The wallabies often sit up suddenly, on the alert — although for what I usually can’t see. Unless, that is, it’s me.
Mum sitting up is far more comfortable for the pouched joey than Mum doubled over, feeding her way across the yard.
The older joeys tend to be somewhat scrunched, and it must be far worse in the forest beyond, with tall tussocks and bladey grass and fallen sticks to be negotiated.
This day was one of clear skies and sunshine, so the behaviour of a troop of yellow-tailed black cockatoos was baffling. About eight of them landed in the tall trees that edge the yard, and kept up their raucous warning cries for hours.
Supposedly wise harbingers of rain, they got it wrong this time. If they are going to hang about often for this long, rain or not, I really wish I could oil their rusty-sounding voiceboxes.