my great uncle Bob is exactly what you’d expect from an australian farmer. he’s approximately 65 years old and he’s a cattle farmer on a station (a station is a fuck off huge ranch, basically, it’s a couple thousand acres) and he’s this beanpole of a man who looks like he’s spent his entire life outside because, well, he has. he also drives this ancient beat-up yellow ute which is more rust than car at this point and was made in approximately 1980. it’s old.
anyway he was driving to the far end of the station the other day and an emu ran out in front of his car and he hit it, only it didn’t die, it came flying through the windshield, still alive and mostly unharmed. so there’s my uncle and this emu which is now sitting in the front seat of his car and understandably the emu is pretty pissed off and the first thought that goes through Bob’s head is “oh shit it’s going to start kicking me” so he figures the best way to stop it doing that is to punch it in the face and that is the story of how my uncle got in a fistfight with an emu.