rests his head on my shoulder. His rhythmic breathing is mesmerising. His neck flattens as he leans into me, his weight almost toppling me over. ‘Are you asleep Ian?’ I croon, scratching his scaly neck. One large eye opens and explores my ear. ‘Cheep-cheep-cheep,’ a barely audible whistling response accompanied by a wave of hot bird breath, brushes my cheek. We disentangle, morning greetings satisfied. We sit side-by-side, content, he with his birdseed and me with a cup-of-tea.

Ordinary domestic activities take on new meaning as Ian snatches small items from the clothesline. Neighbours wonder at the emu running beside the road with a bra or swinging from his beak.

Going shopping now involves an escape ritual—Ian and a bowl of seed at one end of house, while at the other end, I role-start the car down the steep drive out of emu-ear-shot, turning the engine on just in time for the power steering to kick in at a sharp bend. Nerve-racking!

When I’m arriving home, Ian recognises the car and runs at emu-speed down the drive. I slam my foot on the brake at the same sharp bend to avoid a head-on collision. Ian stands in the middle of the drive, his long neck stretched skyward in an attempt to dominate the car emu-style. Staring at me through the windscreen, his huge eyes ask ‘Where have you been all day?’ He strides around to the driver's window flapping tiny remnant wings—‘Cheep-cheep-cheep,’ he whispers.

Shared sunsets on the verandah finds Ian and I listening to music. He lies on his side stretching out his long grey legs. Vivaldi seems to be one of his favourites, but he likes most classical music. As twilight fades, Ian suddenly scrambles upright responding to some wild instinct signalling it is time to retire. He doesn't invite me to his secret sleeping place in the front paddock.

Emu business sometimes takes him away for days. How does he explain Vivaldi to his feathered friends? How do I explain when my friend says – 'I've been so worried, I thought you were having an extra-marital affair when it's only an emu'? Only-an-emu? Cheep-cheep-cheep! She has no idea—Ian has really stolen my heart.