Son of Elvis

I know it's not Elvis because he and Priscilla only come into the front garden.  I'm reasonably sure this is son of Elvis from last year's offspring.  You should hear the warring factions just before dawn. 

Elvis and Priscilla nest very near by, and they sit in the top of next door's gum tree, shrieking their heads off.  Son of Elvis and his wife (as yet unnamed) sit in the gum trees down at the other end of the Court and shriek back in defiance.  It's very much a territorial thing.

We don't need an alarm clock.  Between George and the kookaburras we never get the opportunity to have a sleep in.

Son of Elvis wouldn't normally come onto the back deck - he prefers to eat off the lawn, but the weather is so miserable he's driven closer to the house out of hunger.  All I can say is that we are dishing out shed loads of mince every day - kookaburras, ravens, magpies, red wattlebirds, galahs - we've got them all.