Ned, as his name suggests, had manners like a bushranger and yes he was a wallaroo. His attitude was stand and deliver!
With wallaroos, the general rule is, even though they’re small, get them living outside as soon as possible, if you want your house left in one piece! And he was typical of all wallaroos, he wanted life on his terms.
He had been brought to me as a little fellow, wrapped up in a jumper belonging to the poor unfortunate member of the public that hit and killed his mother. He was unharmed, but as soon as I unwrapped the jumper to check him out and transfer him to a pouch, he hissed at me, warning me off! I ignored him of course, and reassured the person I would do all I could, but that he seemed pretty good. And good he was, for a wallaroo. He settled in quickly, and soon worked out about bottles. He grew without too many disasters, and before long he was moved outside. He had by this time been introduced to his two “growing mates”, two eastern greys who were of a similar age to him, but much different in temperaments to him. He was soon the leader of the pack, being more outgoing than the others. However, there was one thing he and I definitely disagreed on. He always wanted me to feed him up on top of the wood pile. That was his domain, and when he wasn’t actually eating, he loved to stand up there. It was the closest thing to rocky terrain that he would come across in the yard. I was not impressed with this idea, and steadfastly refused to feed him there. I would take their bottles outside, and he would call me from the wood heap. Some times he would give up and come, his tummy got the better of him. Other times I would feed the others, and then have to go and physically lift him down, and carry him to where I wanted to feed him….
They were fast approaching the stage where I would have to move them onto prerelease. One day I took their bottles outside, expecting to be knocked down by three bouncing boys. Only two were there, and Ned wasn’t on the wood heap….strange. I fed the others, and then started looking. I eventually found him. He was lying on the ground next to a fence post, and when he heard me calling him, he answered me, but he made no attempt to get up. He made it quite obvious he really would like that bottle, but when I attempted to get him up, he just flopped down again. He was able to prop himself up on his “arms”, so I checked him out for paralysis, in his hind quarters, and there were plenty of reflexes there, so he hadn’t broken his spine. I investigated further, and noticed a rather large bump on his nose. Ah….he’d run into the fence. So I thought the best thing I could do was give him his bottle, then ring the vet. Which is exactly what I did. He drank every drop of his bottle…..I explained to the vet what had happened, and he said, he’s actually concussed himself, and it’s like a stroke, or nerve damage. He should be okay in time; it will take around 6 weeks before he’s completely recovered. So. What to do? The nights were really cold, we were in the depths of winter. We were having heavy frosts of around -10C, even -12C. If I leave him unprotected, when he can’t move around, he’ll get pneumonia, and I knew he would freak out if I brought him inside at nights. So I found some rather large and warm pouches, and some old rugs, and made him a bed in their shed. I also knew he wouldn’t stay in it, so I had to actually tie the pouch shut, to keep him in it. So every night for about the first week, I would put him “to bed” just before I’d go to bed, and then take him out as soon as I woke up. He hated it, but it kept him alive. I also had to pick grass for him. I would move him round during the day, but of course he soon ate the surrounding grass down, so I would have to pick grass for him as well. And of course the other two would get all excited at the sight of all this grass and they would come and help him eat it. After about a week, when I took him out of his pouch, he struggled to stand up. This was the first time he had attempted to do this, and after a few attempts, he managed it. Mind you if the wind had been blowing, it would have blown him over, but it was a start, and I knew then he was on the road to recovery. Sure enough he started to move around during the day. He fell over a lot, but he just picked himself up and got on with it. Then over time, he got stronger and stronger, and eventually he was able to hop again, without falling over, and he was as good as new. Just as the vet had said, six weeks had passed, and we were now back to square one, and looking for a release site for these three.
However, we had a problem. They had decided to become unco-operative, and they weren’t so keen to have bottles. This was rather awkward of them, because how was I now going to give them a valium milkshake? On any given day, only one or two of them would want to have their daily bottles. I decided I would try depriving them for a meal, hoping they would be overjoyed the next day. No such luck. So whenever I tried to give them valium, I would have two dopey roos, and one very alert one. I tried crushing the tablets up and putting them in their dried food. No go there either. After many trips to the vet for more valium, I was just about ready to ask for some for myself, and suddenly, they all co-operated. I had three dopey roos! I leapt into action….well as much as I “leap”….I rushed and grabbed their pouches, and got them all into them with no struggles at all…..this was just too good to be true, I was wondering what on earth was going to go wrong! I got the three heavy bundles into the car, and then took off as fast as I could legally drive, because I had a fair way to go, down some side roads, but right out in the bush, away from roads and shooters, and near a national park. The people who owned the place were very happy to have them, but they didn’t want to have to give them bottles. This would suit ideally.
So we arrived at their property, and I started down their road, which was rather bumpy, and after I got a fair way in, having passed a couple of mobs of roos, I started looking for an appropriate place to release them. I pulled over at a likely looking spot, and lugged the bundled roos out. As soon as I untied them, three slightly sleepy heads popped out, sniffing the scents of the bush, then they struggled out of their bags, and exploded into action….but in three different directions! Oh goodness I thought, now what do I do? But I needn’t have worried, they were just exploring, and they all came back, touched noses in the middle and away they went again. This dance continued till they were satisfied they knew what was going on, and they all settled down for a little graze. I settled down too, to watch what happened. As they grazed they moved away from me, and headed towards the line of trees, up the hill a bit. Then one of them got separated a little. He called the others, they replied, and they got back together. Still more grazing, then they seemed to realise they were free, and off they hopped up the hill, Ned leading the charge. That was it, they were gone, but they had food, and they would find water, and they had each other, and they were safe…..and they were free to be wild.
I walked back to the car which was quite a distance away, breathing easier now they were gone, picked up the bags, and went home for a rest….
Mamaroo's Diary 