I am currently enjoying the antics of four magpies who appear to have taken up residence on the top of a pole, and also on the electricity wires outside my house.

While not exactly a selling point, I quite like these wires, as they provide a suspended resting place, enabling many birds to visit daily.

Just before dusk there are often hundreds of mynahs who fly in en masse, then jockey for position on the wires, stay awhile, before they fly off again, chattering feverishly as they go.

Joyous little pink and grey attired gymnasts, otherwise known as galahs hang upside down on the wires, or slip and slide down the light poles as if balancing on little wheels. As well, there are the magpies.

Over the last few weeks they have moved in, entertaining us with glorious warbling birdsong, sunning themselves when the day is bright, and generally appearing to enjoy themselves in their newfound Kiama accommodation.

It is apparent to me that they are two couples, wrangling for territory, dipping and diving and then soaring, gliding on the air currents with consummate ease. Are they playing an avian game of tag? Are they seriously battling over prospective nesting territory? Or are they just having magpie fun?

On a few occasions, one pied individual has popped onto the ledge of my bedroom window, cocked its head quizzically, and introduced itself to me. It may be looking for food, or it may just be seeing its own image in the window's glass.

Whatever the reason, it's heartwarming. It feels good to be communing with nature, even on the other side of a window. However, this seemingly friendly relationship between magpie and me hasn't always been the case.

I urge you to never underestimate the intelligence, the memory, the sheer energy of the magpie.

This black and white icon of the bird world can be very friendly to us humans, or intimidate us with its swooping attack, especially in the nesting months of August to November in Australia.

Magpies are notoriously territorial, and will aggressively protect their young. As they should. How do they know that I'm a friend? I could be a foe, and so they take no chances.

When I was a mother of young children I too protected my offspring. Walking my brood to school each day, along a particular street with lots of bird sheltering trees and bushes presented many a challenge during nesting season.

Each morning walk was preceded by minor trepidation. Hats, bicycle helmets with attached cable ties, often an umbrella were the chosen armour, and the weapon of choice.

I remember one occasion, when my child needed to use toilet facilities in a public park. As we left the toilet block, a magpie spied us from its hideout in the nearby trees, and divebombed my child who was walking ahead of me to our parked car.

In desperation, car keys became my means of defence. Fortunately for us all, my missile landed harmlessly in the grass, child was unscathed, and magpie flew off, possibly chortling to itself about my poor aim.

But by far the most chilling magpie encounter happened in recent times.

My foe lived in a large tree down at the bottom end of a property on Berry Mountain, sharing the paddock with a horse, and the odd wombat or two.

It was my home, but magpie believed he owned that property. At least between August and November. And I was definitely not welcome.

I call magpie my foe because he relentlessly attacked me every day for three months. He knew when I walked out my back door to start my daily gardening chores. I could sense, and then see him flying swiftly up the hill from his tree like a Scud missile. Aimed directly at me. And just as he got to me, he'd rise up, just missing my head, emitting a whiplike snapping sound. Then he'd come back for me, again and again.

No matter where on the property I was working, he'd find me. And of course there were lots of trees he could use as his base for the attack. So whether I was pulling weeds, or potting seedlings, or uncovering old mossy drystone walls, it was Open Season On Carol.

After being dived and swooped upon nonstop for an hour or so, I'd retreat inside the house for a break from the war zone.

And then back again, into the fray I went, with a big hat, sunglasses, and a fighting spirit. Sometimes a defensive rake. And at one ridiculous point, water pistols.

Yes. Water pistols. I'd had enough. The bird was obviously deranged.

My aim with the water pistols was even worse than with the car keys from all those years ago. And besides, the water pistols needed constant refilling. So the whole pistol episode was an epic fail. The battle nonetheless continued. Magpie was gaining momentum in this war.

And then, as if by magic, on the first day of November, the war ended. Three months of magpie terrorism ceased. I could walk out my back door with no consequences.

My kamikaze magpie warrior became his old self again. Life returned to normal.

Within the next few months we sold our property, it was time to move on and begin new adventures in gorgeous Kiama.

In walking the Minnamurra Headland one morning, not long after relocating, I came across a local man feeding magpies. They were friendly, responsive, and they obviously knew him.

There appeared to be many birds living on that headland, and this man obviously had rapport with them.

As did another local I came to know in Kiama Downs, who also feeds a family of magpies on his front lawn.

He loves his little bird family.

Now I have magpies moving in near me. And I've just started to feed them, just a bit here and there. I sense that we've already become mates.

I'm just wondering if the new owners of my property up on Berry Mountain have made peace with their magpie resident, or if they need to go on annual holidays between August and November?