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                I

believe I failed to ever introduce myself before. My name's John, though

everyone calls me Jack. Working at this private zoo was an eye opener. I was

now looking at the various animals with a newly receptive eye. Suddenly,

everything with a hole had possibilities.

                The

usual suspects didn't even get any attention right off the bat. Dairy goats and

donkeys we had a number of, since they were a part of the petting zoo. I did have

my gaze on them eventually, but something more exotic than Olive caught my eye.

It was originally more of an "I wonder if", but it ended up being a, "wow, who

knew?"

                The zoo

had a hodge-podge of animals, some of which were specifically purchased, and

others that had been obtained as surplus from other zoos or animals that had

been confiscated from private owners. Despite the fact that laws regarding

exotics were pretty loose back then, people occasionally had lapses in judgment

that, though legal, were misguided and stupid.

                One was

apparently a chicken farmer who thought that raising ostriches might be

profitable. His problem was twofold. One, it was way too early in the game, and

no one except the very trendy were interested. Secondly, he found that he had

no facility to handle a bird that when grown, weighed in at around two hundred

pounds.

                She

came to the zoo when she was still very small. Raised by her caretakers, she

had attached her to people, lacking any of her own kind to be impressed upon.

They had  named her Goosey on account of

her long neck. I found it to be a lame name, but I doubted the bird cared one

bit about what she was called. Therefore, why should I?

                Goosey

was a popular attraction, for she was often fed by the visitors, including non-sanctioned

food items. I put a stop to that, allowing the zoo to provide appropriate food

that the visitors could buy. It worked fairly well, despite some complaints,

and in the end, she was healthier and everyone else was fairly pleased. Remember,

this was back when zoos were geared more towards people than preservation. If

you're not old enough to remember those days, then maybe you shouldn't be

reading the accounts of my unnatural exploits.

                The

ostrich was on friendly terms with the staff, and seemed to recognize anyone in

uniform. She soon attached herself to me when I made my rounds, running along

her enclosure as I would walk past. She would even, on occasion, snake her neck

over the wall and grab my hat. It got so bad I would walk a few feet farther from

her fence to avoid having to go after it.

                It wasn't

like she did anything with it. Once she stole it, it would be left on the

ground. I'd unlock the gate and walk over to get it with incident. All she

would do is run around me with her wings outstretched. I put it down to some

sort of dominance issue and shook my head. I'd scratch her neck and she would let

out a goofy sort of grunt and follow me to the gate.

                This went

on for some time, time being relative. It was a few weeks after I had

discovered the joys of Olive. The day came when I needed to do a check on her.

I had already told the zoo that she would be better off with other birds of her

kind. They weren't interested in getting rid of her, and didn't want the

expense of buying a friend or mate for her. It looked like she was going to be

alone forever. She had already spent her first four years alone. I felt bad

that she would have to spend her entire life as a spinster.

                She tolerated

her checkup pretty well. I thought she might get a little iffy when I had to

take her temperature, but the little thermometer made little impression on her.

In fact, she seemed to get a little stiff in the limbs when I was working back

there.

                Ask any

vet from this time period and they'll tell you that avian medicine and anatomy were

rarely focused-on studies. Those who did specialize were likely going to be

working for large chicken or turkey farms, or maybe going on to study tropical

species. Overall there wasn't a lot you could do for a sick canary except

replace it. The same went for a budgie or a love bird. The cost in treating one

didn't compare to the cost of buying a new one.

                So

dealing with the largest land bird was a bit of a novelty for me. I was

thankful she was friendly. That beak could deliver a painful bite, and those

feet were attached to some particularly strong legs. A kick was something to

beware of. But like I said, she was fairly docile.

                But

now, back to when I was taking her temperature. I had never had much experience

with birds, except for dead ones on the dissecting table. I was curious what a

cloaca/vagina on an ostrich was really like. After getting her temp, which was initially

worrying to me (being 103.4), I remembered that birds maintained a higher body

temp than humans. I took my middle finger and worked it in. Now that she noticed. She didn't move away,

so I pushed it in until I was up to my knuckle.

                She was

pretty roomy, and yet at the same time, tight. I figured a bird that laid eggs

that weighed upwards to five pounds had to be able to deal with a good size

object passing through her vagina. For some reason I felt a rise in my shorts.

I bet she could handle me with no problem.

                I read

up a little on the species, but in the end, found that most of the information

was on observations in the wild. They had a specific mating ritual that I was in

no way feeling I could reproduce. I figured either she would tolerate my attempts

or she would rebuff them. I wasn't going to force it, but I was at least going

to give it a try.

                Her

regular caretakers kept her clean and free from dirt and debris. Birds can

occasionally be a messy sort, but if you've ever had the opportunity to observe

an ostrich, you'll see that being behind them when they go is a bad place to

be. Goosey could shoot a few feet behind her. With her ability to propel her

waste so far, she was rarely a mess.

                So I

decided to pick a day and try. Sundays the park closed early, so by seven in

the evening everyone was normally gone. Olive was more apt to be awake at

night, but ostriches settled down at dusk and didn't like to be disturbed. I

had to pick the daylight hours.

                Ostrich

mating could occur standing up, but mostly on the ground, a bit like alpacas

and llamas. I was hoping she didn't know any better and would remain standing.

She was a little high for me, so I brought an old wooden crate to stand on.  I felt like some farm kid trying to molest a

cow (Not that I had ever heard such stories...).

                Her

favorite food was ground pork, so I brought her some from the refrigerator. She

ate it out of my hand faster than a vacuum sweeper could suck up dust. I had

little else with me; except for the crate, which held of course some lube; as

well, a small dog collar and two leashes. I wasn't going to do this if she

balked, but I was going to have a way of controlling her if she didn't put up a

fuss. Two hundred pounds of bird is a lot to handle.

                I did,

sort of as a joke, bob my head and weave my body. She looked at me and spread

her wings, bobbing her head as well. I spread my arms, trying to imitate the

male's moves. I doubt I came close, and I most likely looked like a total fool.

But she seemed to sense something in my movements and danced around a little. I

came forward, scratching her neck as I applied the dog collar. I hooked both

leashes into it and draped them over her back.

                I

walked with my box to a corner of her pen, hoping to keep her contained in a

smaller area. I was still not sure how she would react. I guided her to the

corner, dropped my crate behind her and dropped my pants to the ground, stepping

completely out of them. There seemed to be no point in bothering with them. If

someone was in the park, I would be seen regardless of where they were,].

                I was

pretty excited by this prospect. Since she was holding still, I figured I'd

give it a try. I lubed up, squeezed some in her hole and but the head of my

cock against it. It slipped in with incredible ease. And better yet, she didn't

move a muscle. I finished pushing in, wondering at the warmth inside. Olive was

warm, since feline have a higher body temperature than humans, but Goosey was a

couple degrees hotter than that.

                The ostrich

was looser than Olive, and her vagina was of a totally different construction.

The walls were smooth and slick and I could sense that it was thinner walled

than a mammal's such as the puma. But then Olive didn't have to pass a baby the

size of a boulder through her's either.

                Goosey

was reacting to my intrusion by holding her wings out to her sides. She was

essentially still otherwise, except for the occasions bob of the head. I only

hoped she had the patience to put up with me for as long as it took me to blow.

I grabbed the leashes, careful not to put too much pressure on her neck, and

used them for balance and a slight bit of leverage.

                I was

glad I had brought the crate, because otherwise this would have been very

difficult. As it was, it happened to be the perfect height. The area surrounding

her cloaca was bare, but the region outside of that was well plumed.  It was weird getting used to feathers tickling

my belly, but after a while, I found it kind of erotic. And kinky. But then,

what else would one call screwing the largest bird on the planet?

                After

ten minutes, she continued to patiently hold still, so I kept going. It was a

real trip, sinking my cock into this animal. At the time, there wasn't any good

literature on the bird's anatomy and physiology, but the fact was, I was

thinking that if my cock was twice as long and twice as thick, she would still

have been able to take it.

                I carried

on for about another ten minutes before I felt the need to release. I pumped

carefully, but with energy and passion, until I came bursting forth inside her.

There really wasn't a reaction from her, so I guess female birds weren't

biologically equipped to have orgasms. I more than made up for her lack of sensuality.

Gripping the leashes, I slammed away on her rear until I my cock stopped

erupting.

                I held

myself pressed against her backside for a while, enjoying the feel. I doubted very

much that I would ever do this again. After all, she wasn't even a mammal, but

an avian. But as I stood there, an irreverent thought came over me that haunts

me to this day. From that day on, whenever holidays came around and people

talked about "stuffing the bird", I had to stifle a laugh. There was no way I

could ever explain why I found humor in that group of words. No one, and I mean

no one had ever stuffed a bird as big as I had.