This mother and joey have claimed the bank outside my spare bedroom window as their patch. Mum lies there a lot in the warmth of the Autumn days, and the little one lounges inside, sometimes with its head out and one bent arm over the edge of the pouch, for all the world like a kid leaning out a window sill.
When she’s up, she can check out the territory for a good distance from this spot, before attending to daily duties, like the washing.
First she has to do the joey, who seems to submit more willingly than many kids do to a facecloth. I love the way its ears are so disproportionately big at this stage.
This joey is old enough to be useful, and can reach some of the awkward spots without even leaving the pouch. ‘Thanks, Mum. Your turn now; is this right?’
I know this is probably de-fleaing, but it looks so like a loving nuzzle that my heart melts as I watch. And just look at Mum’s lowered eyelashes.
Other people go gooey over their pets; I can’t help being more than a little anthropomorphic around these creatures with whom I live. I don’t touch them or interfere with them, I just watch and walk amongst them, going about my own business, as they do with me — just another animal on this Refuge.
Mutual washing done, the joey is left to finish its own ablutions. Ears up, doesn’t it look like a Bilby?
Meanwhile Mum keeps watch, although there’s nothing here to fear. Randy males are more likely what she’s on the alert for; they can make nuisances of themselves.