Author: mamaroo43214595

The local agronomist called on me one day.  His wife was sitting in the car, and I could see she was nursing something on her lap. He asked me to come and look at it.  He said they found it in a paddock, and it couldn’t fly, but it seemed okay otherwise, and what should they do with it.  Well, I went out with him, and he opened the door, and there sitting on her lap like a very oversized chook, was a fully grown wedgetailed eagle.  Wedgetailed eagles are rather large birds.  Their bodies are over 3 feet long, and they have a wing span of up to 10 feet, so this was a VERY large chook sitting on her lap. This was also very unusual behaviour for an eagle.  While not aggressive to humans, they obviously will defend themselves if they consider themselves to be in danger, and they are superbly equipped for that role, being hunters, with curved beaks for ripping and huge talons for grasping and killing their prey.  So it was very unusual for an eagle to be sitting quietly in anyone’s lap, and I said this to the fellow.  He was amazed and thought the bird was quiet out of gratitude. I said no, this bird is very ill.  If he was feeling himself, he’d have ripped you to shreds.  You could still see the fire in his eyes, even though he was sitting sedately there, you could see he was thinking, I’ll have this pair, as soon as I feel better.   So I convinced the guy that this was a sick bird, and the best thing he could do was get it to the vet as quickly as possible.  So he left my place and drove to the vets, leaving the unusual patient with them.

 

The vets did their very best for him, and ran tests to see what the problem was.  Their  diagnosis was that he had been poisoned, and started the treatment accordingly.  However, as time went on, it became obvious he was deteriorating, despite their best efforts. They had to make the decision to put him to sleep, rather than have him suffer, when they got to the stage that there was no hope.

 

It was a sad outcome, but also a wonderful experience to be so close to such a beautiful wild bird.

 

 

Another phone call….a voice on the other end asking me please can I take this bird.  So of course I said yes, and the voice said, can I drop him off now?  I gave him my address, and a little while later, I had a magpie.  They are black and white birds like magpies from overseas, and they share certain habits like stealing things, but they’re not related to them at all.  And this one turned out to be even more different…..

 

Anyway, all this bloke could tell me for sure was that it couldn’t fly, and there are quite a few reasons for that ranging from head injuries to broken wings, and being night time, the magpie was interested in going to sleep.  A cursory glance was all it got, which told me all its limbs were attached at the right angles, so I settled it down for the night in a carry cage.  Next morning I uncovered it, and discovered three things.  One it was an adult (the beak is longer and a different colour in an adult, and the black colouring is more definite), two, it was a she (again, you can tell by the colouring, the females necks look dirty, the males brilliant white), and three her wing had been cut quite severely, so she couldn’t fly.  So someone had either raised her and decided she HAD to stay, or they had caught her with the same object, that she was staying whether she liked or not.  Well she had escaped somehow, and turned up at my place, so I had a long term resident who needed to be rehabilitated and allowed to be a wild bird again, and she had to grow some new feathers, and that would take a long time.  So I took her to the aviary, and took some food down, I knew she’d eat some mince or soaked dog biscuits till I could provide worms and grubs.  As I carried the cage down, she started making funny little “whoooooooah” noises, and I thought well what have we here?  Australian magpies warble, they have they most beautiful song, but I had heard wild birds mimic before, so I’m thinking what can she do?  I put her in the aviary, and she climbed to the top perch, still saying “whoooooooooooooah” occasionally.  Once I had her settled, and given her some food, which she took out of my hand, and I knew for certain then she had been hand reared, I said “whooooooooah” back to her.  Well, we then started a contest, saying it back and forth till she had had enough and said it 3 times in quick succession, then nothing more!  I thought to myself, this could be interesting….

 

She spent several days in the aviary till I felt she was acclimatised to my place, and then I started letting her out during the day, and back into the aviary at night time.  During this time I discovered she had more noises to her repertoire.  One time she whistled the first line of “How Much is that Doggie in the Window”, another time it was the first few bars of the “1812 Overture”, there were police sirens, dogs barking, chooks cackling.  She would go out each day and dig up her own grubs and worms, so I only had to do that for the first day or two, and she would sit on the sprinkler if I had it on, bathe in the dog’s water dish, and generally amuse herself.  She developed a great respect for the resident magpie group, they didn’t like her, because they saw her as an intruder.  Generally magpies are social birds, but also very territorial, and they don’t generally accept other birds into their groups, but I knew there was a group of juvenile and young adult magpies living nearby;  they moved around a fair bit to find food, but often called here for a free hand out.  Several baby magpies I had raised had joined them, waiting for a “vacancy” in one of the local groups when one of the older birds died.  So I was hoping she would go with them, when the time came.  But in the meantime, when one of the resident magpies came calling, she would run inside the house, or hide under the wheelbarrow, or even stand next to me, till they’d gone.  A couple of times previously she had been silly enough to try to defend herself, and had been pecked mercilessly for her trouble.  So she came to trust me, and even to like me.  If I came out of the house with food, she would revert to baby hood, and come running up the back yard with her wings fluttering and making the baby sound which means, “feed me, feed me”!  Her favourite was cheesecake.  She would take it so gently from my hand, and then clean under my fingernails to make sure there were no crumbs there.  But if things weren’t going the way she wanted, if she was upset for any reason, she would just run up to me, and grab a piece of skin (feet were her favourite), grab hold and twist, until it bled.  I had to warn people if they were coming into the back yard, wear “stout” protective footwear, and if possible warn me, so I could put her back in the aviary.

 

At one stage I was given a baby magpie to rear.  I put him in the aviary, and she desperately wanted to go in too.  So I let her, watching the whole time.  She wanted to feed him, so I gave her the food, and she took it to him and stuffed it down his throat, like a good parent will, one tiny grain at a time.  I was not allowed to feed him until she had gotten sick of her task.  Later on, she would search out food for him, giving him grubs and crickets.  He eventually grew to the stage where he could be released and joined the non breeding flock, as I hoped she would eventually.

 

Another funny little incident concerned a galah, a beautiful pink and grey parrot, very intelligent, but also rather opinionated.  The fellow had been injured, but was now well enough to go.  So I took him to the aviary, till he got his bearings and went.  In came Mrs Magpie, and sat down next to him.  This was too much for him and he shrieked at her.  She was highly offended at this treatment and flew out of the aviary.  About half an hour later, she just walked in quietly, and hopped up on the perches till she got to the one he was sitting on.  She waited till he was looking away, and quickly sidled up and pulled his tail feathers.  Well!  He shrieked again!  She in the meantime had quickly scuttled down the perch and was sitting there looking very innocent.  She had her revenge…..

 

After quite a long time, her feathers started to regrow, and she started to want her freedom.  She was being visited by members of the juveniles, in particular one young male.  It was hilarious watching them.  She would puff herself out and look very important, he would make himself as thin as possible, and they would have wrestles, and roll round the grass, then get up, and he would fly off, only to return later, with or without reinforcements.  After a time she accepted him, and she started trying to fly off with him.  Trouble was she couldn’t fly very well yet, and she usually ended up getting herself into strife.  But she was anxious to taste freedom, and I thought she deserved the chance.  The first time she left, she went next door.  I knew she was safe there, but next morning, I found her walking up the drive way to our place, walking, not flying and looking very upset, so I let her in, and she walked straight to the aviary and perched on the top branch and wouldn’t talk to me.  “Well that must have gone well,” I thought.  She did this a few times, each time after a visit from the young male, and each time a little further, and of course each time I had to rescue her.  In the meantime of course her feathers were growing, and her flying improving, and yes one day she went.  For a while we could hear “How Much is that Doggie in the Window” coming from neighbouring trees, and then the flock moved.  I know how much she wanted her freedom, but I missed her, but I doubt she missed me, unless she wanted cheesecake……

 

 

Gregory Peck was a lovely Australorp rooster.  He had lovely glossy black feathers that shone green and purple in the sun, and a bright red comb and wattles, and kind brown eyes.  In case you’re wondering, an Australorp is an Australian breed of chicken (or chook as they’re called out here) and developed from Orpingtons.  I got him as a day-old chick, with a few other chicks, who (thank the Lord) turned out to be hens. None of them had been sexed….so it was pot luck what you got!  Up till that time, I hadn’t had any roosters, hence the need to buy chicks….you don’t get fertile eggs without a rooster, so when Gregory grew up, he was ……The Rooster.  And what a wonderful rooster he was.  I have had many since him, but he was the epitome of what a rooster should be.  He was a perfect gentleman to the hens.  If he found any food, he would call them all to him, scratching madly till they arrived, and then he would stand back and let them all have their fill before he even attempted to eat himself.  By this time of course, the hens had scratched whatever it was he found all over the yard, and there would be precious little left for him.  He was also wonderful with my kids.  He would allow them to come into the yard to collect the eggs with nothing more than a cackle, and just keep a watchful eye on proceedings.  Other roosters would actually attack them, or at the very least act aggressively, but not Gregory…..he was just ultra polite.

 

He was a very typical rooster in another respect though.  He was constantly (or so it seemed…) chatting up the hens.  He would choose the one he felt amorous about, and he would strut up to her, then perform his little dance for her.  If that didnt win her interest, he would chase her round the yard a bit….she would usually allow him to have his wicked way with her just to get rid of him, and he would be off looking for another lovely hen…… Of course this meant lots of chickens were hatched in due course, so I had a constant supply of young hens growing up, and far too many young roosters as well……

 

I would find homes for the young roosters, and because I didnt want Gregory mating with his daughters, I found homes for them as well.  I usually was able to swap them for other young non related hens.  However, when Gregory was getting on a bit, I had taken delivery of a new unrelated rooster, for when Gregory went to the big chook yard in the sky.  I kept him in a separate yard, and the idea was in the mean time, I would let him cohabit with a few of the hens, moving them into his yard with him.  I hadn’t organised any of this yet, he had only arrived a few days before.  This young fellow really fancied his chances with all these ladies, and he managed to find his way into the yard with them…….and Gregory.  Poor Gregory was incensed.  He wasnt having this young upstart looking at his girls, so he prepared for battle.  And battle they did, in the time honoured tradition of roosters, with spurs and beaks.  It didn’t take long for the noise to catch my attention in the house, and I came rushing down to separate them.  They were completely exhausted, and the newcomers lovely white feathers (with black markings) were stained from his bleeding comb.  You couldn’t see the damage to Gregory, but I knew he would have suffered the same injuries.  They were so tired, that I was just able to walk over, and pick the newcomer up and put him back in his yard.  I headed to the garage to find some tools to help me fortify the fence to keep him there, and I heard a strange noise.  When I came out to investigate, there was Gregory, collapsed on the ground.

 

By the time I reached him, he had died.  I’m assuming he had a heart attack.  The kids were devastated, and we buried him with due ceremony.  I think they thought he should have had a state funeral.  He lives on in our memories, and in the fact that he was unique among all the roosters that came after him.  The kids remembered him as the only one who would allow them to collect the eggs unhindered.  And I used to wish the other roosters were as good as him……he definitely was a hard act to follow…… 

 

When we moved into the house we presently reside in, some thirty three years ago, we inherited the previous owner’s chooks (chickens).  We had several crossbreed hens of normal size, and a little half bantam hen.  She was the original “little red hen”.  I was told her ancestry was buff orpington crossed with rhode island red, and obviously one of them had to have been a bantam.  She was smaller than the other hens, and very trim and healthy looking.  This was my first encounter with chooks since I was a kid, and I loved the fact that they laid me lovely fresh eggs, with brown shells.  After a while I decided that when one of the hens went broody, I would buy some day old chicks and put under them.  I knew none of the eggs they laid would be fertile, as at that stage we had no rooster.  Well wouldn’t you know it, they all went broody together….typical I thought…so off I went and bought six day old chickens.  I’m not sure why they call them day old chickens, because by the time I got them they would have had to be close to a week old.  I suppose it’s because they were day old once…….

 

Anyway, I took my precious cargo down to the hen house and popped the first one under our little half bantam.  She fluffed her feathers up in annoyance, but once she saw what she had, she settled down, very pleased with herself and immediately took charge of its care.  So far so good I thought, and proceeded to put some of the others under the other hens.  Well….I didn’t get a good reception at all!  The others were irate at these intruders and actually started to peck them!  So I grabbed the poor little chicks before any real damage was done, thinking ungrateful wretches! and gave all the chicks to the little hen.  She was beside herself with joy, and thought she was very clever, because she had hatched these babies out by herself without even having an egg!

 

As they grew bigger, she was a wonderful mother.  If any of the other hens so much as looked sideways at her, she would attack!  She would fluff up her feathers so she looked twice her size, and off she would go, and the others would beat a strategic retreat!  She was ferocious to anything apart from her chicks, and fortunately she seemed to take kindly to me, and the kids, although I instilled into them that they must behave carefully around her, and not to upset her when they collected the eggs, or fed the hens.

 

In due course we acquired a rooster, and of course, he mated with the hens (constantly, it seemed) and we then had a supply of fertile eggs.  So when the hens went broody, I would allow them a few eggs, and hoped for the best.  It was a bit of a steep learning curve for me, and I soon discovered that the cross breed hens, particularly the white leg horn crosses, were good layers, but terrible breeders.  They would get off the nest before the eggs were hatched, which was a bit of a waste, and also the bigger hens were likely to roll on their chicks and squash them, which was also a bit of a waste, specially for the poor chick….and time after time the only one I could rely on to do the job properly was my little red hen.  So she became the official “breeder”.  Every setting I gave her, she would stay there till they hatched, and never injured any of them.  After a while, she became known as “Mother Hen”, because she either hatched them, or fostered them if they were day olds that I had bought.

 

One day I discovered she was missing.  I was quite upset because I didn’t know what had happened to her.  There was no sign of any feathers, as you would expect if she had been taken by a fox, or a hawk.  However, after a few days, she came back, and I saw her feeding with the others, then a while later she was gone again.  I realised she was flying over the fence, because at that stage the yard was fox proof, and every few days she was back again for a feed.  I looked everywhere, in our own back yard, and the neighbours’ yards, to find where she had made her nest, but to no avail, she was well and truly hidden.  Then….three weeks after she had first disappeared, she came back….with eleven chickens following her.  And the really amazing thing was, ten of them were little hens!   She didn’t fly this time, she brought them home, right up to the gate, looking very proud of her achievement, and demanded entry, with her eleven little fluff balls, peeping as they went.  I decided I wouldn’t let her go into the yard with the other hens, this cargo was too precious, so I organised something for her in the main part of the yard, where she would be safe with them till they were a little bigger.  While they were there, one of the neighbours cats jumped over the fence.  He didn’t even get a chance to look at the chickies, she was off after him.  I don’t think I’ve ever seen a cat move so fast!  A couple of times after that I saw him climb the fence, look over, see her….and jump back down on his side again…..

 

I allowed her and her brood back into the chooks yard after a while, and they all grew up to be lovely hens…..and one rooster.  Over the years, she reared many many chicks.  I can remember one time she only had three, and she was back in the “nursery yard” which also housed a pumpkin vine.  We were visited at that time by a hawk…..what we call a chicken hawk.  He flew over Mother and her brood.  She instantly hid the babies under the pumpkin vine and started rushing round like a mad thing, squawking and cackling, trying to draw his attention away from them.  Her noise alerted the kids, and they came and grabbed me, as well as cricket bats, stumps, anything they could find for a weapon.  One of the boys suggested we take down some boiling water to throw on the hawk…..I said I didn’t think he would wait while we boiled the kettle, and besides, the hawk was just hungry, he wasn’t really being bad.  So this poor hawk was confronted by an angry mother hen, and an army of 4 small children wielding toys of various descriptions, and one adult.  He decided it wouldn’t be worth his while to hang around, and flew off, probably to annoy some other chooks.  Meanwhile the little chicks were still under the pumpkin leaves…..very well hidden.  We had a look for them and couldn’t see them.  But after Mother decided it was safe, she called them, and they came running, and snuggled under her feathers….

 

Mother lived on, doing her thing, raising chicks until she was quite old.  She still looked as sleek and healthy as she did as a young hen.  Then one day she suddenly aged, and around 2 weeks later, she just died in her sleep.  We were sad she had gone, but pleased she had had such a good life, and been so well for nearly all of it.  We estimated she must have lived to the ripe old age of around ten years old.  And her legacy lived on in all the chickens she had raised……

One day, my son Christopher, then aged 4 or 5, was sitting out on the front verandah steps playing with several sticks. I was inside the house making beds and could hear him plainly. He had the sticks all lined up, and was saying, and here’s the mummy snake, and there’s the daddy snake and this is the baby snake…. I thought good grief what a thing to make a game up about!  Then I heard him shout AND THERE’S A REAL SNAKE!  A rather large brown snake, close to 6′ long, was coming through the front gate, up the driveway, towards where he was sitting, so no flies on my son, he shot up off the steps and ran towards the front door as fast as his little chubby legs would carry him!  I, on the other hand, who have never been a runner, just about broke the land speed record reaching the door at the same time.  We practically fell over each other, as I pulled him inside and shut the door.  Once I was satisfied he was safe and unharmed, we both ran to a window overlooking the driveway, and watched as the snake meandered on its way, and slithered off the driveway and under the fence between my place and the next door neighbours.  I said to Chris, you stay and watch, I just have to make a couple of phone calls.  The first person I rang was the next door neighbour, who was at work, and arranged to pick up her son from school, when I picked my other kids up.  Normally I would let the kids walk home, but not with a snake on the loose.  I told her I would keep all the kids inside until she came home, or until the snake was found.  Then I rang my then husband, and told him he had a job to do when he came home….find the snake!

 

No sooner had I put down the phone than there was a knock on the back door.  I opened the door, and found several of the council workers from across the road (at the Council Works Depot) with shovels and various implements.  G’day Missus (time honoured Aussie greeting), we saw a snake come in here, do you want us to get it for ya?  I informed them that it had actually gone through the fence to the neighbours, so off they went round there.  They knew no one was home so they thrashed around under the many bushes and shrubs in my neighbours garden looking for the snake.  I almost felt sorry for it….

 

About 15 minutes later, with Christopher still watching from the window, accompanied now by toddler Wendy who wanted to know what all the fuss was about, the men returned, and apologised profusely for not finding the snake.  I thanked them very much for their efforts and told them that my husband (who was actually their boss, but worked in the office downtown) would continue the search when he got home, in an hour or so.  In the meantime I felt sure everyone would be safe inside the house.

 

Time came to pick up the other kids from school, so I looked out the front door, saw the coast was clear, and with one kid under each arm, rushed to the car, and got them buckled in, in world record time.  I got myself in the car and we set off.  As I drove past my neighbour’s house, I noticed one of her many cats was staring at a particular bush, and thought I bet that’s where the snake is.  I picked up all the kids without incident, and told them what had happened, and that they were to stay inside at all times once we were home.  They of course were agog with excitement that there was a snake around!  This was a town, and snakes didn’t come into towns, they stayed out in the countryside!  Why was this snake here?  they asked, and of course I had no idea, I only wished it wasn’t!

 

Half an hour or so after we got ourselves safely inside, and all five children took up watch at the window nearest the driveway….just in case the snake went back the way it came, and they miss something, hubby arrived home, and asked for an update.  Then he took a spade, which I thought should have had a 40′ handle, and so armed prepared to do battle with the snake.  About ten minutes later, and after hearing a bit more thrashing round under bushes, he came back with the snake on the spade.  It was dead, and had been for some time, he thought, which meant the blokes from the Council Depot DID get it.  And yes, it was indeed under the bush that the cat was watching.  He had a glint in his eye, and I said you’re not bringing that inside!  He said no, no…. and explained his plan.

 

At that time, Rylstone had finally reached the age of civilisation and the whole town was being connected to the sewerage system.  This was quite a big job, and many men from out of town had been employed as well as some local fellows.  Many of the “outsiders” were Irish, so of course, in typical Aussie fashion, it was said that the Irish were building the sewerage system.  In hubby’s logic, he had decided the Irish had disturbed the snake with their digging, and he was going to give the snake back to them.  Of course they had finished for the day, so off he went to their nearest trench, and threw the snake in, and came back with a satisfied smirk on his face.  I can only imagine the looks on the poor mens’ faces when they discovered the snake the next day…..

Pru and Skye were two eastern grey kangaroos that were raised by a fellow carer.  Pru was a little older, but they were raised together.  However when the time came for their release, they stayed put.  The gates leading to the bush were left open for them, and they went out, and then they came back again.  Day after day this happened till it became quite clear they had no intention of staying away.  So eventually, the gates were closed again, and they stayed …..

 

However, two adult female roos living in the houseyard was not without its pitfalls.  Most of the time there was no problem at all, and they got on well with the other household animals.  They lived outside, but on occasion were allowed into the house, just into the back room, where they were given treats, including cups of tea (kangaroos LOVE tea, and have been known to steal tea bags from unwary campers…..).

 

The place where they lived was reasonably close to town, but on a country road.  This particular day, they had visitors.  It’s a rule in the country that you leave a gate the way you found it…….so if it’s closed, after you’ve been through it, you shut it again.  These visitors didn’t close any of the gates they came through, and of course, after they had left, Pru and Skye were nowhere to be found.  And of course these gates led onto the road……not the bush.  So of course a search was started.  The carer rang me in quite a state.  They had searched the property and environs, and no roos.  I suggested to her she should stay home at this stage, because I felt they would eventually come back, given their history of being home bodies, and someone they knew should be there to shut the gates once they did, and also someone might ring with information.  The next thing I knew someone rang me…..telling me there was a kangaroo hopping down the main street, was it one of mine?  They told me it was seen going into the yard of the stock and station agents.  This is where you go to buy stock food etc, so maybe it thought it would get a snack here.  So I rang the carer, and met her there.  The staff at the store were a bit alarmed at their strange customer, and weren’t quite sure what to do, but we co-opted a couple of them, and between them, the carer, and myself, we managed to get Pru (so it turned out) into the back of her station wagon, and she and one of the staff lay on top of her, while I drove her vehicle home.  I didn’t worry about adjusting the seat, which made driving a bit tricky…..she’s 5′ nothing, and I’m 5’5″……..We got Pru home, without further incident, and let her loose in the house yard, and then she drove us back to the store.  At this stage still no sign of Skye, until the carer got a phone call telling her that a roo had been sighted going down the road towards the bush……the opposite direction that Pru had taken.  Skye stayed away several days, then came towards home.  Just as she was about to turn into their driveway (roos have an amazing sense of direction) she was startled by a motor bike going down the road, and took off in a panic, this time towards town….she actually saw this from the house.  By the time she had got the car out, she had lost sight of her, but drove in anyway….couldn’t see her, and came round to me to enlist my help.  Again the grapevine was alive and well, I got a phone call from someone who saw her go into the school yard……it was the weekend, so no kids were there……and off we went.  We got to the school, and there she was, trying to hide behind a tree.  The carer got her mobile out and rang home for her hubby to come and help, so we just watched Skye, and she watched us.  The carer tried to talk to her, and calm her down, but it wasn’t very successful, Skye was by this time pretty well freaked out.  Then the hubby arrived, and Skye made a break for freedom…..straight past me.  Purely from reflex I grabbed at her tail with both hands, and got it.  I hung on for dear life, and Skye just bounced up and down, she wasn’t going anywhere.  Both carer and  hubby crash tackled her, and got her down and lay on her.  I got the station wagon, and backed it near her, and we bundled her in.  And off we went again, to reunite her with Pru.  Afterwards we all had a cuppa, and then sorted out getting all the different cars back home……..

 

A couple of years later, the same carer and her hubby were enlarging their house, and had some noisy machinery coming in.  They knew this would upset the roos, and didn’t want them taking off in panic.  They were quite capable of jumping the fences if they wanted to.  After discussing the problem with me, they decided to keep them inside for the day, and to give them some valium to keep them calm.  They arranged to get some from the vet, both tablets, and injections.  This is where I came in, for the injections.  Pru co-operated quite well, and was soon snoozing in the back room.  Skye was a different kettle of fish altogether.  Hubby had to hold her while I injected.  She wriggled so much I bent the needle…..but after a while it was obvious she needed more, so we made her a cup of tea, with some tablets crushed up in it.  She drank it eagerly, and soon settled down.  However, she never forgot what I did to her, and when I came into the yard, as I often did, she would take off, and would never let me touch her.

 

Another time, and more visitors, this time with small children.  The gates were secure this time, but the kids got overexcited with being in close proximity with the roos, and one of them started throwing stones at them.  This caused the adults to step in and chastise the child severely, but the damage was done, and both the roos leapt the fence as though it wasn’t there.  It was a 5′ paling fence.  Pru didn’t go far, and was making her way round to the gate after calming down, but Skye went off down the road to the bush.  The carer realised there wasn’t much she could do, seeing she had gone bush, except wait.  Time went by, and there were reports of a roo being seen from time to time, and Pru settled into life on her own.

 

Several years came and went, and Pru by this time was getting very old.  It was obvious that her end was near, and eventually she passed away in her sleep.  We all assumed that Skye had died in the bush as well, until one day I had a phone call from a neighbour.  He had an old kangaroo in his yard, with an injured foot, could I come and have a look, because this kangaroo seemed sort of tame.  Seeing it was near her previous home I told the carer, and she came with me.  Yes, it was Skye, and she had actually broken her foot, and we think she was trying to get home to “mum”.  Of course we were going to have to transport her, so the neighbour kindly offered the use of his utility truck.  So between us all, we managed to crash tackle her, and get her into the truck.  Then we had to climb up onto the tray to lay on top of her (he managed to find a small step ladder for us to use, and put it in the truck for getting us out again), and off we went down the bumpy road.  Fortunately it wasn’t very far, because it wasn’t a terribly comfortable trip for any of us…….but we got her home in one piece, and then we examined the break.  It seemed as though it had happened a few days ago, and the bone seemed to be setting by itself, though a bit crooked.  She wouldn’t have made it in the wild, but she was home now, and would be looked after, and “mum” would see to it that she was comfortable.  As you can imagine she was beside herself to know that Skye had tried to come home.

 

Time went on, and Skye kept on keeping on.  Her foot had healed completely, and she was coping quite well in the houseyard.  She was quite elderly by this stage, and starting to look it.  We reckoned she would have been about 17 by this stage, quite old for a roo.  She had outlived Pru by about 5 years.  But she was looking really old, and no matter what the carer fed her, she looked poor.  And then one day she called me round to see if there was anything else I thought she should do.  I came round, and Skye actually seemed pleased to see me.  I went over and examined her, and she kept moving round so that I was touching her head.  Everytime I moved away, she followed me;  she seemed to be asking me to touch her.  So I got down to her level and gave her a big cuddle.  She nuzzled her head right into me.  It really amazed me, after her previous treatment of me.  I told Skye’s mum I thought there was nothing she could do, I just thought nature would take its course.  And it did.  That night Skye died.  I felt she had made her peace with me during that visit, and was telling me she had forgiven me.  It was a humbling experience.

 

The carer’s existence is a little less complicated now, only having dogs and cats,  but we often talk about the adventures we had with Pru and Skye…….

 

 

As I mentioned last diary entry, I do indeed have another story.  After Lazarus died, I was looking forward to a few days’ recovery, and in particular catching up on sleep…but this was not to be.

 

The very next morning, the lady from whom I buy roo milk rang me while I was having breakfast quite concerned about a lady from up my way who had been in touch with her about her joey.  They were both assuming it was a grey kangaroo joey, and that it was very small.  She was having difficulty feeding it, and keeping it warm.  The lady with the joey didn’t want to hand it in to any wildlife care groups, because she had been told they “bong the little greys on the head”.  I assured her that our group didn’t do this, although I know of other groups that do, because of the drought, and the fact that there is a shortage of release sites for the greys.  I told her we take each joey on its merits, and obviously, if it is very ill, or badly injured, what else can you do?  She said, may I give this lady your number so you can try to talk her through the joey’s problems?  I said yes, and hoped I could get my breakfast finished first.  As it happened, I had just finished my porridge, and the phone rang again.  It was the lady with the joey.

 

She was in a panic.  She had just tried to feed the joey, and it had started sneezing, so she thought pneumonia!  She BEGGED me to take it!  I thought this is a bit different from being worried I would bong it on the head….  I found out her address, and she gave me directions to her place, but she confused me utterly, as by the time she was finished she was telling me she lived on both the right and left hand side of the road, so rather than get her to give me directions again, I just looked at a map.  I had the street and number, so I’d manage.  It turned out she lived about an hour from me.  Then I rang a friend, in the forlorn hope (seeing she lived MUCH closer) that she might be able to pick it up, and get it to the vets.  As it happened she was just about to go out.  This lady lived about 15 mins from her, so she said, I’ll pick it up, then take it to the vets, then do the stuff I need to do, and ring you, and we can meet halfway.  Sounded good to me!

 

She rang me a while later and said she had picked up the joey.  The lady had been attempting to feed it when she got there, she said, but with a human baby teat, and it wouldn’t fit in the joeys mouth (joeys’ mouths are a much different shape to human babies).  No wonder it was sneezing she said, the milk probably got up his nose!  But she took the joey and left after thanking the lady for handing it on, and assuring her it would get the best of care, and left quickly before the lady changed her mind.  She said, it seems fine to me, but hungry, so I didn’t take it to the vet.

 

We arranged our meeting place, and I met her there.  She handed him to me, and as soon as I peeked inside the pouch, I heard a familiar hissing sound.  I looked closer….and there was….not a little grey kangaroo, but a tiny wallaroo…just furred, but feisty nonetheless.  I settled him down for the trip home, and he hissed and swore all the way, and kept trying to climb out of the pouch.  Just before I got home, I had to stop at a shop and grab a few things, but took him in with me, as I had visions of him falling out of the pouch, and landing on the floor in the cold, in my absence!   Of course the shop keeper wanted a peek at him, and got hissed at for his trouble.  The first thing I did when I got home was prepare him some milk; he seemed really hungry.  He drank really well, every drop he was offered for that feed, and settled a bit better.  I put him on three hourly feeds that first day, and he was VERY co-operative!

 

The next day he wanted his bottle, but couldn’t cope with it, and developed the trots.  I knew straight away the trauma of losing mum, and being fed incorrectly, had caught up with him, and he had thrush. So off I went to the chemist and got the required medication, which he took happily.  It took a couple of days before it got things under control, and I just had to persevere with him drinking poorly, and having the trots, and because of his milk being diluted….doing lots of weeing….so I called him Clancy of the Overflow.

 

He then started to come good…the trots started to get better, and he started to enjoy his bottles.  I was able to stretch out the intervals between, as he was taking a bigger amount at each feed.  He is still swearing at all and sundry…in fact the first time Nolan wanted to check him out, he hissed at him!  Both Nolan and Gypsy backed off quick smart!  Both of them would remember Hell Joey, and they probably realised that this is his cousin!

 

By now, he is back on full strength roo milk appropriate to his size, and things are starting to look up a bit.  He is still feisty and bossy, but he loves a cuddle.  After a feed, he likes to sit on my knee until he drops off to sleep.  He has lost a bit of condition because of his problems, and hasn’t got a lot of meat on his bones, so I’m keeping him on a heating pad till he’s a bit bigger and stronger.  He’s still tiny, and has a long way to go, but hopefully I will soon be able to hand him onto his next carer, and then hear of his eventual release.

A carer rang me in a panic one night.  She had quite a story to tell.  She had been down at the pub earlier that night, and had met a man who was already half shot, and he had told her that he had a joey out the back of the pub, in a plastic bag, next to his dog.  And the milk he had for the joey was off, and the joey was sick.  He had shot the mother to get her, his intention was to take her to the city and sell her to one of his friends.

 

Well my friend the carer nearly had kittens at this news, so she set about getting him even further under the weather, she was determined to get the joey away from him using fair methods or foul.  After a while, she convinced him that the joey should go home with her for the night.  So before he could change his mind, she took the joey and ran.  The first thing she did when she got home, was clean the poor joey up, and put her in a clean pouch (not a plastic bag), and organise some fresh milk for her.  Then she rang me.  It was fairly late by this stage, but we decided the joey should not stay there, in case he came looking for her, which he did.  She left her place very early and brought her down to me, and got home to discover that he had been round, and her hubby had said that the joey had been taken to another carer because it had taken a turn for the worse, but he had no idea where the carer was.  Thank the Lord……  He of course wanted the joey back, and pestered her for quite some time, but the joey had gone, so it was safe from him.

 

Anyway, the joey.  Poor little mite was very thin, and very sick, and I really didn’t know whether she would survive.  She looked stunted as well, so I knew she would have an uphill battle.  I had a lot of trouble keeping her warm, and of course, I couldn’t feed her full strength milk till her tummy started behaving. The previous carer had called her Lucky, because she had had a lucky escape, but I wasn’t sure how lucky Lucky would be.  But she fought for her life, and lived up to her name.

 

She grew, slowly, but I had trouble keeping her warm for ages, and often I would find her lying down in the hot sun, when everyone else had headed for the shade.  While she didn’t exactly thrive, she made slow but steady progress.  After a while another joey arrived.  They were round the same age, but this new one was much bigger.  We called her Honey, because she was a sweet little thing.  As usual, they soon became the closest of friends.  They were both Eastern Grey Kangaroos, and as such were herd animals and benefited from each others’ company.

 

By the time summer was over, Honey had started growing her winter coat.  Lucky didn’t.  This was a worry, because both were living outside by now, and I was worried what would happen when the frosts started.  Normally, the act of living outside was enough to start the coat thickening up, but not this time.  So I rang a lady who was very knowledgeable in the ways of roos, and she suggested making her a “thickshake” of roo milk, combined with baby cereal.  She took to it straight away, and would drain every drop, and look for more.  And it did the trick.  After a couple of weeks of this, her fur started to thicken up.  Whew!  I wouldn’t have to make her winter pyjamas after all!

 

Just before the winter set in properly, I moved the pair of them to their next home.  They took the move well, but the new carer was concerned about Lucky’s lack of size, and wondered whether she should hold them back until Lucky had increased in stature.  So we tried that, but it became very obvious, that after meeting the wild roos through the fence, they really wanted to go.  They were both pacing the fence constantly, and we realised we would have to chance it with Lucky.  She was at a size that was still vulnerable to fox attack.  So the gate was opened, and they started coming and going, until eventually they went altogether.  However the group of roos they joined used to come past there on a fairly regular basis, every few weeks.  I got a very excited phone call from the carer, Leeanne, telling me that they had been back, and both the “girls” had bumps in their pouches, and the bumps were wiggling!  Then one day I was out visiting Leeanne, and her hubby came racing in saying the roos were back, and come look, because the joeys had their heads out.  So we both rushed out to look, and there was Lucky with a little joey, grazing.  We were all delighted to see her again, and to know she had really made it.

 

Leeanne kept me up to date on Lucky’s exploits, and some time later I was visiting, and the word came that the roos were back.  This time, there was Lucky, and the previous joey, whom by this time was at foot, and almost as big as her, and she had a little one whose head was out of the pouch.  The bigger joey started doing something that Lucky disapproved of, so she promptly whacked her.  The joey, now chastened, behaved in a suitable manner, as the herd hopped off.  She had certainly succeeded, now an experienced mother of two.

 

My mother in law always said, “Good things come in small packages”.  I’m sure she wasn’t referring to small kangaroos when she said that, but it was certainly appropriate for Lucky……

Chook’s original name was Joseph, but somewhere along the line he became Chook.  Don’t ask.  His original carer found him standing on the road beside his dead mother, and took him home and did a good job of raising him, except for one thing, she wouldn’t let him outside.  She had very little fencing, and was afraid to let him out in case he took off, which was very understandable.   So she would go out each day and pick stacks and stacks of grass, and take it inside to him.  She came to the realisation eventually that he would have to go somewhere else, when he got to the stage of outgrowing his pouches, and she had to use cut down sleeping bags for him.  He was getting quite big, and under normal circumstances, should have been going into prerelease.  But of course, never having been outside, he was nowhere near ready.  I hate to think what the inside of the poor woman’s house looked like with all that grass……

 

Anyway, eventually he came to me, and of course the first thing I did was introduce him to the great outdoors.  Well what a culture shock for him!  He really didn’t know what to make of it, so his first bout was fairly short, as I didn’t want him to stress out too much.  Each day it was a bit easier, and he spent more time out each day, although still getting back in his pouch at night.  Eventually though he progressed to being outside all day.  This took, I suppose, about two weeks to get to this stage, and then disaster struck.  The guy a couple of doors down started his mower, and Chook was terrified, and ran into the fence.  Most roos would get through this with a bleeding nose and a bit of a headache.  Not Chook, however, he tried to jump the 5′ fence, and caught his leg and broke it.  Well, I went down and tried to sort him out.  He was standing up, but it was obvious his leg was broken.  So I got his pouch and in he went, quite willingly, and I got a couple of old school rulers, and tried to splint his leg.  I got it fairly immobile, and got in touch with the vet.  Normally you would not try to set the leg of a roo this size, because they’re not normally in a pouch, and they need to be to take all weight off their legs, so it can knit.  I discussed this with the vet, and said I thought I could get him to stay in a pouch seeing he’s so used to it, and off I went.  Walked into the waiting room with this rather oversize roo, in a rather oversize pouch, to the stares of the other “patients”.  I always find vets waiting rooms are very interesting places, and of course everyone was interested in my patient…. In due course it was my turn, but the roo wasn’t interested in letting anyone look at his leg, he was in his pouch and that was that.  So the vet had to give him a rather large dose of valium, which sent him off to lala land.  He wasn’t quite asleep, but he certainly wasn’t with it either.  Anyway in this relaxed state, the vet was able to set his leg.  He used some “quick set” plaster, which was also not as heavy as the usual plaster of paris job.  As this was a new enterprise for both of us, the vet and I agreed to keep in touch, so that I could get advice as I needed it, and so he could broaden his experiences.

 

So I took home a very dopey roo, with instructions to keep him off his feet.  I found an old sponge rubber mattress, and settled him off on it.  His grass was put on a tray in front of him, and he went back onto a bottle three times a day, the vet thought that would help give him extra calcium to help the bones to set.  He also thought he was probably lacking in vitamin D, seeing he had spent so much time inside, and was suffering from “brittle bones”.  Chook settled into this new routine very quickly and very well, and seemed to thrive on all the attention.  Any visitors that came into the house would do a double take at this roo lying in state on the mattress.  I had to watch his foot constantly for any sign of pressure sores under the plaster.  I asked the vet how would  I tell, he said he would start to smell like rotten socks…..

 

All went well for 2 weeks, he just lay around like Lord Muck being waited on hand and foot.  Then he picked himself up and moved off down the hall to my bedroom.  He used his two front legs in their normal “crawl” movement, where they move around slowly, using their tail as a fifth leg, but he dragged his injured leg behind him, so he wouldn’t have been putting much weight on it.  I went into a panic because everytime I picked him up and put him back on his mattress, he just moved off again.  I rang the vet and told him what was happening.  He listened quietly and said, he’s actually started himself on physiotherapy.  The broken bone takes a week to bond, then forms a callous.  After that time, a small amount of pressure is needed to strengthen that join.  So Chook was actually doing the right thing.  So I just moved the tray of grass to my bedroom, and he allowed himself to be moved back to the mattress at night time, and every morning he would move up the hall to my room.

 

Another two weeks passed, and again he changed his method of ambulation.  He was still doing the 5 legged crawl, but now he was “pushing” his leg, and putting a bit more weight on it.  Again, I phoned the vet, and was assured that all was well.  The six weeks passed, and back we went to the vet for the removal of the plaster….the moment of truth, and I would know whether all that work had been worthwhile.  Again, some valium, because the removal of the plaster was  noisy, they had to use a little circular saw.  And there was his leg, looking wasted, but healed.  The callus formed a large lump under his skin, and the vet was delighted, and I took Chook home to sleep off his valium.  As soon as he woke up, he was allowed to stand up, and I took him outside.  He seemed delighted to be back out there, and of course I watched him like a hawk when any noises started.  I had to give him some physio exercises for a few days to strengthen his leg, but he quickly outgrew the need.  As far as he was concerned, he was back to normal.

 

In due course, he was taken to prerelease, where he met another roo, who had also undergone treatment for a broken bone.  Eventually they went, and disappeared in the local mob.  Many years later, a very large roo appeared inside the gate of the enclosure.  He ambled straight up to where the food supply was kept, right into the shed.  There he met the man who owned the place, who was himself over 6′.  He told me afterwards this roo was almost looking him in the eye, with massive shoulders, and powerful legs.  He decided to let him eat all the food he wanted……We think it was Chook, but we can’t be sure, because other males had been released from there.  However, it was definitely one who was familiar with the surroundings, because a wild kangaroo wouldn’t be so comfortable inside a shed, and Chook was a little bit bigger when he left, and had known humans for a little longer.  We’ll never know….

 

 

Radar and Houdini arrived within a few days of each other.  Both were eastern grey kangaroo joeys, and of a similar age.  Radar arrived first, and was a picture of health, and intrigued us with the fact that his ears were constantly moving, hence his name.  Houdini arrived a few days later, handed in by a member of the public who had tried to rear him, but had given up when Houdini got the trots.  Despite the fact that he was having tummy troubles, he was constantly hungry.  I tried to get him to stay in his pouch between meals, but no way would he.  I could do anything I liked to his pouch in the way of shutting him in it, but before long he would be out wandering around, hence his name;  he was a veritable escape artist.

 

Fortunately, both joeys were big enough to go outside during the day, and munch on grass, which gave Houdini a chance to fill his empty tummy.  As part of the treatment, he couldn’t have milk.  I gave him  electrolyte replacement fluid, so that he wouldn’t become dehydrated and some medication from the vet.  But obviously milk, at their ages, gave them a feeling of satisfaction that no amount of grass would.  But the poor little guy, it took him weeks before I could get him onto milk.  It was a long slow process, and he was terribly thin.  His fighting spirit stood him in good stead though, and eventually, he progressed from straight electrolyte fluid to watered down milk to the full strength milk.  And he started to put on weight.  And I breathed a sigh of relief.  Winter was coming, and I hated to think of this poor little guy, as skinny as a rake, coping with winter frosts.  But before winter came, he had started to put his necessary layer of fat down, and his coat had thickened up.

 

While all this was going on, Radar was doing what all healthy roos do, getting bigger and stronger, and still moving his ears constantly, and very dependent on his friendship with Houdini.  He started to become aloof from us, only wanting us around at feed time.  Houdini on the other hand, because of all the attention, was terribly affectionate towards me in particular.  Not only was I the one who fed him, I was the one who ministered to him whenever things went wrong, and being so thin, he needed a lot of attention, I needed to watch him constantly for any sign of a problem, so I could nip it in the bud.  Because of his affection, I felt all the extra work was well worth while.  I knew he was putting everything he could in to getting fit, and if he had his way, I would be releasing two healthy roos when the time came.

 

And the time did come, and I was able to pass two healthy roos onto their next carer, from whence they were released in due course.  They were the best of friends, and inseparable, pretty similar in size and colour, and of course fatness now.  The only way you could tell them apart, from a distance, was that one’s ears were constantly on the move……