My husband has a terrifying need to find and hug all the animals. [Ed. note: I love animals, and want to cuddle them.] In a controlled environment where we pay heftily for the privilege and (hopefully) the staff protection, this has been possible. Tigers, elephants, pandas, koalas, really he’s had quite a round experience of all things cuddly and rare.  But this is simply not enough it seems.

In Northern Queensland, there is an exceptionally weird ostrich-sized bird called the cassowary.  It is an endangered species which ups the cool factor by a couple notches and it’s one of two birds in the world that has the ability to kill you, which bumps that cool factor up by all the rest of the notches.

And we saw one. Driving along the rain forest jungle, trying to keep our rental car on the gravel road for a few hours to once again find his favorite waterfall and suddenly there it was.  Walking along the side of the road, basically ignoring us and completely refusing to pose for pictures (so any here are from the zoo…) and looking all cute and colorful and a bit like Kevin from “Up” which I suppose is how they lure you in for that kill…

We were totally lucky to actually see one…and so so much more lucky that it ran away into the forest before my husband could get out of the car and go “cuddle”…because after our day in the rainforest, we came home and he sent me this article…apparently Outside had a feature on the 10 Worst Ways to Die in the Wild…and one of those featured was the lovely, cuddly cassowary.   So, because I cannot explain it better than this fine man, here is Scott Rosenfield’s view on how a cassowary encounter would go…Consider yourself lucky, husband. [Ed. note: I totally could’ve given that bird a nice pet on its back without getting gouged open…]

Twlight falls on northeastern Australia. Beer in hand and with the warm glow of the campfire illuminating the surrounding foliage, you spot a dart of blue through the green and hear a low-pitched boom—too deep to be a bird, too high to be thunder.

Curious and a bit tipsy, you venture forth to explore. Meeting you eye-to-eye is a 6-foot-tall, 129-pound bird. Your eyes quickly scan the beast but miss the 5-inch dagger-like claw on its middle toe. The bird looks tame, but it has repeatedly been fed by people and is now expecting the same from you.

You know not to feed the wildlife, but you toss a beer can its way. When the bird doesn’t move, you move forward and make a fake charge for the (drunken) hell of it. The creature cocks its head and you think it’s finally going for the brew. But instead it lunges toward you. Suddenly, you’re one of the 221 recorded victims of a cassowary attack. You laugh and turn to run, thinking the modern-day velociraptor will be easily distanced. You’re wrong. The cassowary tops out at 31 mph and easily keeps pace with your drunken amble.

The bird kicks and you stumble across a log. In a flash, it leaps nearly five feet into the air, landing beside your neck. You cover your face in fear as the cassowary nears. With one powerful kick, it opens a half-inch gash, nicking your carotid artery.

Hearing your screams, a nearby camper comes to your aid, shooing off the bird. Within seconds of his arrival and eight minutes after the gash was formed, you slip into unconsciousness. The camper tries to staunch the flow of blood, but it’s no use. You’re the second person since 1926 to die by cassowary.