wallabies

Day trippers

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A day that began like this could have rested on its laurels, but it went on to offer me a range of unexpected treats. With my current intense writing regime, I only look outside when I am distracted by an odd sound or peripheral sight.

This day I heard a thump, and then rustlings from the verandah. I looked up. The grapevine began to move, and it wasn’t from a breeze. It was being tugged, hard. Leaning  to peer further out the window, there it was, on the steps, at the ‘gate’, my bold young wallaby friend.  ‘Anybody home?’ she seemed to be saying.

Later that day, I’d heard an odd low sound, repeated several times. It sounded a bit like a gently-booming night bird of some sort. I’d left the desk and walked outside, but saw nothing unusual.

Then, perhaps an hour later, from my bedroom I heard unfamiliar clicks; they didn’t sound like magpies walking on the roof.

And they weren’t. It was a lone White-headed Pigeon, a rainforest bird, drinking from rainwater pooled on the top of my drinking tank. Isn’t she elegant?

Marsupial mowers

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Having opened my house yard gates over a year ago, I never expected to have to mow grass again. Given that I was sacrificing so many garden plants and shrubs to the apparently omni-herbivorous marsupials who took up the occupancy offer…

I should have known better. They don’t like long grass, tussocks or certain introduced grasses that must have come in with horse feed. They were too busy with roses and lavender and jasmine and grapevines and citrus to bother with most of the grassed areas.

When I finally began to mow the jungle again, the kangaroos appreciated it, immediately claiming the ‘lawn’ section as their afternoon lolling spot.

Then the mower gave it up as too long, too dense, too damp, and so it remains.

But wallaby or roo, they love kikuyu.

Hearing clicking sounds floating in through my ‘office’ window the other day, I went to investigate.

Several wallabies were so assiduously working on the kikuyu near the cabin that they were audibly chomping, pulling up the grass and snapping the stems.

On the other side of the cabin, a young wallaby was sitting in the trench, paws on the table as it nibbled its way through the grassy fare laid upon it — not kikuyu.

The elongated rear view thus offered was interesting because of the distinct colour changes in its fur.

They are called Eastern Red-necked Wallabies but they are also Red-tail-based and the shadings to grey and back again are soft and subtle.

When it abruptly sat up, its little dark-rimmed ears erect and alert and its childish elbows tucked in close, I followed its stare. A black snake, scooting into the long grass, too fast for the camera.

At least I can see them in shorter grass; keep eating, I urged the wallaby!

Constantly surprising creatures

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I had never thought of echidnas as climbing creatures. I had seen them ‘walk’ up banks so they looked as if they were climbing, but this one was indisputably climbing up a fence post stay.

Definitely above ground, it was sticking its nose in under the loose bark, flipping it aside and, I assume, finding lunch. It only stopped where the bark ended.

But then this echidna has surprised me before in that its spines are so light-coloured — this is The Blonde.

But I also have an Eastern Rednecked wallaby (left) and young visiting here at present that both have very fair haunches, not red or grey. Blonde highlights?

Not to be outdone, another less glamorous but perhaps more adventurous wallaby was spotted (right) climbing on the rocks to reach the Chinese Jasmine. Perhaps this is the one who likes to climb up my steps?

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…

Stormy roos

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October has been a variable month, veering from warm to cold to freezing, from spring buds and seedling growth to blossom profusion.

And then we had a wild storm or two, one close to gale force, with winds roaring like freight trains, smashing branches and trees down and shredding gumleaves like confetti on the ground.

In fact that Saturday afternoon it had felt like it might snow, and I’d said so to a visiting friend. There was a laugh and the comment ‘You’ve got about as much chance of winning the lottery as getting snow in October!’

As if on cue, only minutes later — through the kitchen window we saw, briefly, lightly, but unmistakably, the graceful swirling downwards dance of snow. There was another flurry later. My friend is buying a lottery ticket.

The other storm was not so cold or wild, but wet and loud, with thunder and tiny hail and rain like driven nails on the roof.

I watched from the verandah, bemused because the kangaroo family hadn’t sought denser shelter than my garden trees. Was it to do with the lightning?

They slightly changed the direction of their positions but did not move from their chosen trees. I’d have thought a birch tree would give little shelter.

And from where I stood, I couldn’t see one wallaby in the yard.

When the drama was over and the sun had retired, summer storm-style, life returned to normal grazing — except beneath bedraggled pelts of wet fur.

The wallabies must have been somewhere near, for the first one I spotted was this rather confused joey next to my house tank. Maybe they had been under the verandah? I hadn’t thought to look.

Blokes and blossoms

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While the wallaby females ferry and feed the joeys, the males do blokey stuff — like fighting. 

I had seen very young males practice-fighting in my yard but these two were old enough and big enough for the real thing.

Given that they chose the grass right next to my shaded glasshouse for their wrestling and kickboxing, I kept imagining a lurch, a crash of breaking glass, as they danced about on their hind legs or balanced on their tails.

But after a while they simply tired of it and went back to eating grass. They vary this with checking for any new shoots on the reachable branches of my mighty Banksia Rose, which they keep stripped bare of blossoms and leaves and looking like a strange fringe to the lush flowering above. They stand on their hind legs to do this too.

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.

A mother’s lot

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Morning tea time here at Hoppy’s Playgroup and the mothers must stop eating my garden so the youngsters can have their milk. These aren’t the equivalent of babes in arms; they are big joeys, who, as I’ve noted before, can be almost as big as their mothers.

They graze, but must have their milk too, and the mothers patiently prop and let them poke their faces into the pouches and drink their fill, passing the time dozing or scratching or washing their paws.

This wallaby lot looked like the queue at the canteen. 

But as the joeys grow, the capacity of those pouches is stretched to extraordinary limits.

I had to look twice at this kangaroo. A randy young male? But the penis was too thick, too dark, too straight.

No, just such a big joey that its tail wouldn’t fit back into the pouch.  I do often see the long hind feet and a thin tail tip poking out of wallaby pouches, but there are fewer roos so I wasn’t used to the scale of this one.

I can still feel the kicks in the ribs and the elbows in the guts from babies too long in utero myself.

Just imagine a big joey diving in, nose first as they do, then trying to turn 360 degrees, scrabbling about with those long pointy — clawed — hind feet and very solid tail.

All I can say as I watch the wildly contorting pouch is ‘Ouch’!

Our place

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I know that the wallabies truly feel at home in the yard now by the way they sleep here in the warmth of the late winter days, letting me walk past so close to them. Some of the very newly outed joeys are skittish but they soon learn I’m no threat.

This mother is so unconcerned that she is fast asleep, not even pretending to keep watch through half-closed eyes, as they often do.  Note the well-stripped rose bush behind her!

The joey stays close, in physical touch with mum. This endearing joey is, I think, the first one I made eye contact with, when it was a pouch-dweller. It often has one floppy ear.

I mildly regret the roses and all the other plants they eat, but how can I not be delighted that such beautiful and gentle creatures now think of my place as as ‘our place’?

This what a Wildlife Refuge ought to be — a place of trust, of safety.

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.

Tolerant wallaby mums

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I have mentioned before that wallaby mothers carry their joeys long after they really don’t seem to fit in the pram or pouch any more.
They also keep allowing them to drink their specially tailored mother’s milk from their allotted nipple for a very long time.

This was brought home to me the other day when I spotted this well-grown joey indulging in a suckling session.

But nevertheless, when it had drunk its fill, and straightened up next to Mum, I was surprised by just how well-grown!  Yes, it’s on the uphill side, but still…

At least it didn’t try to get back into her pouch.

This other wallaby mum has chosen a spot up near my outdoor loo for her morning naps and I have watched her calmly allow her joey to clamber in and out, in its typical mildly panicked way. Sunsoaking, she’s almost asleep, but her joey stays on full alert, ready to dive into its furry shelter.

Seeing it now, you’d wouldn’t think it could fit, or that she could carry it and still hop as she does.  And makes it look easy.