Author: mamaroo43214595

Ozzie arrived at my place draped regally on the back seat of his “mother’s” car.  He was a rather large joey, and no longer used to being in a pouch, and fortunately was quite used to be carted round in the car.  Problem was, his mother had to go into hospital, and would be laid up for quite some time afterwards, and he needed to learn to be a roo again, and to be released in due course.  So he came to me.

 

His mother wisely insisted he go into his rather oversized pouch until he got used to my yard.  He was much too large to be inside, but he still needed a time of adjustment.  When he saw this strange environment, he was quite happy to stay in his pouch, and after his arrival, we organised his pouch so it was hanging from the fence, and at this stage he couldn’t get out of it.  So he just sat there, completely in the pouch till he got used to things.  His mother left me some spare pouches, and some fruit cake (his favourite).  I decided I would only resort to the fruit cake in dire emergencies…..he wasn’t going to get fruit cake out in the bush unless he was going to start raiding kitchens, so I thought this was one thing he should be weaned off a.s.a.p.  He was still on bottles, even though he was past the size of needing one, but I continued on with those, because that would help him to settle.

 

During the afternoon, it became obvious he was settling, because he was hanging his head out of the bag, and nibbling at the grass nearby, so I lowered his pouch, so he could get out when ready.  I checked on him periodically, and after a while he ventured out.  He fed quite happily on the grass till something startled him, and he bounded straight back to the pouch and somersaulted in with such gusto I thought he would give himself concussion!  But after a few minutes the head re-emerged, and all was well again.  I was happy with this reaction because I knew he would be able to find his pouch at need.

 

Over the next few days he settled in well.  The only problem I had with him was that as soon as the back door was opened, he would make a beeline towards it…didn’t matter where he was in the yard, and try to get into the house.  I was firm with him, and on the occasions that he did “break in”, I quickly steered him back out again.  I was determined he had to realise he was an outside animal, although I could understand his wish to get back in….that was what he was used to.

 

After a few weeks of solitude, another roo was brought to me.  She had been reared by another lady, and was looking for companionship, so I was hoping she and Ozzie would get on well.  Ozzie was head and shoulders bigger than her, but after a few days of mutual shaking and running away from each other, they accepted each other, and became friends.  This was the best thing that could have happened to him.  He had been so long without other roos, he had forgotten some of his instinctual behaviour, but with her companionship, it began to return.

 

The weeks and months passed, and they both grew.  Ozzie thrived, but the little girl was never quite as robust.  I realised Ozzie was a survivor, but she would need extra t.l.c. if she was to make it.  I had made arrangements for both the roos to be moved to a new home, from where they could be released, and got in a supply of valium for the move.  These people had a roo that they had raised, and she was a bit younger than Ozzie.  Then I got a phone call saying there was a family emergency, and they couldn’t take the roos till they came back.  This was a bit of a pain, but could hardly be helped.  However the local show was coming up, and a feature of the show is fireworks.  The showground is only about two blocks from my place, so we would get the full force of the noise, and it would be very unsettling for the roos.  I had hoped to move them before the show…but it was not to be.  So I used the valium to dope them before the fireworks started, and hoped it would help.  They were both too big to be brought inside….unless of course it didn’t worry me that my house was being trashed.  Ozzie sailed through the noise and smoke and flashing coloured lights without turning a hair.  I think he wouldn’t have worried even without valium.  Unfortunately the little girl didn’t fare so well, and took it much more to heart.  Afterwards she just didn’t thrive, and about three weeks later, she sickened and died.

 

Round about this time, I got a phone call from the people who were to take the roos.  All was back to normal, and they were ready to take them.  I explained that there had been a mishap, and now it would only be Ozzie, but final arrangements were made.  And more valium purchased.  The appointed day arrived, and Ozzie had his valium milkshake, and was placed in an old large haversack that I move large roos in.  No majestically travelling in the back seat this time….he was ready to be a wild roo, and wild roos freak out in the back seat.  He had come a long way.  We arrived at the peoples’ place, after a half hour drive.  Ozzie was still a bit doped from the valium, which was good, because he had a whole new set of people and environment to cope with….plus a new roo.  And she was very territorial!  She was not happy to see him at all!  She hissed at him and kicked at him…..this was much more aggressive than the usual trembling and running away from each other.  He took it all in his stride and did his best to just keep out of her way, while finding some nice grass to eat.  She eventually went off and found her own grass to eat, but kept looking his way suspiciously, and if he got too close, the hissing would start again.  I stayed with him longer than I normally would, because most roos call a truce fairly quickly, which mellows into friendship over a few days.  I wasn’t used to her behaviour.  Normally after sitting with a roo for half an hour or so, it is safe to go inside and have a cuppa while just watching through a window.  This time however, we had our cuppas outside, in case we needed to step in.  But after a time, eventually she calmed down.  Ozzie, as normal for him, was quite cool about the whole proceedings, so I decided it was safe to come home.

 

Every few days they would ring me and tell me how they were getting on, and all was proceeding well.  They had passed the truce stage and becoming friends……..until………Ozzie found a hole in the fence, and went exploring……and found wild roos!  They rang me in a panic!  I told them there wasn’t really much they could do, because after all this is what we were trying to achieve….we just hoped the two would go together.  However, next morning, he was back for his bottle, as though nothing had happened.  He stayed a couple of days, and then went again.  They were very concerned, but I was thrilled. They wanted to mend the hole in the fence, but I advised them just to let him come and go as he wanted, but to be aware he would stay away longer each time.  This is what he did.  So their little girl had to be released alone, later, but like Ozzie, she came and went over a period of time….and now there are two roos who actually watch them from the herd.  They won’t have anything to do with them, but they respond to human voices, and take a little longer to hop away than the others.

 

It’s lovely to know they’ve made it…

Rufous was my first redneck wallaby.  He weighed around 2 pounds and was standing up in his pouch, looking over the side, when I first saw him  The kids were entranced…after several grey kangaroos, they found him very different.  To start with he was colourful, and he was bossy.  And even though tiny, he would get out of his pouch, and dart round the house, skidding round the corners.  The kids soon stopped calling him Rufous, and started calling him “the Cool Dude”….. He was very affectionate with the kids, and loved to spend time with them, and curl up with them in their laps.  They would organise their clothes so he could dive into them, and he would think he had managed to find a new pouch.

 

After he got a bit bigger, he started going outside with the resident population of two young grey kangaroos that we had at the time.  They were quite a bit bigger than him, and were quite put out with this upstart.  Whenever they were trying to sample the easy life and have a lie down in the sun, he was rushing round like the world was ending.  And things got even worse as he grew.  He got to the stage where he thought he was sexually mature….only thought….He decided that the grey kangaroos were very beautiful.  Perhaps he was short sighted as well as frustrated, because they were both males, and he tried very hard to mate with them……..but he was much too short……and the best he could do was to grab hold of one of their legs, and hold on tight, and away he would go…… The kangaroos would look puzzled, and look at me, as if to say….Mum, what is it?  Get it off!!

 

Around about this time, I got a phone call saying there was a female redneck looking for a home, preferably with another redneck.  So Ruby arrived.  Well…..Rufous (the Cool Dude) was smitten.  She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.  He adored her.  He groomed her.  He looked after her……..and he forgot the grey kangaroos even existed.  He still tore round as though he was on steroids, but as long as she was nearby, you could do anything with him.  He made no sexual advances to her at all……he thought she was much too pure for that sort of behaviour.  However, she developed into a real little devil.  No way in the world was I allowed to come near her unless I had a bottle.  And even then, I couldn’t actually touch her…..just give her the bottle, and as soon as it was gone, so was she.  They were complete opposites, and the kids nicknamed her “the Wild Woman”.

 

They had attained the size and age necessary to be moved into pre-release, but I could see with her behaviour we were going to have problems.  I knew he would be right…..he would go with her, no questions asked, but we were going to have fun catching her.  I attempted it one day, and I managed to catch her by the tail.  With a grey kangaroo, you catch it by the tail, and it keeps jumping, but in the one spot.  With the Wild Woman, you caught her by the tail, and she leapt straight over my shoulder, sideways, in every direction, in her attempt to get free…..so I thought, this is going to be fun.

 

I rang the vet and explained the situation.  She wanted to give me injectable valium, but I said, to give her that first I have to catch her…….and that just isn’t going to happen.  So she gave me the necessary number of tablets, and then gave me another dose, in case the first lot didn’t work…….a stronger dose…….and if I didn’t need them, I could take them back to her.  The appointed day came, and I made the valium milkshakes.  Both of them took them happily, and I waited to see what happened….nothing much at all.  She still took off when I went near her, and of course she wasn’t going to come back for another bottle just yet.  I would have to try again tomorrow.  Which I did.  This dose was 2 and 1/2 times stronger than the previous dose.  Again, they had their milkshakes, and this time after a while, she looked as though she was swaying in the breeze….Success!  I walked over to her, and she attempted groggily to hop away, but this time when I grabbed her tail, she just bounced up and down, until I popped her into her pouch.  I secured the bag just to be safe, and walked over to him, and he got into his pouch, no questions asked.  Just so long as she was coming too…..

 

I bundled them into the car, for the 15 minute run to their new abode.  Around 10 minutes into the trip, she started to come around….I could hear her hissing like a steam train.  She was still hissing when we arrived, and I took them both out of the car.  I lay the bags on the ground and while he waited patiently to have the bag undone, she was wriggling all over the place.  I undid him first, and he popped his head out sleepily.  Then I undid hers, and she was out like a shot out of a gun, and rushed away to explore.  When he saw her go, he got up and followed.  It was a bit of an effort, but he wasn’t letting her out of his sight.  Even though she was very inquisitive about her new surrounds, she wasn’t panicking.  She just wanted to check everything out, which she did, accompanied by Rufous.  I watched them going hither and yon for around 15 minutes, and then they came back to me, seemingly satisfied.  I poured a small amount of pellets onto the ground, and they both started nibbling.  Excellent I thought, they’re settling down.  After they had polished those off, they started eating the grass.  So their new carer and I retired inside the house and had a well earned cuppa.  I knew they would be okay now.

 

A month of so later, the carer started leaving the gate open……and eventually they went bush.  I think Rufous would have his work cut out keeping that Wild Woman in order……

Ben was my very first male wallaroo.  His mother had been hit by a car, and he had survived uninjured and brought to me for care.  He greeted me in the normal wallaroo manner, with a hiss and a flash of his black eyes.  At that stage, I still had some of my kids at home, and the novelty of rearing roos hadn’t rubbed off on them, so of course they wanted to help me look after this little bundle of fur that looked so helpless.  And, to be honest, I wasn’t very experienced with caring for roos either…

 

Anyway, we all fell in love with him, and of course in those very early days, he was in his pouch, all of the time.  However, as is normal with wallaroos, they grow quickly, and he very soon started to get out, and wander round the house….in particular at night.  He was fairly quiet about it, and would just appear beside somebody’s bed, asking to be let in.  If he came to me, I would get out of bed, and take him back to his own pouch.  Not so the kids;  they would just lift the sheets and he would tumble in and snuggle down next to their legs, and they would all go back to sleep.  Then in the morning, no Ben in his pouch;  no Ben to be found anywhere.  The first time it happened, I panicked;  I had no inkling of what had happened.  I thought he must have got outside, sneaking out when someone had gone to the loo, and went out and scoured the yard.  No Ben.  I couldn’t understand why I couldn’t find him.  The yard was safe, or I hoped it was, but he was still small, and could get cold easily, and where was he?  I went back inside, baffled.  It was time to get kids up for school, so I went into the boys’ room, and noticed a lump wriggling in one of the beds.  I investigated, and here were a pair of bright eyes looking back at me.  He looked very comfortable indeed….

 

This of course kept happening from time to time, but at least I knew where to look.  He was growing fast, and before too long he was spending all day outside, and most of it out of his pouch.  Even though he had plenty of playmates, none of them were other wallaroos, and I was concerned that he was going to grow up thinking he was a person, or a dog.  Besides, he was starting to get really bossy.  When the kids were away, and it was just me there, he would demand my attention.  If I didn’t give it to him, he would bite me.  His favourite place was the inside of my upper arm, where the skin is nice and soft, and leaves a lovely impression of roo teeth…. So I started making enquiries to see if anyone else amongst the carers of the time had a wallaroo around the same age.  I found one not too distant, and we agreed between us that Ben should go to her, as she had the more appropriate set up.

 

He was maybe 4 kilos (around 9 pounds) by this stage, quite grown up, but still happy to be in a pouch.  I bundled him up for his half hour journey and off we went.  He was by this stage a very handsome charcoal grey, and his new friend, Ularoo, was a bit smaller, female, and a lovely dove grey.  We arrived at his new home, and after meeting his new “mother”, we took him out into the yard to meet Ularoo.  We put him down on the ground in his pouch, and just let them sort it out.  He looked all around, and got out of his pouch, just examining things carefully, just hopping around slowly and sniffing at everything.  Then they met.  Well!  They stretched their heads out towards each other, both of them shaking like mad…..touched noses……and both of them jumped backwards several feet!  Then both of them bolted towards their respective mothers.  Of course we mothers were killing ourselves laughing, but both wallaroos soon recovered, and Ben continued on his exploration again.  This time when they met, the reaction wasn’t quite so extreme, although it was quite obvious that Ula thought he was some sort of an upstart intruder, and what right did he have to be here?  Ben was less than impressed with her too, and we could tell he thought the tone of the neighbourhood would climb if she left.  But we left them to it, we both realised this was fairly typical wallaroo behaviour, and went inside for a cuppa.  When we came back out later, things had settled down enough for me to leave him, but of course I had visiting rights, and constant phone calls were made both ways to inform me of his progress.

 

Ben and Ula soon became very attached.  This bond was to become lifelong.  Unlike grey kangaroos, who live in mobs, wallaroos live in small family units, or alone, so they already had their family unit.  But a few months later, I found that they would have to be moved again, as the new carer was moving…right out of the district.  They were still small enough to go in their pouches (although the pouches were somewhat larger by this), and rather than have them move out of the district, we moved them to another carer who lived about half an hour from me, in another direction.  This would be their final move we hoped.  We dosed them up with valium for this move, with them being a bit bigger, and the move went off with no dramas.  They had each other, and that was a big help.  Again I had visiting rights, and I was also in phone contact, so I was kept up to date with their development.  I was told of their eventual release, and I was told of their return a few weeks later.  They went again a few weeks after that, and stayed away a bit longer before their return, but after a while they decided they didn’t want to be wild, permanently.  The gate was always left open, and they could come and go as they liked, the choice was theirs.  And mostly they stayed.  In due course, Ula and Ben became parents.  And in due course, the baby left home, and they were parents again!  All their babies became wild, and left, but Ben and Ula stayed.

 

I haven’t seen them for a while, a couple of years now I suppose.  They were both getting on in years when I saw them last.  Ula had stopped having babies, so I suppose she had gone through the roo equivalent of menopause.  As a younger roo, Ben, even though he regarded this place as home, used to go for a wander occasionally, and he had been in some terrible fights with other males.  His ears were tattered, he had lost one eye, and the other eye didn’t seem to be working all that well, but his sense of smell still worked.  He knew where the food was, and he knew Ula.  And he was still very powerful looking.  Even though his hide was covered with scars, and he was obviously old, I still wouldn’t like to meet him in an alley on a dark night.  I think he would have even given the Terminator pause for reflection.

 

His carers always made sure there was extra food around for him, and he didn’t wander far now.  The gate was still open, but they knew which side their bread was buttered on, and I think they just wanted to live out the winter of their lives in peace and quiet.

 

This release had turned out a bit differently to most.  Most roos go bush, and may return on occasion.  This pair was given the same choice, and for their own reasons returned.  But still, the choice was theirs……

 

 

This happened a few years ago.  One of our carers was having problems with her health and decided she needed a rest from caring for a while.  Most of her joeys were big, and just about ready to be released, so we decided once they went, she should take no more.  She just had the one, fairly small pouched grey kangaroo joey.  So as I had no other charges I said I’d take it.  It had only come into care a few days previously;  the local dog catcher found it on the side of the road in its dead mothers pouch, and took it to Val straight away.  However when Val was ready to organise her hubby to bring the joey to me (we were to meet half way), the car broke down, so I had to make the whole 2 hour trip to pick him up.

 

So I arrived at Val’s, she gave me a welcome cuppa, and we discussed the problems of the world, and solved them, then I took the joey, and left.  Just at the corner of her street, just near the NRMA (they go out and rescue stranded motorists), MY car broke down.  I went in and got the mechanic, he had a look.  Bad news he said, looks serious, we’ll have to tow you home.  Wonderful I thought, 2 hours in the tow truck.  So a little while later, they had put the car on the back of the truck, and I was perched majestically in the front, with the joey.  Off we went, and arrived home in due course, and the bloke set off back again.  I found out later from Val that the tow truck broke down on the way home, so of course the joey got called Breakdown.  I might add, that a couple of days later, Val’s car was back on the road, with no further hassles.  After quite a long time in the garage, and after a large bill, we got our car back.  Then hubby’s work truck broke down.  We found this very strange, because our vehicles were usually very reliable, and if we had slight problems with one, the other always went.  Meantime, the joey grew and prospered, in fact he was healthier than most joeys I care for.  He even survived the introduction of Nolan the Labrador into the family circle.

 

The time was approaching for him to be released, but you guessed it, more car trouble.  I rang the guy who was going to take him and told him I would be unable to bring him out, and why.  He said no problem, I’ll be down your way in a few days, I’ll pick him up on the way back.  The night before he was due, he rang me, sorry, car trouble.  Can we put it off?  So we did.  So then my daughter had car trouble, and she borrowed our car, which was actually going at the time, so we were stuck again, and of course he was getting bigger, and it was starting to get urgent for him to go.  And of course the fellow who was taking the joey was still having car trouble.  One of my neighbours volunteered to drive me to his place, which she did, and I was in fear and trepidation the whole time, in case her car broke down too.  The joey travelled well, just had a small dose of valium and spent the whole trip in his pouch munching on grass.  We finally got to his new home, with no ill effects, and handed him over.  We didn’t stay long, because this fellow lived very rough;  he was building his house, and only had room enough for himself, and we all had to sit outside for our cuppa.  I won’t describe the toilet facilities, except to say they were very basic, and we didn’t use them……

 

So when we left, Breakdown had been moved into his enclosure with a nice little shed for shelter (I think he was going to live better than the bloke), and he was still munching away on grass, and seemed contented.  We got home with no problems, and a few days later, my daughter brought our car back.  I visited him a few times, as is my wont, just to see how they go, and give support to their new carer, if they need it.  The joey went well, as he had been, and of course, the guy’s car was still giving trouble.  Ours by this stage was back to its normal self, not giving any trouble at all.  Then, I got a phone call telling me the joey had finally gone.  He had been coming and going for a while, but he seemed to have finally left, and the bloke’s car was going……

 

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….

 

When Boof arrived at my door, I thought, Oh dear, what an ugly joey!   Most joeys are beautiful little things with huge eyes and ears, and long eyelashes, and the most endearing expressions on their faces….but poor Boof…he was behind the door when looks were given out.  He had little eyes, and fluffy untidy fur, and little stumpy eyelashes.   But, I look after orphans of any description, so in he came.  I soon discovered his plain looks covered a huge zest for life and a fighting spirit.

 

He came into the household that was already trying hard to cope with Hell Joey, and his friend Buckaroo.  By this time that pair were more or less living outside, but he soon got to know them.  On good days he was outside too, although in his pouch, so he was having interaction with his species almost from day 1.  Soon after he came, and had settled in, I got a phone call from another carer, asking could I take her two, Josie, and Captain Midnight.  So arrangements were made, and they arrived shortly after.  Captain Midnight was another wallaroo, like Hell Joey, but unfortunately, he wasn’t well, and died fairly soon after.  Josie on the other hand, fitted in with Boof really well, and they became constant companions.  Josie was so beautiful…she had big lustrous eyes, and just so gorgeous, with not a hair out of place….she would groom herself industriously and often.  Boof just kept on being boof….still plain, and still messy.  He reminded me of many a teenage boy.  Didn’t matter how good the clothes were, and how clean they started off, they always managed to look like something the dog dragged in.  Boof groomed himself too….not quite as often as Josie, but he still did it….all healthy roos do it…..but he still looked unkempt and a mess.

 

But he thrived and grew, and he was soon living outside with the “big kids”.  He coped with Hell Joey and his bullying, and just seemed to take life in his stride.  When visitors would come to the house, all the other roos would beat a retreat away from the house, but Boof would come bounding over to see whether anyone had a bottle….he would sit back on his tail, and let everyone talk to him, and really seemed to enjoy the attention.  When it became obvious that there was no bottle, he hung around anyway….I suppose hope springs eternal….

 

In due course Hell Joey and Buckaroo left, and life just went on for Boof….and when Roobella arrived, he just accepted the fact that they were now three.  Life was never a problem for him.  Then one terrible night I was woken by the noise of dogs barking and the sound of roos hopping round the house in a panic.  It was around 3 am, and at that time of night the roos would normally be quietly nibbling at the grass, or just having a bit of a rest before they start eating again.  But all hell had broken loose.  I rushed outside in my bleary half awake state to discover Nolan rushing round the yard, nose to the ground, in between barks, all the neighbourhood dogs barking frantically, and the roos racing round everywhere.  I called them all, and after a few minutes they calmed down sufficiently to come to me, and I took them all up onto the back verandah while their hearts stopped racing.  It became quite obvious to me that we’d had a nocturnal visitor in the person of a fox, and I thought we were really lucky no one had been injured or taken.  Eventually, things calmed down, and I went back inside.  I couldn’t sleep, because every little noise I was back out checking them.  After sunrise, I went out again, and checked everything out, and discovered that Boof had blood on his throat.  I initially thought the fox had grabbed him, but discovered the blood was just on his fur, there were no injuries evident, but when I went to feed them later, I discovered his mouth was starting to swell.  I’m not sure exactly what happened, but something obviously had.  Over the next few days his whole face swelled up.  Nothing appeared to have broken, but I think it’s highly likely in his attempt to avoid the fox he ran into something (like a tree, or fencepost), or he fell and landed on something hard.  But, typical Boof, he still wanted his bottle, and he still wanted his grass, even though he was having difficulty keeping the grass in his mouth because of his swollen lips….. After a few weeks, his face returned to normal, and he was plain old Boof again.  For a while there he actually looked like a little chipmunk.

Around this time, the fox returned, and took Roobella.  Another frantic night, but he and Josie were unharmed, and he took the loss in his stride.  A while later, we lost Josie too……she couldn’t cope with the new green grass that had sprung up after a bit of rain but Boof coped with her loss, and with digesting the unfamiliar food.  He just accepted the newcomers as they came into care, and also accepted the fact that some of them died.  But it was obvious he needed to go into pre-release, and that he really should have the company of a roo around his size.  About this time I got a phone call from another carer in a similar situation.  If Boof went to her place, he could be able to be released from there, as she lived close to the bush, and the wild kangaroos lived close by, so arrangements were put into place, and the day came for him to move on.  Typical of him, he just accepted everything that happened, and went off in a suitably doped up state, after an appropriate dose of valium for his hour’s car trip.

 

I heard a few weeks later that he had settled in really well into his new home and had made friends with everyone in his new family.  He was still acting cool and laid back, nothing seemed to faze him at all, and he still looked a mess….his winter coat had started to fall out, and he looked worse than ever!  But that was just Boof….

 

 

I have been around animals all my life.  As a child we always had a cat or cats, and then when I married and moved to the country, there were more cats….and dogs.  It was sort of a natural progression to move into caring for our native wildlife, even though in the beginning I had no idea what I was doing.  I just wanted to help.  I soon found out though that looking after wildlife was very different to having a pet.  These little creatures that were brought to my door by concerned neighbours were the equivalent of premature babies.  They needed intensive care, and it was very much hands on learning for me.  I soon found other people around who were willing to teach me what I needed to learn, in our local wildlife care group, which I joined (it also made me legal – you have to have a licence to care for wildlife in this part of Australia) and I very quickly found out that you don’t stop learning.

 

When looking after a joey, a baby kangaroo or wallaby, care has to be taken to give it an environment as near as possible to its mother’s pouch, otherwise it will stress and die.  Special milk has to be provided also, for many months, and the joey has to be toilet trained.  Not only will this decrease the washing of pouch liners, but its mother would have already instigated this (she doesn’t want a dirty pouch either), and we are trying to keep things as normal as we can.  And in due course, we have to prepare the animal for eventual release.

 

In my part of Australia, we have 4 different macropods (kangaroos and wallabies) that are likely to come into care:  Eastern Grey Kangaroo, Euro or Wallaroo, Red Neck Wallaby and Swamp Wallaby.  While basic care is the same for each type (they all need a pouch and food), temperaments are very different.  The Eastern Grey is a gentle soul (as a joey) and very timid.  It is a herd animal, and a prey animal, and is very into fight or flight – mainly flight as a joey.  Only the adult males will fight in self defence or over mating disputes.  The wallabies are generally more assertive, and tougher, and grow up quicker.  The wallaroos are bossy and also assertive, and loners.

 

The following story is about a wallaroo that came into my care, and his journey with me.  Now read on….

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The phone rang, and it was one of the local factories.  The voice on the other end told me that some  of the workmen had found a joey, and could I come and take care of it please.  So I threw a pouch in the car, and away I went.  It was only a short drive, and I soon presented myself at the office, where they were very pleased  to see me and took me to where the joey was, wrapped in a workman’s coat, and hiding in a hessian bag. I gently opened the bag and was greeted by a hiss, and the sight of two flashing eyes.  He was most unhappy with the whole proceedings, and didn’t want to be disturbed.  He had lost his mother, and just wanted to hide in the dark.  Who did I think I was to interrupt him!!??  I had just been “greeted” by a fiery tempered wallaroo….

 

I spoke quietly to him, and he tried to dive down further in the bag.  I needed to transfer him from his present arrangement to my own pouch, so, before I collapsed the bag around him, I placed the pouch I had brought over his head, and wriggled it down till it covered him, then tipped the bag, pouch, everything upside down, so he slid into the pouch, and out of the bag.  I tried to make him comfortable, and back in the dark where he wanted to be, and gave the people in the office back the hessian bag, and the coat.

 

I was then given an outline of what had happened.  His mother had been found at the base of a cliff, with him standing next to her, covered in frost.  It was the depths of winter.  He only weighed around 2 kilograms (4 pounds) but it took 3 men quite a long time to catch him.  He was frightened, and he was fast, and tougher than he looked, and he wasn’t going anywhere without a fight.  He ran them ragged, but they caught him eventually, and he took refuge in the bag.  I’m assuming his mother was chased by dogs, because wallaroos are very sure of themselves around rocks and mountains….and cliffs.  Under normal circumstances she wouldn’t have fallen down a cliff.

 

But whatever the cause, he was now in care, and I had to do my best to raise him and return him to the wild.  And being a wallaroo, he would be determined to make my life as difficult as possible, while charming his way into my heart.  So I took him home, and hung the pouch from the back of a chair, and left him alone.  Time for working out how much milk to give him later;  right now he needed peace and quiet.  I left him till it was getting close to bed time, and weighed him so I could work out how much milk to give him, prepared the bottle, and prepared for a fight.  And fight he did.  What was I doing to him?  He kicked and scratched, and did not want that rubber thing in his mouth….till he tasted the milk.  He started to suck, and peace reigned for a few minutes.  After just a few millilitres, he had had enough, and spat the teat out, and started kicking and bucking again.  Then I had to convince him to go to the toilet for me.  I placed his rear end on a towel, and his head in the pouch, and started tickling his business end with a tissue, till he urinated.  He actually calmed down, because this is what his mother would have done….except she wouldn’t have used a tissue, it would have been her tongue…..she didn’t want him going to the toilet in her pouch, so she toilet trained him!  Once he had finished though, back to the kicking and bucking, so I put him back to bed, and settled him down for the night.

 

All went well till around 3 am, when I heard an almighty crash.  I staggered out of bed, and found my way to the kitchen, turned the light on, and there he was, standing on the kitchen bench, checking it out for any grass that happened to be growing there.  He had jumped up and disturbed some plates that were placed on the sink;  that was the crash, and he looked surprised that I thought it was an unusual occurrence to find a small furry creature on the bench.  He immediately jumped back to the floor, and took off at speed into the living room, and scooted under the piano stool, and stood there watching me.  By this time I had grabbed his pouch, which he had obviously vacated, and had it ready to get him back in it.  He then left the safety of the piano stool and raced right past me and under the dining table.  I knew how the men felt chasing him!  It took me 10 minutes to corner him, literally.  He tried to jump up the wall, but instead I was able to get the pouch over his head, and he jumped into it, tumbling over into a more comfortable position, and glaring at me.  I secured the pouch as best I could so he would stay there till morning, and I could get back to bed!

 

Morning came, he was hungry, and fractionally better drinking.  I picked him some grass for him to eat in his pouch, once the frost had melted.  I daren’t let him outside till he was a bit easier to catch.  For the next few days each meal time was a battle until he realised that he felt better afterwards, and he started to look forward to it.  Each feed he was consuming a little more milk, and he was eating all the grass I gave him.  Of course during the night he would run out of food, and despite my best efforts, sometimes he would get out, and race round the living area, but gradually he became used to me and no longer tried to escape me when I presented his pouch to him.  But he never “tamed down”.  He still had that wild unquenchable spirit.  This was just a truce, until his moment came.  He was a hellion, and that became his name – the Hell Joey.

 

After about a week, I decided that I would try him outside, for a short time, during the daylight hours.  So I took him out, still in his pouch, and hung the pouch where he could reach the grass.  The first day, he stayed put, just eating the grass near his pouch, and I breathed a sigh of relief that there were no problems.  The next day I left him longer, and of course, he got up courage to leave the pouch.  All was well, he just wandered round eating.  Until he got startled, at least, and then he was off.  I rushed outside when I heard his frenzied jumping.  His eyes were flashing and there was no way he was going to come to me in that mood.  I could do nothing but quietly talk to him, and wait with his pouch till he calmed down sufficiently.  Then he allowed me to approach him, and he tumbled into his pouch and we went back inside.  It would be a while before he was allowed out at night, I decided.  Who knows what he would get up to?

 

Over the next few weeks, he became reacquainted with the great outdoors, until he was able to be out safely all day, and I would bring him in each night.  He soon came to regard my dogs as part of the furniture, even though he remained wary of them.

 

Then my son rang, and asked could I baby sit his dog for the weekend.  The dog and I were used to each other, but I was concerned about how Hell Joey and the dog would cope with each other. So I decided I could put Hell Joey in a small yard during the day.  This yard was dog proof (I thought), and had plenty of feed in it.  So Tyla arrived.  The first day everything was fine.  However the next day, I discovered that she was in the small yard, with HJ, standing over him, licking him as though he was in dire need of a wash.  HJ meanwhile was hunched over, standing there, looking at me as if to say “get it off!”  Which I did, and then of course had to present him with his pouch.  He dived into it very willingly, and took him back inside to recover.  There were no physical injuries, but his dignity was battered.  And I had to find out where the dog got in, and reinforce the fence.  I was concerned because I thought if a dog could get in, so could a fox.  And a fox wouldn’t be giving him just a lick, he would want to have him for dinner.  So HJ had to stay inside till I got the fence organised, by which time Tyla had gone home anyway.

 

Shortly after this, another phone call came, and another roo came into the fold.  This was an eastern grey kangaroo, so he was everything that HJ wasn’t;  affectionate, co-operative, calm.  He settled in quickly, and soon became friends with HJ.  He was named Buckaroo by the children of the family that found him.  Life eventually calmed down, and a routine became possible.  Both of them were outside together during the day, and Buckaroo came inside at night, and HJ went into the newly dogproofed small yard each night, where he could munch grass to his heart’s content, and be safe from marauding foxes.  At least that was the theory.

 

One night, when I went out to collect Buckaroo to take him inside for the night, I discovered HJ had escaped from his yard.  It was my own fault, because I had not fastened his gate securely enough when I put him in there after his bottle.  But he thought it was wonderful being out in the main yard at night!  And what a wonderful game it was for him having me chasing him in the moonlight!  I ended up giving up, and leaving him to it, just leaving the gate to his yard open and hoping Mr Fox didn’t come calling, and if he did Nolan the labrador would bark like mad, and warn me….

 

The next morning I went outside, and there he was, back in his yard, looking as angelic as it was possible for him to manage….. and making no attempt to escape even though the gate was wide open from the night before.  He waited till I came down to the yard, came up to me when I walked inside, and then objected wildly when I shut the gate!  He wanted to go back outside!  Now!!

 

As they grew older, and bigger, and less likely to be attacked by a fox, the routine changed again.  They were both able to stay outside at night now, and they were both in the bigger yard, where there was more to eat.  And more additions were made to the little group.  Several joeys came in.  Not all survived however, but eventually we settled down to the two bigger ones, HJ and Buckaroo, and the smaller ones, Boof and Josie.  It became routine for them all to be fed together in the mornings, and at night.  HJ would usually finish his bottle first, and then he would try to bully the others to get theirs.  He would get the smaller ones in headlocks in his attempts to steal their bottles.  Mealtimes often degenerated into battlefields, with me using feet, elbows, knees, whatever I could find to fend HJ off while the others finished, seeing my hands were otherwise occupied holding four bottles….

 

 

 

 

One morning though, he didn’t appear.  I called him but he just wasn’t there.  Very odd I thought….but I still had to feed the others, because they weren’t interested in waiting, but as soon as they had finished, I went looking for him, calling all the while.  After a few minutes he answered, but I couldn’t work out where he was calling from, so I called again, and eventually homed in on him.  There was an old wooden structure which had at one stage been used as a compost heap.  It was now just something they jumped over….but not HJ, he had jumped on it, and had somehow managed to fall off it, and had wedged himself between it and the fence, and here he was stuck firm.  I went over and tried to extricate him.  He hissed at me, and carried on a treat.  Anyone would think I had done it to him!  He wriggled and struggled as I tried to get my hands underneath his rather ample backside to free him, but it wasn’t working.  Eventually I managed to break the piece of wood that had him trapped and he was free.  He had taken a couple of pieces of skin off his leg, and battered his dignity again, but otherwise seemed fine, and was demanding his bottle!  So I gave him his bottle, and then returned to the remains of the compost heap and removed that piece of wood completely, so we wouldn’t have a repeat performance.

 

 

After he had recovered, I started making arrangements for HJ and Buckaroo to be released.  They would go to a place close to the bush where, after they were settled in and ready, it would be simple to just open the gate, and off they would go.  However, HJ, being HJ, made sure it wasn’t that simple.

 

On the appointed day, I took out the bottles for HJ and Buckaroo, which were laced with valium.  (Valium is routinely used as a sedative for macropods.)  They both drank them greedily, but that’s when the plans started to go awry.  They were supposed to get sleepy, and act calm….well it seems no one told HJ that…..and when I went to catch him, to put him in his pouch, he leaped all over the place, with me hanging onto his tail (a video would have been good at this point) and every time I got him near his pouch he started hissing and clicking and jumping with renewed vigour.  His little heart was beating hard…..and so was mine!!!  Well I knew I was beaten for now, so I let him go, and I knew I would have to be in touch with the vet for a BIGGER dose of valium.  I wondered if he could put in a little bit for me the next time.  So much for attempt no 1….

 

Attempt no 2….More valium milkshakes, about a week later, and stronger this time.  Again, both drank theirs eagerly, so I went off and got a few things organised for the trip to their new home while I waited for the valium to start working.  About 20 minutes later, I went back outside;  I thought things might have settled down by this.  I couldn’t see them so went looking and spied Hell Joey lying down in a patch of long grass under a tree.  As I walked past their water bowl, I turned on the water, as it was a bit low.  Well, the sound of that made him leap up in the air, and shoot down the yard.  Well, thought I, we’re off to a really good start here…..So I walked over to where he went, and he sniffed me.  Better I thought……he hasn’t made a break for it yet.  Then he allowed me to touch him, and just before I reached for his tail, he jumped sedately off a couple of steps.  Then I did grab his tail….Success!  He jumped around, and I managed to cradle him in my arms, still hanging onto his tail, but with him wriggling, and snorting like a steam engine, and of course scratching my arm.  I got him to the bag, and then tried to get him in.  Well he got renewed vigour then, and started throwing himself around, catching my head several times.  Thank goodness for the valium, I thought, I wouldn’t have even got this far.  But the more I tried to get him in the bag, the wilder he thrashed until eventually he got out of my arms completely, and jumped away.  We were both exhausted I think, but as I moved towards him again, he shot away in a different direction.  So I again accepted defeat….for the moment.  More valium later, and perhaps some reinforcements…..

 

At this point Buckaroo came up to me.  He was also supposed to be under the influence of valium, but all he wanted to do was box me!  I turned for the house, and he followed me the whole way, pounding his little front paws on my derriere, and leaping up and down like a pugilist.  Felt very strange, I can assure you…..  As I went through the door, he raced away and started bashing up a sheet on the clothes line, and got himself tangled up in it.

 

Again I wish someone had been there…firstly to help me….and secondly….. to get all this on video!!!!

 

Before I got a chance for attempt no 3, it became necessary for me to get my car repaired.  I had to take it out of town for this to happen, and it meant I was without a car for a few days.  A friend had kindly brought me home, and just as I was walking in the back gate, I saw HJ leap the front fence at its shortest point of around 4 and a half feet.  At that stage he stood maybe two feet high.  He cleared it easily and just kept going, and around the corner into the street that leads to the shops.  I got another friend to drive me round looking for him, but to no avail. He had just disappeared.  I could do nothing except come home and wait for the phone calls saying, “there’s a roo in my back yard!  What do I do?” or reports of roos hopping down the main street.  There was no news over the next couple of days, which I hoped meant good news. I was hoping he’d gone bush….that’s where he’d be happy, and could cause as much havoc as he liked out there;  if he met a bigger roo, I was sure he’d cope…… he had plenty of survival skills.

 

The three remaining roos seemed to be relieved at his departure.  He could no longer bully them at mealtimes, and knock the smaller ones out of the way to get to the bottles.  They seemed to be slightly in shock because of their much more peaceful existence.

 

I was just starting to come to terms with his disappearance, when two days later, just at morning feed time, he appeared at our side gate asking admittance, and please could he have a bottle?  He was covered in grass seed and seemed quite deflated.  I don’t think being free was quite what he anticipated, and obviously he hadn’t gone far.  So of course I let him in, and got his bottle ready, and it wasn’t too long before he was back to his old self, and harassing the others at meal time.  So of course, I had to get some more valium for another attempt at release!

 

 

This time I was a bit better prepared.  On the first available cooler day (it was summer by this), and fairly early to beat the heat if it did warm up, I got all the bags and fastenings ready before I prepared their valium milkshakes. So…I would be able to act as soon as the valium started to take effect.  This time HJ had 35 mg of valium, and Buckaroo had 15mg.  Obviously kangaroos are able to cope with a lot higher dose of valium than people.  I can imagine what 35 mg would do to me!  5 mg usually sedates me nicely….  So I took the bottles down to them, which they, as usual, drank greedily.  They might have been ready to move on, but they still lived for their bottles.  I watched them closely for the first signs of dopiness, and as soon as I saw it, I moved quickly, obviously trying to catch HJ first, as he was the troublemaker.  So, with my heart in my mouth, but also determination, because I knew I HAD to do it;  if he got too much bigger I just wouldn’t be able to physically handle him, I prepared for battle.  I would have felt happier in a suit of armour…..

 

I approached him but he remembered previous encounters, and hopped off.  Groggily I might add, but he still hopped off.  I followed him and in an attempt to hide managed to corner himself.  So I was able to catch him.  Without the valium, I wouldn’t have even been able to get this far;  I wouldn’t have been able to lay a finger on him.  First step had been taken, but he wasn’t giving in yet.  I had hold of his tail with one hand, and I had the other hand round his chest, holding him close to my body, and he was wriggling.  I carried him over to where the bags were, and he wriggled even harder!  Now, how to hang on to him and get him into his bag without dropping him, or losing grip of him altogether, as on previous attempts…  Oh for another person, or even to be an octopus!  So using the hand that was round his middle, I slid it further round till it also grabbed hold of his tail, and let his tail go with the other hand, and somehow I managed to keep hold of him, and pick up the bag, even though he was struggling as though his life depended on it, and no doubt he thought it did!  But I was just as determined not to let him go, and even though he was kicking and scratching, and even though I ALMOST dropped him several times, I finally managed to get him into his bag.  Not before he managed to throw himself back onto my head, and kick me in the stomach several times.  I kept thinking to myself, you little horror, you’re supposed to be sedated!  Act like it!  And of course every time there was a renewed flurry of activity, more injury was inflicted to my body!  The adrenalin rush kept me going;  I was only half aware of what he had done to me, and I just knew this time I had to succeed.  By the time I got him in his bag I was just hanging on by his tail.  However, once I managed to get him in there, he ceased his struggles.  It was as though once in, he thought he might as well accept his fate, and calmed down instantly….or perhaps he was just as exhausted as me, and thought, thank the Lord that’s over, now I’ll have a rest!  But whatever the reason, I quickly secured the bag and placed it in the shade while I walked over to Buckaroo who was watching proceedings blearily. Buckaroo was a delight by comparison.  I just walked up to him and picked him up in his drunken stupor-like state…..I could have taken him anywhere……. I took advantage of his co-operation and put him into his bag with no hassle at all.

 

So, both of them were at last secured, and with one in the back seat of the car, and the other in the front passenger seat, I set off to their new home, approximately 25 minutes away.  As they slept peacefully, I became aware of various parts of my anatomy that were hurting, now that the adrenalin level had dropped.  But I was too intent on my driving to worry too much about it;  I just needed to get them there.  On my arrival I was met by their new carer, and we took both bundles out of the car and into their new yard.  Then we undid the bags at the same time.  Two sleepy heads popped forth, and looked around and sniffed the air, then struggled out of the bags.  More looking round, then some tentative hops to suss the place out.  We’d placed them under the trees, where it was pretty well devoid of grass, but as it was by this time a warm day I reckoned they’d need shade more than lush grass till they’d acclimatised.  After about 10 mins of looking around, and checking out their neighbour, a blind sheep, (who thinks she’s a kangaroo – she’s been raised with previous roo tenants) they started sniffing out the grass.  Once they started doing this, I felt confident they were settling, and I was able to retire to the house for a piece of banana cake, and a well earned cuppa.  I also started checking my injuries, and found scratches and bruises all over my upper left arm from HJ’s front claws.  I could watch them from the back verandah, and after a while I saw them lie down in the shade and relax, too.

 

That night when getting ready for bed I found further bruising on my thighs and stomach from being kicked by his huge feet.  No wonder I was sore…..

 

So all went well……eventually.  I visited them from time to time, and saw them grow and get wilder.  I received reports as well, and heard that finally the gate had been opened, and they had gone.  Buckaroo hung around for a while, because he had met a lovely little female Eastern Grey kangaroo that came into care not long before their release.  Hell Joey just went.  Freedom was his and he took it.

 

So closed a chapter for me, but another one opened for him…

 

 

 

Roobella came to me like a lot of others, she wasn’t well and her carer didn’t know what to try next.  Also the carer was going through a very stressful time with her family, she didn’t really need to have to cope with a sick roo as well.  So she came to me.  She was bright enough, and big enough to be getting out of her pouch, but not really well enough.  She was coping, but not thriving.  Her tummy troubles meant she couldn’t be given a lot of milk, and she wasn’t particularly interested in grass.

 

However, as a wallaroo, she was typical in that she was very vocal, and if things weren’t to her liking she was not backward in saying so!  She hissed and clicked with the best of em…but she seemed a slightly gentler soul.  I put this down to the fact that she wasn’t 100% and thought this would probably change as she improved.  So I started racking my brain to find her problem.  I treated her for thrush, (yes, what babies get in their mouths, but roos get it in their tummies) and there was an almost instant improvement.  However, as soon as I started to increase her milk, she was back to square one….but at the same time, she had found her appetite for grass, so that was a plus.  She would go outside with the others during the day, and nibble the grass with her head hanging out of her pouch, she still didn’t want to get out, as most other wallaroos her age would.  I had to MAKE her get out, and have a little bit of exercise.

 

In the meantime we were still battling on with the milk, and making some headway, but very slowly, and slowly but surely she seemed to be growing.  Then one day, while I was getting her organised to get out of her pouch, I discovered she had a lump on her skin.  I thought I had better investigate this, and in the course of it, discovered an abscess!  And, in the course of investigating it, it broke…..well, inside, was a small lump of metal, I’m assuming it had been there as a result of the impact with the car that killed her mum.  I cleaned her up (despite her noisy objections) and watched it over the next few days in case there was more stuff to come out, but saw it close over……and her tummy suddenly improved….her appetite grew enormously…she wanted to be outside, eating grass, and she wanted to be out of her pouch….and her attitude changed to much more like a normal wallaroo!

 

But she never quite lost that gentleness of soul, and she was more affectionate with me than normal, and she never quite outgrew her love of her pouch.

Wobbly came into my care as a tiny joey of 800 grams (very approximately 1 and a half pounds).  He was just starting to get his fur.  You couldn’t see it all that well, but on the parts of his body that it was growing, it felt like velvet.  It grew first of all on his face and head, then his feet and “hands”, because they were the parts that would have first been out of the pouch.  He had really long legs, and there really wasn’t much too him.  He was named Wobbly because on the odd occasion he was allowed out of his pouch in those early days, he would try so hard to stand up, but he was just too young to manage it and wobbled all over the place!

 

It was a long road ahead for him, and a challenge for me too, I had never had a joey this small, but despite having a few problems, he thrived.  When he got to be round 2 kilos (4.4 pounds), another joey came into the house.  He was very beautiful, but turned out to be very dumb.  Errol (named for his extraordinary beauty) was really hard to teach about drinking from bottles.  Most joeys have it worked out in a few days, that the milk comes from the bottle, therefore bottles are good.  Then another few days, they will actually take the teat readily when offered, you no longer have to put it in their mouths for them;  but not Errol.  He was weeks…..

Later, when they started to spend time outside, his dumbness became even more evident, he also couldn’t work out about gateways.  If he wanted to go into the next yard, he would just bounce into the fence, and couldn’t work out how to get through it.  Wobbly, as do most roos, worked out you hop down the fence till you get to the gateway, and you just hop through, without pain or trauma.  So he virtually had to take Errol under his wing and teach him all the roo things that Errol would need to know.  Just as well, because he wasn’t taking much notice of me.  So Wobbly became the leader.

 

They both grew, and spent more and more time outside till they were outside all the time.  By this time they were 5 or 6 kilos, and the time was coming for them to move on.  I would have had Wobbly for about 12 months I suppose, and we had a very special relationship.  But I knew he had to go, and found him a lovely place for his next stage.  I took them out there and settled them in.  They had a couple of slightly older joeys for company, and the plan was that they would all be released together.  They had several acres to run around in, and most of it was bush, and on the other side of the fence lived the wild roos.  So they would acclimatise gradually.

 

They stayed there a couple of months, and I visited them a few times to see how they settled in.  Then I got a phone call from their carer saying that he was going to start the actual release process in a few days, would I like to come and say goodbye.  The release process entailed him opening the main gate to allow them to go in and out, and after a while they would stay out.  So the next day I went out.  My son came with me, and brought his camera.  We found the four of the roos together, and the two that belonged there and Errol took off, they didn’t want to know me.  But Wobbly came towards me, he remembered me, and actually allowed me to hold his hands and talk to him.  My son was able to get a couple of wonderful photos of this.  Of course I had tears in my eyes;  here was this little thing that I had reared, and he was ready to go.  I had succeeded in my job, but I was just so touched that he remembered me and wanted to say goodbye before he left.

 

It was a wonderful feeling, even though bittersweet, but I knew he would be okay.

 

Gypsy was born on the farm/pottery factory where my daughter works and lives.  She was born into a fairly complex family set up.  Now concentrate carefully, or confusion will ensue…. The dog family originally consisted of Minnie, whom they had acquired as an Australian Silky Terrier.  However, they weren’t aware that what they had was NOT purebred, until they acquired their next dog, Mickey.  They then realised that Australian Silkies did not look like guinea pigs.  Anyway, Minnie and Mickey got on very well, and in due course produced some puppies.  There were several, who all went to good homes, except for one daughter, Daisy.  By this time they had discovered that Mickey had a few genetic faults, and decided not to breed from him again, and had him neutered.  However they were left with two females, who, as female dogs do, went into heat from time to time, and usually together.  So of course, the neighbours’ dogs came calling….. There was one particularly amorous dog whose owner actually came to work at the factory.  He was a lovely light coloured chihuahua, and, as happens when there are female dogs on heat, a male dog does what he thinks he ought to do, and got both of them pregnant.  Both girls had their pups within days of each other, 3 each.  Gypsy was one of Minnie’s pups, which meant that she was the half sister of Daisy, so auntie of daisy’s pups, and at the same time the pups’ half sister.  Right…confused you enough?  I’ll move on…..

 

Gypsy inherited her colouring from her father, and her huge chihuahua eyes.  Her general size and shape from her terrier ancestors, as well as her terrier eyebrows and beard.  She inherited long hair from her silky ancestors, but it wasn’t silky and smooth; instead it was coarse and stiff, hence her nickname, the Toilet Brush.

 

Now how did Gypsy end up with me?  Her original owner, when the puppies dispersed, was a lady, Kathy, who worked at the pottery, and lived at the farm.  She stayed with her for around 18 months, and then Kathy heard from her family in her native Germany that her mother was very ill, and Kathy decided she should go home.  Her original intention was to go home for 3 years, then come back.  But what to do with the dog?  She was very concerned, and asked my daughter, Julie, what she should do.  My daughter of course said, I’ll ask Mum…..Well you guessed it, arrangements were made for Gypsy to come and live with me for 3 years, although I was fully aware that Gypsy may end up staying.  As she would be moving in with Albert, our by that time elderly Golden Retriever, it was also decided she should be desexed, as we were all having terrible thoughts about what would happen should she and Albert get together…..Gypsy was only a tiny dog.

 

So my daughter came home for a week, and brought Gypsy with her.  Gypsy hated me at first sight, and barked at me constantly.  I wasn’t her mother, and what had I done with her?  However, after a few feeds, she came round a bit, and decided maybe I was alright after all… Then we introduced her to Albert.  Well!  Albert was beside himself with joy!  Here was another dog!  And he knew very well she was female, because unknown to us, she was on heat!  It didn’t take us long to work out why he was so interested in her……so I rang the vet straight away and made an appointment…..the vet explained that he couldn’t do the operation until she was off heat, but he could give her some tablets to finish it a bit quicker, and hopefully avoid pregnancy.  So we got the tablets, and at the appointed time, took her for her operation without further mishap.

 

In the meantime, she made the acquaintance of Max.  She was used to cats, but not ones that were quite so big.  Max wondered what she was, and generally ignored her.  They have since settled into a co-existence, rather than a great friendship.

 

Julie had gome home, and Gypsy and I had to get to know one another.  I wasn’t used to little dogs, and Gypsy was definitely little.  I was used to big confident dogs, that took everything in their stride, not little nervous things, that yelped in anticipation…..and wouldn’t go through a door without being sure it wouldn’t shut on her.

 

Kathy of course had gone back to Germany, and kept in touch.  I would get letters from her with updates on her family situation, and I would write back, sending photos and news of Gypsy.  Then, as it got closer to the 3 years, I got a letter from Kathy saying she didn’t think she would be able to come back, except maybe for a holiday, because of family problems.  Could I please keep Gypsy?  By this time of course, Gypsy had wormed her way into my life completely.  Of course I wrote back and said I would be happy to keep her.  About 12 months after that Kathy managed a trip back to Australia, and came to visit, bearing gifts for me, and gifts for Gypsy.  Gypsy was delighted to see Kathy once more, and really enjoyed the visit, and the attention.  However, when Kathy was ready to leave, Gypsy came and stood next to me…..it seemed to me as though Gypsy had chosen to stay with me.

 

One day, after Nolan came to stay with us, she went out to the back room.  Nolan was outside, and they were talking to each other through the screen door.  I was in the living room with my neighbour, and we were both sitting on the floor measuring material to be made into blinds.  Suddenly, we heard this blood thirsty yelp!  We leapt to our feet as fast as we could, and both rushed out to the back room, while the yelping continued.  I expected to find blood from one end of the room to the other, but no, there was Gypsy, who had managed to get one toenail stuck in the gap between the door and the floor.  Nolan was leaning on the door from the outside, and Gypsy’s toenail was stuck fast and she couldn’t pull it out.  It took us a few seconds to work out what was actually happening, but once I did, I got Nolan to stop leaning, and Gypsy was then able to remove her toenail without further ado, and immediately danced round the room, leaping up on all the furniture….. Both of us sorta felt she should at least have had a sore foot!

 

Gypsy has now settled into life here with me.  The high point of her day is to go for a walk.  She gets so excited about putting the lead on, leaping and dancing and yelping, that it takes me at least 5 minutes to do so, because she just won’t keep still….. She also gets excited about going anywhere in the car, and she loves to visit two of her half sisters, (and nieces…..but we won’t go into that again….) who ended up living in Rylstone.  She loves to steal Max’s food….and she loves to try really hard to convince me she’s starving to death and really needs a bite or two of my dinner.  I’m always in awe of the loyalty she shows me….it’s a very humbling experience to have an animal adore you, as she seems to adore me.  I’m hoping we have a long time together yet, and I’m sure we’ll share some more adventures in time to come…….