friends

Days of their lives

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Early morning, sunshine after days of rain, the grass still soggy. The kangaroo family has decided that just inside the forever-open gate, on the hard-packed clay track, is the driest place to rest.

They know my car only moves out of the shed every few weeks — the track’s more for them than for me.

Midday, and one of the echidnas has been poking about on the same track, then working its way down some steps cut into the bank. It had reached the flat area near the cabin and was moseying along the wall towards my steps.

I’d had to net the ornamental grape there, so its shoots had a chance to grow to be my summer shade. Having already seen a joey go under it and panic somewhat, suddenly I saw a potential problem in the combination of spikes and netting, should the echidna go in under the wire.

As it did, but kept going, under the verandah and out. Untangling an echidna might not have been easy.

Late afternoon, and over the top of the netted toddler barrier, a wallaby family was mowing the grass near the steps. I’m no longer sure if I’m netted in, or they out. Lucky I have long legs for a shortie and can step over this barrier.

I had to add the netting because one day I surprised a joey munching on the plants on the verandah, having got through the wooden bars.

I don’t mean to be voyeuristic but sometimes the colloquial greeting, ‘How’re they hanging?’ takes on new meaning. And to think they leap through the tall tussocks without getting caught up or damaged…

My special skinks

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I have a family of skinks who frequently dive under a flap of the dampcourse of my cabin footings, thence probably into a chink in those footings; a small pointy nose is sometimes to be seen poking out of the underfloor vent grille.
 But most of the time they pose like statues and await slow-witted insects to pass by. 

I think they are Southern Water Skinks of the Warm Temperate Form (Eulamprus tympanum WTF, more recently renamed Eulamprus heatwolei). They are fat and fearless, about 250mm long, and seem to operate in distinct mini-territories.

This one stays on the verandah front rails and steps and comes much closer to me and my doings. She is quite inquisitive, far less inclined to dart away — or to dart at all — and doesn’t mind a bit of shade as she often hunts amongst the greenery.

I have absolutely no idea why I think this one is a ‘she’, as I have no idea how to sex lizards.  When she feels like a bit of sun, she chooses the rocks on the front side of the steps, and shows her gorgeous metallic colours.

I can sit and admire her for ages; just look at the intricacy of her patterning, the ebony and lacework side trims and the woven bronze of her back. That pink nose, that elegantly lidded eye, that perfect earhole!

The other skink, who occupies the rear side of the steps and darts off when I pass, happened to be sunning himself there at the very same time as his greenie friend was out the front, so I was able to take photos of them both, in the same light, to compare. 

Is it my imagination or does the one below have a more pinkish coppery tone to his back? And is the nose a less distinctly differentiated pink?

Either one is a jewelled beauty, as well as cute; who needs garden gnomes, bronze statuary or even trendy rusty iron sculptures when I can have these?

Animal Lady on the move

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Recently I met Laura, a delightful young Spanish biologist with a passion for primates, while she was WWOOFing at Rocky Creek Wildlife Refuge. Here she’s been caring for wallabies and kangaroos, given that primates are a bit hard to find in Australia.

Her Animal Lady blog is both fun and informative as she travels to different places and meets different animals — and people.

“After spending five weeks in an orphanage for chimpanzees in Zambia in 2008 and ten weeks in the jungle of Borneo studying orangutans in 2009, this year I decided it was time to go a little bit further,” she said.

“When I finished my degree in Biology this June my parents gave me a trip around the world as a present. This 10-month trip is taking me through Borneo, Bali, Japan, New Zealand, Tasmania, the Australian east coast, California and Mexico.

“Everywhere I go I always try to be the closest to nature and animals I can. If you would like to join me in my trip around the world follow me here.”

Wallaby takeover

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As you can see, Eastern Red-necked wallabies rule here. They know it; males, females, joeys — they do as they please in my yard. I simply add more wire netting guards to protect what pleases me. I have resigned myself to the fact that I will not have flowers unless they are specific inedible bulbs, or above wallaby reach.

So I have placed a large pot on my verandah and planted seeds of what I hope will be a deep red nasturtium — pretty and tasty. The seedlings have just emerged.

The very day they did, I happened to hear an odd thump on the verandah steps. I looked up and there was a youngish wallaby looking at me from the top step. My first thought was ‘cute’, my second was ‘not a good idea’ — thinking of the nasturtiums to come. So I went out and shooed it back down the steps.

I had assumed it was a more inquisitive wallaby than the others. But it came back several times in the next few days — definitely the same young female — and I reprimanded her and sent her back down the steps.

I finally realised the appeal when I caught her eating the new shoots of the ornamental grape vine. At ground level they have already done so; I’ve been meaning to get around to putting netting across them or I won’t get enough summer shade.

Now I might have to put a gate across the verandah, or I’ll get neither shade nor nasturtiums. Quolls, possums, pythons, black snakes, lizards, bush rats, antechinus and the odd nesting bird have all taken advantage of my verandah. It’s bit much if the wallabies want to make a takeover bid too.

Spring cleaning

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A warm sunny morning, perfect for turning out the occupants of the house and giving it a good clean. This wallaby mum’s empty pink pouch lining caught my eye, as I’ve never seen that before. I’m sure that was a welcome airing as much as a break.

With her tongue, she cleaned her elbow, then her toes. She got no further before the joey bounced back from playtime.

Being a very helpful joey, it joined in the cleaning session, licking Mum’s ears for her before wriggling back inside, although I am still astonished at how the mothers cope and how they fit — and this wasn’t as big as other joeys I have seen perform the feat.


Even before the joey had properly organised itself in there, Mum had resumed her work, picking up her tail with both paws and bringing it to her mouth. I hadn’t seen that either, although I’ve seen them bending down to lick their tails when these are flat on the ground in front. But their tails are very long, so it make sense to bring the tip to the cleaner rather than attempt a yoga feat.

I am forever shaking my head in wonder at the new things I am shown here. A true open university.

My latest resident

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I have more to tell about my trip to Western Australia, but in between I have to keep you up-to-date with the ongoing news on the mountain. On the second day of Spring, the Diamond Python arrived. 

The day was warm and sunny; I was hanging out washing. Out of the corner of one eye, this is what I saw.

Now I know better than to panic about a non-venomous python — at least, not when it’s out on the open lawn, rather than in my shower, or trying to come inside.

So you could say I was pretty relaxed about watching it from only a slight distance. I do marvel at the way it seems to follow itself in one long and powerful undulation.

I also wanted to see where it was heading with such uphill purpose, past the vegetable garden, past the Nashi tree.

I should have known. Of course it was heading for the shed. As I watched it ooze effortlessly up the stems of the massive jasmine vine, it seemed to know exactly where it was going. 

Did this mean it had previously resided in the woody twists and weaves of vine that so thickly covers this old tin wall before? 

Or was it aiming for one of the many gaps beneath the unlined roof? Had it lived inside the shed — and how often had I missed its bright patterning draped across the dim rafters while I pottered about below?

Yes, I know it means I won’t have bush rats in there — but what about baby quolls?

And what about me? I’m nervous enough already going in to that overcrowded and shadowy place, always with one eye on the dark recesses beside my feet. If I have to keep the other eye on the dark spaces above my head, or in between — finding anything will be very difficult!

The roos move in

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While the wallabies have more than made themselves at home here in my yard-that-was-once-a-garden, the kangaroos have been wary, staying over in the far orchard end and taking off if they saw me. But I recently spotted this young one through my window;  being up near the shed, it was unusually close to my cabin, but didn’t notice me snapping its picture though the window. Then I looked along the track from the shed, even closer to me, and there they were, a little family of kangaroos sprawled about on track and bank, lazy and unperturbed.

I went outside to the steps to take a better look; they looked back, but remained at ease. At last!

Since then the family is often close by, and take their rest in the grassy front yard mostly — much softer than the track. The mother is relaxed about feeding when I am outside, and her joey seems equally unbothered, although I can’t yet walk close by, as I can with the wallabies.

I thought this a good chance to show the two very different macropod mothers and their joeys, for comparison: the large Eastern Grey Kangaroo (left) and the more petite Eastern Rednecked Wallaby. They all get along together here, separate but in close proximity.

Kookaburra colony

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In my last book, Mountain Tails, I wrote a piece called ‘Kookaburra kingdom’.  They don’t actually rule amongst the birds here; the magpies do.

But I have a penchant for alliteration, as you see. At least this post is more accurately named.

There are a lot of kookaburras here. For big birds, I am often surprised by the fragility of branches or smallness of surface on which they land and perch.

This one sat decoratively on a branch of the tall skinny trunks of my Native Frangipani tree, bedecked with so much lichen it resembles a long-haired lamington. Sitter and sittee were perfectly colour-coordinated.

You wouldn’t think a star post top could be very comfortable for kooka claws to grip and balance on; this one certainly didn’t stay there long.

His mate, however remained on worm-watch for quite a time, levering his tail a little to stay upright. I didn’t see if he spotted any worms, but I bet he caught them if he did. Kookaburras are fast, accurate — and deadly.

Their place — and mine

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Out in the real forest it is always a matter of double-take with our cleverly camouflaged creatures; I think I see a dark shadow sway, a tree trunk bend. Kangaroo? Wallaroo? One blink and they might be gone.

As majestic as the trees that give them cover, this is how I best like to see them.

But now that my house yard is their territory too, I get different, more domestic views of my macropod neighbours. In the early mornings, as the sun begins to soak up the dew and highlight the trees, it now also picks out fluffy ears, closed sundrowsing eyes, busily feeding backs, and the many babies, cosily enpouched or skittishly out-pouched.

These red-necked wallabies rule of a morning; the kangaroo and the wallaroo families visit mostly at dusk.

Tenants-in-common

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Now that all the Refuge animals have free run of my house yard, it’s been interesting to see the sharing arrangements develop, both with me as the sole human, and with the other, better adapted, species.

Eastern red-necked wallabies have the majority, as this small gang of young bloods shows.

But they are an amiable breed, and co-exist happily with anyone else, even me. This wallaby with the itchy tummy is almost overbalancing as he scratches, with no thought of the echidna that trundles past, intent on its own business.

I have learnt that minding one’s own business is the key for my survival here too — not that interfering with an echidna would be on my mind!

Joey steps

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My house wallaby’s joey is venturing more than its head out now. From the low-slung safety and warmth of the pouch, it projects its front legs and paws, touching the grass.

Big soft ears turning, nose sniffing, eyes  alert, our joey is growing up fast. Its fur is still fine, not enough to keep it warm in these 10-14 degree autumn days. On the cusp of babyhood, it has the best of both inside and outside worlds, able to try touch and taste, but retreat to snooze, suckle and be safe.

I am always astonished at how big the joeys are when their mothers continue to allow them to ride in the pouch. This one has a way to grow yet the pouch is barely clearing the ground now. Tussock country can’t be easy with a gangly joey swinging below.

Meet Joey

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The wallaby Mum I mentioned is still coming in and resting by the house wall.

Despite my erratic comings and goings, sometimes away for days, she seems to feel quite secure there and doesn’t care what I do.

Her joey has its head out of the pouch more often, although not when Mum stretches out for a midday sleep.

 
 

And yesterday it happened: the joey and I locked eyes for the first time. It felt as momentous as when my babies suddenly focused on my face and I knew for sure that they knew me.

This joey and I — and therefore you all — are going to gain so much joy from our developing relationship. Well, we will — not sure how the joey will rate it!