Woody the cockatiel had escaped out of the back door. I ran out after him to find my back garden was no more. In its place was a narrow peninsula leading out into a swamp. I saw Woody flying out over a stretch of steaming water. He was being pursued by wooden birds of terrifying, but colourful, appearance.
I called for Woody. He was having second thoughts about his new freedom. He swung round and headed towards me. He landed on my arm. The wooden birds screeched angrily around my head.
I ran towards my back door. It was gone. In its place was a round hole in some weird vegetation.
I turned towards the new developments all around me.
Obviously they had to be faced.
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