HLM – Chapter 990 Little Possum-Hunting Experts

Some decorations were hung on the trees to make the forest more noticeable and attract the birds’ attention. Among them were Easter-themed gift boxes wrapped in colorful paper. A few KEA parrots pounced on the boxes, tearing and ripping them apart in no time.

“Whoa, that’s fierce,” Wang Bo exclaimed.

“Of course,” Koci said. “They can shred tourists’ sleeping bags, open the doors and windows of local residents, and even bite through the metal security screens on windows.”

Peterson added, “A couple of years ago, when I was at the Cromwell city park, two KEAs chewed my car’s windshield wipers to pieces. When I got out to shoo them away, guess what happened? One of them actually pecked off a chunk of rubber from my car door!”

Wang Bo grinned excitedly: “I love their combativeness—it’s perfect for dealing with possums.”

As they entered the forest, the KEAs squawked excitedly: “KE-er…”

Up close, Wang Bo noticed the birds’ calls had a bit of a tonal variation at the end. If he had to describe it, “KEA” was quite fitting.

It was now the turn for the Commander and Political Commissar to make an appearance. Perched on a treetop, they began shouting down:

“Ah, you fools! Look at me!”

“I’m the big brother, and the Commissar is the big brother too!”

Hearing human voices, the KEAs weren’t afraid. Instead, they turned their heads, looking around, and curiously flew toward the treetop duo:

“What’s this thing? Its beak is so tiny and cute.”

“Ugly-looking, but its voice is nice. Can it be eaten?”

“This isn’t our territory! It talks like a biped just like us birds. Definitely a traitor—let’s attack it!”

After a cacophony of calls, dozens of KEAs descended to the forest floor.

The Commander sensed the intruders’ hostility but remained unafraid. He sneered: “Ah, fly up! Ah, you fools, fly!”

He assumed the KEAs would run like chickens or ducks, unable to fly. But the KEAs surprised him—several large birds flapped their wings and, though slowly, flew up into the trees.

The Commander was startled. The Commissar immediately flew away. Seeing Wang Bo outside the forest, the Commander felt reassured and began taunting the KEAs:

“Ah, you fools, scram! Ah, the Commander is angry! Ah, I’ll bite you! Ah, the Commander is mighty! Ah, ouch…”

One KEA sneaked up from behind and pecked the Commander’s back with its large beak, pulling out several feathers. In pain, the Commander flapped and flew, chased by other birds.

Luckily, as an African Grey, the Commander was an expert flier. Though the KEAs were numerous, his aerial maneuvers—up, down, and dodging—allowed him to break free from their encirclement.

Flying out of the thicket, the Commander found Wang Bo and complained: “Ah, they’re so mean! Ah, they bit me!”

The Commissar flapped happily beside him, teasing: “Commander’s so great—got bitten so badly.”

Once the KEAs had driven the Commander away, they paused at the forest edge, keeping a vigilant eye on the Commander and Commissar.

Wang Bo realized that the birds’ earlier squawking wasn’t what he had assumed—it was a warning for the Commander and Commissar to leave. The KEAs treated the “Bird Nest Heart” as their territory.

Clearly, the Commander and Commissar couldn’t handle this flock. The birds didn’t consider them peers. Without force, there was no way to assert control. To the KEAs, the Commander and Commissar’s strength was negligible.

“Just a bunch of barbarian birds,” Wang Bo muttered helplessly, realizing he needed a new strategy.

Peterson arrived carrying a box. He opened it to reveal several bloody and battered possums.

“What’s this for?” Wang Bo asked.

“Food bait,” Peterson replied. “You said you wanted to train the KEAs to catch possums, right? You need to let them know this stuff is edible and tasty; only then will they go for it. Otherwise, what were you planning to do?”

Wang Bo honestly said, “I planned for the Commander and Commissar to tame them and command them to do it.”

Peterson was dumbfounded: “Boss, you’re a mad scientist—thinking of this plan is crazy and overly idealistic!”

This time, Peterson was right. The idea was unrealistic.

The possums in the box had been captured by the local “Princes”; some were dead, others injured but still alive. Peterson tossed them into the forest. The KEAs, far from fearing him, were curious and gathered around him.

“You’re the Bird King now,” Wang Bo joked.

Peterson shook his head: “Forget it, Boss. These idiots are just curious if I’m edible.”

The KEAs didn’t attack but were interested in the bloody possums. In winter, young and dead possums were valid food sources. One bird quickly pecked at a dead possum.

Possums were considered food by the Māori, who found the meat tender—better than wild boar. Mainstream New Zealand cuisine didn’t include possums, mostly due to the diseases and parasites they carried. The KEAs didn’t care. After a few bites, they seemed to enjoy it.

Wang Bo worried that no matter how tasty possum meat was, it couldn’t compete with sheep. Using food bait alone might not stop them from going after the sheep. His concern wasn’t unfounded. Soon, some KEAs stopped eating the possums and flew off in search of sheep.

Peterson and the cowboys gathered the sheep at the northwest corner of the pasture, diagonally opposite the KEAs’ position. The distance discouraged the KEAs from flying after them—they preferred hopping and walking when foraging. Besides, the possums were still available as food.

Over the following days, Peterson and the cowboys continued placing half-dead possums around the forest edge. Gradually, the number of tossed possums decreased. By mid-April, the KEAs had lost interest in the sheep and focused on the possums.

A new spectacle emerged: the KEAs bounced or flew across the pasture, relentlessly attacking possum juveniles whenever they spotted them.

Yes, they targeted the young possums, not adults, but the effect on the pasture was just as significant.