Mamaroo's Diary

 

This little incident involves a friend of mine who would probably prefer to remain nameless as she found the whole thing rather embarrassing….so I’ll call her Sally.

Sally lives a couple of blocks from me…but then the whole town lives a couple of blocks from me….

This particular day she decided she’d take the cat to the vets.  The cat wasn’t sick, but needed his yearly booster injections.  She could have waited a couple of days till the vets came down for their weekly clinic in our town, but decided for whatever reason, it was more convenient for her to take the cat to Mudgee, and not wait.  She didn’t have a cat basket, and didn’t borrow one from the local vet clinic (they would have lent her one), nor did she contact any of her friends who had cat baskets to lend her one.  She just put the cat in the car on the passenger seat on a towel….not in a box….and set off.  All was well for a few minutes till the cat realised the car was moving.  Then it started yowling.  Those of you blessed with cats know what a lovely sound it is.  Bad enough as that was, then the cat started exploring the car.  Fortunately it decided it would sit up on the back ledge, near the back windscreen, still continuing its musical rendition of the Cat’s Concerto, but as you can imagine, it was a difficult drive for her.  And of course he didn’t stay there all the time, he moved around the car and returned to the back window ledge each time.  Several times she stopped the car to check his whereabouts, and she was thanking all that was holy that he wasn’t sitting on her head, or under her feet near the pedals.  This went on for round half an hour, until she was going through a windy bit of road.  She was almost through this, but distracted by the cat’s antics, she managed to run off the road, and into a ditch.  The car wasn’t badly damaged, but there was no way she could drive it out without assistance, and by this stage, obviously, she wasn’t really in a fit state to be driving anything!  Fortunately someone had been driving behind her, and noticed her erratic driving and decided something was amiss, thinking she had possibly suffered a heart attack or a stroke.  He stopped at the side of the road where she had landed in the ditch, and helped her out of the car.  She wouldn’t leave the car, with the cat in it, so he rang for an ambulance, and a tow truck.  Fortunately his mobile phone worked….a lot of places on that road, mobiles don’t work, and once the ambulance and tow truck arrived, he left. 

Sally adamantly refused to go anywhere in the ambulance until the tow truck driver said he would take the cat with him to Mudgee, and look after him till her husband arrived.  So she allowed herself to be taken to hospital for observation, and once there, the hospital rang her husband, who of course wasn’t home, but they left a message for him to ring them.  The tow truck man locked the cat in the car for the short drive into Mudgee, and found a box in his office, and retrieved the cat and confined him to barracks in that till he could be collected.  In due course, Sally’s husband rang the hospital, and they put him through to her.  His first words were, “How’s the cat?”

He travelled up to Mudgee that night, and collected both Sally and the cat, both of whom were a bit shaken but otherwise unharmed.  The car of course had to stay in Mudgee for repairs, so Sally and the cat came home in her husband’s truck.  The cat obviously hadn’t made it to the vets, and still needed to go for his injections.  Now, Sally had no car as well as no carry basket….. so she rang me to see whether I could give her a lift.  I had of course heard about her little adventure, and been round to see her, so naturally I gave her a lift to the vets, and lent her my cat basket.  And made her promise that she would ALWAYS ask to borrow it, when in need…..

 

It seems the season for looking after native mammals has arrived….

About ten days ago, a lady rang, asking was I still involved in animal care.  She explained that she had been given a joey, and all was going well till that day, when it woke with a wheeze, and coughing.  Could she bring it to me to see what I thought?  So she brought it round, and I didn’t even have to open the pouch to know that it would need veterinary assistance.  However, when I looked inside, this little head popped up, bright as a button!  Not at all what I expected from the sound effects…

Having dealt with this lady previously, I knew she was the sort that could cope with hard facts.  I told her it would need antibiotics, and that the vet wasn’t available until tomorrow in Rylstone.  Neither of us was available to take the little roo to Mudgee that afternoon, which would have been preferable.  I also discussed with her that the vet may think it kinder to put him to sleep, and she was fully aware that as she wasn’t able to take him to vet that afternoon, he may not survive the night.  She took that all on board, and we decided that she would take him home that night, and if he DID survive, she would bring him into me the next day, and I would take him to the vets, and if the vet thought he was treatable, I would care for him till he recovered, or whatever the outcome. 

She turned up the next morning with him, still as bright as a button, but still wheezing like a steam train;  you could hear him all over the house.  So I rang the vets and confirmed the appointment that I had provisionally made after the lady went home.  The time came, and we presented ourselves at the vets.  I had him wrapped up pretty well, and as soon as I opened up the pouch up popped his head again.  He looked around, checking things out, and responding to all the affection he was given.  The vet checked him out and decided with that attitude, we really HAD to give him a chance.  We all knew that there were no guarantees, but we just had to try. 

He was very dehydrated, seeing it was so difficult for him to drink, so the vet injected fluid under his skin.  He also organised him some antibiotics, and home we went, to start trying to feed him every two hours (not at night though…once I went to bed, so did he…). 

For the next few days he responded well to the treatment;  I was able to get him onto three hourly feeds.  The wheezing was improving very slowly;  there were times when he wasn’t wheezing at all, but it was still a battle….for him to drink, and for me to get enough into him…but I felt we were still in there with a chance….he was still bright and alert.  Every feed he would drink frantically for the first couple of minutes, then have to stop and have a rest, and a cough and splutter;  then another drink, and finally after he had been toiletted and cleaned up (there was always a lot of spray painting with milk happening) he would sit on my knee and look around for a few minutes before he would tumble down into his pouch and back to sleep.

Then on Saturday morning another lady rang, this time with a wombat.  It was hairless she said, but she had kept it warm all night.  She was looking for a carer for it.  The thoughts of taking on another little creature that needed 2 or 3 hourly feedings was just a bit much for my feeble brain…argh!  So I rang a friend in Mudgee, and explained the situation.  She said that she would take it, and either keep it herself and pass it onto another carer up there.

So arrangements were made for the wombat to come to me, and be picked up by the carer from Mudgee.  Just before the wombat was dropped off the Mudgee lady rang and said, I’m running late, I have to pick up two little roos on the way!  We both thought…..it’s started!….sigh….  She eventually arrived, had a quick cuppa, and took off with the wombat.

The next few days continued much the same, with him as bold as brass, but still wheezing, and being fed every three hours, with the occasional two hours between feeds whenever he didn’t take enough.  Tuesday I made another appointment at the vets, as I felt he needed reassessing and perhaps more antibiotics.  Wednesday, off to the vets again, where he charmed everyone, and apart from the wheezing, everyone wondered why on earth he was even at the vets.  He was given the once over, and given more antibiotics, as the chest infection wasn’t quite better.

Then, at the 8 pm feed, he only took a tiny amount.  I tried him again at 10, and he refused altogether.  I waited up till midnight, and tried again.  He still refused and this time by the time I put him back to bed, maybe 10 minutes, he was cold.  This started alarm bells with me, and stayed up till the heating pad had kicked in and warmed him right through.  I realised this could mean he wouldn’t make it through the night.  I awoke early, and could hear him wheezing, and went to check him.  He was still bright, but didn’t look as well.  I prepared his bottle, but he refused it so I just put him back to bed, and made him comfortable.  I knew I had done everything I could, and could only wait.  About an hour later I checked him, and he had passed away peacefully, in his sleep.  Later that day I took him out to a nice patch of bush, just out of town, where there were lovely trees, and birds were singing.  I lay him to rest at the base of one of the trees, and thought how peaceful he looked.  I said my goodbyes, and went home.  I was exhausted and needed a sleep!

However….there is no rest for the wicked, and I must be very wicked indeed.  The next day, I was having my breakfast, and the phone rang.  Yes, another panic stricken lady with a baby roo.  And yes, it is now here, but this time….it is a wallaroo…..a tiny Hell Joey.  Methinks this will be another story….

 

One day quite a few years ago, I decided to take the dogs down onto the golf course for a walk, after quite a savage hailstorm.  Typical of all hailstorms round here, it was confined to quite a narrow strip, but within that strip, the damage had been quite horrendous.  Vege gardens now contained “shredded” lettuce, and fruit had been stripped from fruit trees, and in places, branches had been broken from trees. 

The weather after the storm was cool and crisp, after the heat that had preceded the storm, and it was just lovely for a walk, and to survey the hail stones still piled up in places.  So the dogs and I set off.  Jessie and Albert were the dogs we had in those days, and both were in their prime, and loved nothing more than a walk on the golf course.  They were in their element, and as soon as we reached the course, I took their leads off, and let them run.  And run they did, noses to the ground, catching up on the latest messages, and then they would rush off after rabbits (whom they couldn’t catch…the rabbits could outrun them).  They literally ran rings round me.  I just walked along, enjoying myself, as they ran to and fro, and covering a much greater distance than I was.

It was when we had almost finished our walk that the dogs came across the magpie at the base of a tree, sitting in the grass.  I had done very little animal caring at this stage of my life, but I realised that very few birds sat on the grass with dogs looking and sniffing at them, without making some attempt to escape.  And this magpie was just sitting there, making warning sounds, but obviously unable to get away.  I had a long sleeved shirt which I had taken off previously, once I warmed up with the walking, and wrapped her up in that, picking her up carefully, and placed her on a branch.  I thought she would be safe there.  But despite my good intentions, she fell off, she was unable to grasp the branch with her feet.  Well I thought, I can’t just leave her on the ground, anything could get her, and have her for dinner.  So I picked her up again, wrapping her up securely for a short trip home.  It was a bit tricky getting the leads back on the dogs, with a magpie “parcel” in my hands, but I managed and off we set. 

When we reached home, the kids immediately noticed I had something in my hands and of course wanted to know what it was.  They were entranced when they were shown, and I suddenly had many hands wishing to help, so I sent them off to find me a suitable box, and some rags to make into bedding for her.  We were able to examine her, and soon found there seemed to be no broken bones or anything terrible.  I really didn’t know what had happened, but I assumed she had been hit on the head by the hail.  I found out later that when a bird has been concussed (as she must have been) that they can exhibit signs similar to a person who has had a stroke, e.g., one side seems to be paralysed, or they can lose the use of wings and feet.  So I thought the best thing to do would be to make her as comfortable as I could for the night, and see how she was in the morning. Into the box she went.  She didn’t seem to be too upset by the proceedings, and just settled down into the warm bedding made from the rags. The kids of course all wanted to take her to bed with them…I didn’t think that was a great idea…but I did allow one of the bigger ones to have the box in their room where they could “keep an eye on her”.

Next morning, bright and early, the kids and I removed the lid of the box.  She was still staring at us, but brighter in the eye.  I got a towel and wrapped her in it, and we all took her outside.  I took her to one of our trees and put her on the branch.  Her feet grabbed hold.  Wow I thought, she’s coming good!  Then before we had a chance to think, she flew off….it was a bit wobbly, but it was still flying and she landed in a higher tree further away.  Success!  She was back where she wanted to be, and safe from predators while she continued to recover….and probably wondering what on earth would have happened had she stayed with us….

On my arrival home from work one day, at lunchtime , I was greeted by my children, who were actually excited to see me.  They dragged me into the living room to show me the contents of a box.  There in a cardboard box that is used for packing fruit, was the largest echidna I have ever seen.  He (or she) filled up the whole box.  I asked the kids what was wrong with him.  The kids told me that the person who brought the echidna round said he found him walking along the side of the road and brought him to me in case he got run over.  I was amazed.  Why go to all that trouble to pick the echidna up….not an easy task with all those spikes….and just move him to the side of the road instead of bringing him to me?  I realised the person did it with the right motives, but still….

I decided I’d better check him out just in case.  So with great care, I gave him the once over, and decided the only thing that I could see was that he had a few ticks, which was quite common.  So I asked the kids to take him back out to near where he was found (the kids, being well trained, had asked where he came from).  My elder son by this stage had a driver’s licence, and jumped at every opportunity to drive somewhere…. I stressed that they would need to do it soon, as he would soon dig out of the box;  cardboard doesn’t hold them for long.  So I grabbed a quick bite of lunch, and headed back to work.

That evening I came home to find an empty box, and I thought, oh good that’s done…. The kids were all in their rooms reading or whatever.  I prepared our meal.  Around the dinner table I asked them how they got on with the echidna.  They all looked blankly at me.  They’d forgotten about him, and he was still somewhere in the house….he definitely wasn’t in the box.  Dinner was forgotten as we all sprang into search mode, and started looking for him.  It was obvious he was in hiding somewhere;  we would have noticed him in the middle of the floor somewhere….  After about 10 minutes of searching under beds and chairs and behind things with no luck, one of the kids noticed that Albert our golden retriever was getting very excited near one of the bean bags.  So I lifted the bean bag up, and there was the echidna, trying to look as small as possible.  We transferred him to the box…..very carefully….and I instructed the kids to take him back NOW!!….while I cleaned up under the bean bag.  He had dropped his load of ticks there, and I wasn’t very keen on having the ticks in the house, for some reason…..

So while they continued on their errand of mercy, I got out the vacuum cleaner and went to work.  Once the ticks were cleaned up, I then emptied the  contents of the vacuum bag into some paper, wrapped it securely, then placed it in a plastic bag, which was also tied securely, and then placed in the rubbish bin outside.  By that time, the kids had returned, and everyone was calm enough to resume eating dinner.  Just as well it was a salad….. 

 

The phone rang.  It was Rachel from Mudgee wanting to know if I knew where Sue was.  I replied that I thought Sue was in Queensland visiting her daughter.  Oh…said Rachel.  Sue’s the only one who breeds “live” food (baby rats…Sue has pet snakes, and she feeds them freshly killed baby rats), and the National Parks and Wildlife ranger has just rung and said someone has just brought some baby quolls into the vets.  They’re being checked out then he wants one of us to care for them, till they’re big enough to be released.

Yikes!  I said, quolls!  They’re endangered!  What do we do if we can’t find Sue?  Hang on till I find my mammal book and I’ll see what else we can feed them.  I asked Rachel could she take them overnight, if we couldn’t locate Sue.  I asked her if she knew how old they were, because if they were tiny they’d need bottle feeding.  Otherwise we might be able to make do with some dog food until we could organise something more permanent.  Rachel said she could take them overnight, as long as they were in something they couldn’t break out of, she had baby chickens she was rearing, plus a couple of joeys, and some kittens.  She didn’t really want any of these devoured by the quolls.

A little interruption while I explain what quolls are.  Quolls are also called native cats.  They are carnivorous marsupials, vaguely related to Tasmanian Tigers and Tasmanian Devils…and antechinuses.  Quolls are the biggest of these carnivores that still exist on the mainland of Australia.  They are around the size of cats, and are considered vulnerable in the wild.  No one in our area had ever had any in care, although I had seen an adult that had been brought into the vet, with a large abscess on his face.  He was not a happy chappy, and neither was the vet when he had finished checking him out;  it was quite a task to examine and treat him without having any parts of his anatomy removed.  The quoll was given a large injection of antibiotics and taken back out into the bush for release…

After checking out my book, I reckoned these were likely to be Spotted Tail, or Tiger Quolls.  They would eat just about anything, but their particular favourite was chooks (chickens).  They are very happy climbing, and are expert hunters of birds;  so it follows if they can manage to get into someone’s chook yard at night, it’s like their equivalent of takeaway….they just walk in to the chook house and start eating while the chooks are asleep and haven’t got a clue in the world that anything is going to happen! 

Right….after that little interlude, back to the story….A little while later, Rachel rang back.  She had just had another phone call from the ranger….he was about to go down and take photos of the little creatures.  You can tell how often we get things like this by the excitement it was causing.  He would ring her back shortly with all necessary information.

Right….deep breaths….calm down…in half an hour or so, we’ll know what’s going on.  A little while later Rachel rang back again.  She said, we don’t have to take them, they’re not quolls.  I sat there stunned!   What are they then?  The ranger has no idea she said.  I couldn’t believe it…no idea at all?  Then we started to get excited again.  Perhaps they’re Tasmanian Tigers!  We could be rich if they are!  (I’m not quite sure why….)  Oh yes she agreed!  (Even though Tasmanian Tigers are extinct, rumours abound that they still exist both in Tasmania and on the mainland.  In fact I’ve even heard of “strange sightings” in our district.)

Rachel hung up, promising to let me know as soon as she knew anything.  The next day came, with no further news.  The ranger was having a day off, but his office promised that he would email pictures of the creatures as soon as he came in.  In the meantime we heard the the little animals had been taken home by one of the vet nurses, until they were formally identified.  When we heard this Rachel and I breathed a sigh of relief;  they can’t be anything really nasty, or no one would have taken them home….

Another day came, and Rachel rang again.  I’m sending you the pictures, you won’t believe what they are!  Ring me back once you get the email!  I opened up my email account, and there were the pictures.  She was right, I couldn’t believe it;  I was dumbfounded!  I rang her back.  They’re PUPPIES!  How could anyone in their right mind think they were quolls?  These are fluffy little puppies!  Cute little brown fluffy puppies! 

Good grief!….

 

Even though I have had cats for a long time, I very rarely have had to rescue birds from my cats.  There has been the odd occasion, and for a while I had bells on the cats’ collars, only to discover that cats are quite capable of not ringing any of the bells when they’re in hunting mode.  One of my cats had six bells on his, and not a sound did he make, as he stalked.  Fortunately however, the birds were mostly faster than the cats. 

Some of the birds that we have around here, are a reasonable size, and have very strong looking beaks.  None of my cats have ever wanted to take on a magpie for example.  Except for Bilbo, our tiny cat, who wasn’t much bigger than the mapgies in any case.  Magpies are fairly clever birds, and they knew that this cat was a sausage short of a barbecue in the size department, and they used to lead him a merry dance.  Bilbo of course considered himself a mighty hunter, and took it upon himself to catch one of the magpies.  From time to time, there would be several of them alight in one of the fruit trees.  Bilbo would climb the tree and the magpies would wait until he was almost to their branch, and fly to the next tree.  Bilbo would patiently climb down, and go to the next tree and repeat the performance.  The magpies would fly back to the first tree.  Bilbo would get down again and also go back to the first tree, and start climbing again.  This would go on and on till either the magpies or Bilbo got sick of it….and it was usually Bilbo.  He never caught a magpie…

 

Max also considered himself a mighty hunter, and it was actually a bit easier for him, seeing he was a normal sized cat.  In fact he was a big cat.  This particular day he was in our apple tree stalking a little bird, who was sitting on the edge of the branch, seemingly oblivious to the fact his life was in danger.  I thought I had to do something, so I picked up an apple that had fallen from the tree, and threw it at Max.  Now I am the worst shot in the world.  If I throw something, it never goes where I aim.  So I thought, if I throw the apple at Max, it might hit the branch and frighten him off.  Imagine my surprise (and Max’s…) when the apple hit him!  Not only did it hit him, it knocked him off the branch!  There he was, hanging onto the branch with his front legs, looking very alarmed, and trying as hard as he could to get his back legs back on top of the branch.  Oh for a video camera!  Of course the bird flew away in the kafuffle, and Max, once he had found his footing, left very hurriedly, his dignity ruffled……

The vet assistant rang me one morning to tell me she had something a bit out of the ordinary she would like a hand with.  She thought it was a black swan, but it didn’t look quite right.  A lady and her husband had found it on the side of the road, and wrapped it in a couple of beach towels.  Its eyes were open, but it seemed as though no one was home.  It was just lying there.

Down to the vets I went, and found said swan in a dog crate out the back, still non compos mentis.  It was huge.  Huge feet, huge wingspan, long neck.  It was a juvenile, the feathers were a bit motley instead of black, and its bill was not as red as an adult, and the look we got from the eyes was very blank.  A cursory inspection showed the head feathers were disturbed, consistent with a bonk on the head, such as being hit by a car, and a more detailed inspection (done very carefully, neither of us really wanted him to wake up till we had him in a safer place) showed nothing broken.

We were both in awe of his size and realised he was going to need to somewhere with a decent body of water.  He was not going to sit in someone’s bathtub till he was with it.

So I got on the phone, and fortunately the first person I rang was actually home, and she could help.  She had a large dam on her property, and swans lived there.  As the crow (swan) flies she wasn’t that far from where he was found on the road.

I made arrangements to take him to her place, as soon as I found a suitable box.  Of course the vet had nothing big enough, and I had nothing big enough.  So I started ringing round the business houses, and one lady had a huge box that had had formal wear in it.  I didn’t think anyone round here went anywhere to wear formal gear, but there you are.  I drove to her shop and picked it up.  She was thrilled to know it was being used to transport a swan.

It took two of us to put the swan in the box, and carry it to the car.  The lid was carefully affixed, and off I went to the carer’s.  Just as I was driving down the driveway to her place, I heard a noise, and looked in the rear vision mirror.  There was a rather  confused swan looking around.  Fortunately he was making no attempt to get out.

We transferred him to the back of her ute (pick up truck) and I climbed in to keep him in the box.  (I could back in those days.)  The trip thankfully was only short…and bumpy.  The dam was not far away, so we abandoned the box and wrapped him in towels and blankets the carer had thought to bring along.  As we got closer to the water, he struggled to get  free, and by the time we had reached the shore, he was really anxious to get moving!  He flew the last few steps, and didn’t stop till he was out in the centre of the water.

We retraced our steps, and this time I got to sit in the front of the vehicle, in a bit more comfort.

I still have the box.

One day a fellow and his son came to my door and asked could I take a bird for them.  They had found it on a lake nearby (named Windamere), and it had been wound up in fishing line and hooks, some of which were still embedded in its skin and feathers.  I wasn’t quite sure what was coming, so I was a bit surprised when they brought a pelican onto the front verandah.  He was indeed wound up in fishing line and hooks, and it was just as well this man had found him, or he would have starved to death.  Pelicans are fairly large birds, with a wing span of around 7 or 8 feet, and a bill that can take your eye out ( nearly 2 feet long), so we handled him with care.  I got the job of holding him (I’m insured in case of injury) and the fellow cut each hook and removed it, and unwound yards of line.  Most of the hooks were only superficially embedded, but one had torn a nasty rip in the underside of the bird’s bill, so we reckoned veterinary assistance was a must.  So we packed this bird into the largest box I could find, which actually had a tv in it at one stage.  We put him in diagonally, and secured the box round his body, leaving his head and bill poking out one end (and up into the air) and put a long sock over his bill and head, so he wouldn’t be frightened by the long car trip ahead, and also to protect the driver (me), in case he lashed out, then I rang ahead and told the vet we were coming.  When we got there, the vet was quite in awe of this bird, it’s not the sort of patient he has every day, and decided the rip under his bill called for something a bit different to a bandage.  So out came the veterinary equivalent to super glue.  He was able to do this with the bird still in the box, with just some assistance to hold his bill steady, and that took some doing I can tell you.  The glue dried quickly (thank goodness) and the bird was ready for release immediately.  I can tell you I wasn’t relishing force feeding this guy.  He would need large amounts of fish, and the idea of poking them down his rather large throat definitely did not appeal…..

So back on with the sock over his head and bill, and back into the car for another not quite so long trip back to near where he was found.  I had another carer with me for the release, we reckoned that might be safer, and we managed to get him out of the box, and remove the sock with no injury to ourselves.  As soon as he was released, he flew the short distance to the water, and did the most graceful landing, they always remind me of waterskiers, and settled down to swimming away from us as fast as he could.  He swam to the other side of the lake, then waddled up onto the shore, and stood there for a while with wings extended as they dried. 

We left him to it…..

 

I was having morning tea after church and was talking to the Rector’s wife.  She was concerned about strange noises that they had been experiencing for some time under the floor of the house, and was wondering could it be a possum.  I’d never heard of a possum under the floor before, because possums usually live in trees, and in ceilings, but I thought there was a first time for everything.  She had thought at first it may have been a rat, but she said last night they actually saw its pink nose through a crack in the step.  She explained the reason they hadn’t called before, was because they had originally thought it could get out, and they reckoned it had probably been there over a week, maybe ten days.  So I thought, we should get something organised as soon as possible.  We finished our tea, and she showed me where they had seen it and heard it.  We found manholes and we checked outside for possible exits and entrances, but could find nothing at all. 

So I called Sue, our possum expert, and she came round with a trap, and we tried to get it through the manhole, so we could set it.  No luck at all, the trap was bigger than the manhole.  So we decided the best thing we could do, and we thought this would probably work, because we reckoned the possum would be very hungry, was to place the trap right next to the manhole cover, baited with an apple, and hope it decided to investigate the food, rather than trash the room, which they are quite capable of doing.  As an added precaution, we shut the door, so any damage done would be contained in one room. 

 Sue and I went home, and left the people there, anxiously waiting for the sound of a possum rampaging through the room, or trap clicking closed.  After a sound night’s sleep, they rang me in the morning, saying the possum had been caught, and had eaten all the apple, nothing in the room had been touched, and they had heard absolutely nothing.  They gave him another quarter apple until I got there.  I arrived, and found a very scared, very thin possum cowering in the corner of the trap.  I took him home, and set him up in residence on the front verandah, and gave him another half apple, and covered the trap with a blanket, so he could go to sleep. 

That night I gave him more food, because I reckoned he was pretty hungry:  another apple, an apricot, half a banana and a small bunch of grapes.  In the morning only a few grapes remained, and he looked a bit better, bit still seemed weak.  Sue came round and checked him out and we decided we should get him back into the wild as soon as possible, so he wouldn’t lose his territory.  But first he needed more food, and that night, at dusk, I gave him another apple, more apricots and grapes, some rockmelon, and the other half banana.  An hour later most of that had gone, and he was looking much brighter.  So into the car went the trap, and off we went to release him.  He realised he was going home, and by the time we got there, he was bashing up against the gate of the trap, so we took the trap out and put it near the base of a tree, and released the gate.  He shot out at a rate of knots, and headed straight for another tree; the one we had chosen was not good enough.  We left the remains of the food there in case he came back, and went home, satisfied that we had another happy customer, and hoping he would stay away from under floors in future.

 

 

Earlier in the week, I had a phone call from my friend Muriel.  I think you would term Muriel a godly matron with a great sense of fun, and of the ridiculous.  She is in her seventies, and has several health issues, which slow her down physically, but certainly not mentally.  She is determined to get as much out of life as she can.  She lives out of town, and her place had been in the path of the fires.  We talked about her experiences, and compared notes.  The area where she lives had been settled by her ancestors back in the 1800s, and was a community of several houses, on separate small holdings.

 

When the fire started it was across the river from her, and around the same distance from her as it was from town.  In the early stages it was watch and wait, and see which way the wind would blow it.  Of course, they were hoping that the river would act as a firebreak.  However, it didn’t, and started to come towards them.  Muriel of course was watching the smoke, but didn’t realise how close the fire was to her until she found two policemen in her house.  One had come through the front door, and the other through her bedroom window.  This gave her quite a shock to say the least, having a young handsome policeman in her bedroom, and she said she was so surprised she nearly wet her pants!  However both lovely young policeman gave her no choice; they had come to evacuate her, and told her what to pack and got her out of there as quickly as possible.

 

Meanwhile the fire fighters were at a neighbour’s property, doing their best to save it, and the fire moved on to Muriel’s before they had a chance to get there.  At this stage it was roaring along.  It headed straight for her house but just as it got there it changed direction and missed her house.  It burned out fences, and her tank stands (her tanks of water survived), but her house and sheds were safe.  The firefighters arrived in time to mop up.  When she was eventually allowed to go home, she said she burst into tears when she saw all the paddocks  turned to ash and a lot of the trees burnt.

 

After we had discussed all this, she got to the real reason for her call.  She had been adopted by a wallaroo with burnt feet.  She found him sheltering in her shed, and also wandered round under some of her remaining trees and shrubs, and was nibbling what was left of her grass.  She had a large tub of water there, and he drank from that.  She was wondering what to do with him, and thought any attempt to catch him would cause him stress.  I agreed with that assumption, and told her I’d contact someone who knew more about burned animals than me.  In the meantime, I suggested she continue as she was doing.

 

After we finished our conversation, I rang the other carer, John.  Of course he wasn’t home, so I left a message, but an hour or so later he rang back.  I explained the situation, and he rang Muriel, and then went out to see the roo himself.  The roo seemed to be getting around slowly;  his feet were indeed injured, but seemed in reasonable condition.  He assumes he was injured during the fires, and seeing it has been over two weeks since then, and he was coping with his problems, he was optimistic about his chances.  He stressed to Muriel though that should his condition worsen, to let him know straight away and he would reassess him, and put him out of his misery should it come that that.  We both hoped it wouldn’t…wallaroos are tough fellows, and his attitude would go a long way to see him recover.

 

John told me that he had had to go to a meeting in Mudgee the night before, and had come across an echidna strolling down the centre line of the main road.  He was in no hurry, and obviously felt the road had been put down for his benefit!  John stopped the car, and picked him up (VERY carefully) and put him on the side of the road.  He said he was in lovely condition, with not a spike out of place.  Perhaps he was on his way to an important appointment….

 

We were both encouraged by the fact that even though the fire had covered such a large area (over 20 square miles), the wallaroo was the only native animal that had come to our notice as being injured.  It would seem that most animals had time for escape.