Meet Bounty who stormed into my life at a time when I was struggling with multiple sclerosis. This stocky agent of change is the unlikely star of my forthcoming memoir. But what I really want to talk about is the thorny issue of writing about real people. After all, who owns a story?

Dear readers, a ditty is all I have time for right now as I complete the final editing phase of my next memoir on multiple sclerosis, friendship and an unruly rescue dog. But feeling the creative juices flowing in this stunning crisp spring air prompted me to pen a note of encouragement to my future self…

This morning, I walk into the family room and stop dead. There’s a kookaburra perched on the wingback armchair. I’ve had birds inside before – a king parrot sometimes goes for my muesli if I leave the table, or a confused noisy miner might wander in. But never a kookaburra. Instead of flying out when it sees me, it fluffs its multi-tone taupe feathers and fixes me with a stare.