Issue 22

 

July / August 2007

All pencil and crayon sketches are by
Sylvia Roff-Marsh .

All views expressed in AnimalWays are the author's own.  They are not necessarily those of Tintota.

Tintota.net

Stories and poems from previous issues of AnimalWays
can be found in their respective sections on Tintota.com.
Look under "Nature".

There is reported an increase in the numbers of the critically endangered northern hairy nosed wombats.

 

It is reported that there are now 115 of them living in their only refuge in the Epping Forest National Park in central Queensland.

 

Their long-term protector and senior conservation officer excitedly pointed out that there were burrowings turning up all over the park.

 

Positive activity indeed!

STOP PRESS

Walrus pups are born 15 months after the parents have mated.

 

There is a delay of 4 to 5 months before the egg starts to grow in the mother’s womb.

 

A single walrus tusk can measure up to

1 metre long and weigh 5.4 kg.

Did you
know

Seals and sea lions have ears, but only the sea lions and fur seals have ear flaps.

 

The 4 m long leopard seal of Antarctica is so-called because of its spotted grey coat. It feeds on fish, squid and even other seals and penguins.

 

There are freshwater seals to be found in lake Baikal in Russia.

Did you
know

Progress

 

Greetings to you all!

Welcome to those of you who have recently joined us! Every which way we look, we find more and more interest and understanding of our animal friends being expressed. This is an encouraging start. But the news that, once again, African elephants are being killed for their tusks, is a black blot upon any humans associated with this abomination of animal slaughter for man’s greed.

For newcomers to AnimalWays, and to old friends too, I feel that I should once again make mention of our path of progress. The next issue of AnimalWays will conclude our present consideration of the animals of Australia. We will then move our attention to some of the more extreme tropical forest environments of our planet.

Throughout the stories of the climatic forest regions, emphasis seems to have been placed upon the mammal populations. I had anticipated a somewhat more general approach, but the furred creatures seemed to win our concentration over the winged and finned ones, so to speak.  I assure you that these last groups, along with many more so far untouched, will come into their own in future issues.

When we started this venture, we were abysmally unaware of its ever-extending limits. We worried as to whether we would receive sufficient stories and other material to keep it going.

Now I find myself struggling to encompass the sheer extent of the ramifications of AnimalWays! My comment has to be that I, for one, am learning an awful lot about our animal friends that I never knew before.  I hope that you folk feel the same way, then all the effort will be worthwhile.

We are particularly grateful this time, to Monica, who has long dedicated her time and effort to the wild ones around here, and way out beyond our immediate locality. I am sure that after reading her story in this issue, about her typical week’s work as an animal carer, it will take your breath away. We will all applaud her dedication and expertise and thank her for taking time out to write this informative piece for us.  Thank you, Monica. And, yes, thank you Graham, for giving that loving and understanding support to Monica, and also for the important part I know that you play in the caring of our Australian animals.

Thank you all for all your letters and contributions. The letters connect us personally as a group and bond us in friendship.

 

 

- Sylvia.

A land of change

I seek the refuge in white.
As I age,
Your presence slowly disintegrates,
That land of ice and snow.

Who is to blame?
Who has bound together to destroy you,
to cause me grief,
And with you, take my food.

Walking to the ends of the earth
To satisfy my hunger,
Oh land of ice and snow,
Where are you going?

Forever changing
Your mood.
The winter is short,
The summer is long.

I seek the refuge
In white.
Have you
Seen it?

 

- Gabby McDonald    (age 14)
Sydney, New South Wales, Australia.

Arctic Survival

Bad attitude

 

The Delinquent

 

There’s conflict round every street corner,
intimidation, from mean eyes that stare,
the warnings are clear for all to see,
get lost! back off! beware!

It doesn’t matter how big you are,
your age, your sex, your size.
You’ll get the message loud and clear,
when you look into my eyes.

If you’re looking for trouble I’ll give you a smack,
it’s the sort of thing I do.
Rub me the wrong way, and listen jack,
you may find I’ll cut you.

I hang around the streets all day,
don’t need or want a job.
I take what I want, when I want it,
they’ve branded me a yob.

I’ve been in your house and nosed about,
I’ve rifled through your gear.
I don’t care if you’re in or out,
from you, I’ve nowt to fear.

But when it comes to six o’clock,
I’m gone, the streets are all yours.
There’s tuna waiting in my dish,
and I’ve got to clean my paws.

 

- Tony Carp
Gatley, Cheshire, England.

Just a Cat!

Thank you for the excellent work you do!

I am impressed by your bravery and your tenacity in learning all about the computer world - good for you!

I thoroughly enjoy the stories, poems and all the new additions to your website. I love the art work too.

 

Thanks again for brightening my day.

 

- Kerry Thorne
Cottam, Ontario, Canada.

Your website is like a breath of fresh air!

. . . and looking at the charming drawing, my only comment is "Take me there - NOW"!

 

- Dolores Cook
Mason, Michigan, U.S.A.

After reading “Coffs Harbor” Adventure

It looks slicker.

 

- Benedict Roff-Marsh
New Farm, Queensland, Australia.

I like the new layout.

I have to commend all the effort that has gone into the new look AnimalWays -

 

- Nyambura Kiarie
Nairobi, Kenya.

Kudos!

 

You may remember that I have had an interest in the local birds, feeding them year round and enjoying attracting the varieties found in my area of South Western Ontario. This year, I have had Red Headed Woodpeckers, Cardinals, in their brilliant red, Blue Jays, Orioles, Yellow Finches,and a visit last week from my favourite little bird, the Hummingbird!

 

My husband and I were doing some gardening the other day when I glanced up to see an American Bald Eagle soaring above our house. We were truly thrilled to see such a magnificent bird, so close. The term 'Bald' refers, of course, to the white head and tail feathers and their contrast with the darker body. The female bald eagle measures from
89 cm to 94 cm, slightly larger than the male. With a wingspan, which varies from 200 cm to 228 cm. The male bald eagle has a body length from 76 cm to 86 cm. The wingspan ranges from 182 cm to 216 cm. Bald eagles weigh from 4.5 kg to 6.5 kg.

 

Wild bald eagles may live as long as thirty years. Both male and female adult bald eagles have a blackish-brown back and breast, a white head, neck, and tail, and yellow feet and beak.

 

The Bald Eagle's natural range covers most of North America, including much of Canada, all of the continental United States, and northern Mexico. Once on the brink of extinction, the eagle population is slowly but steadily recovering.

 

Their diet consists mostly of fish. My home in located on the shore of Lake Erie and I read recently that there have been a few sightings of eagles in this area.

 

We felt so lucky to witness this majestic bird soaring through the air.

- Kerry Thorne
Cottam, Ontario, Canada.

American Bald Eagle

 

I began life as a seed planted with love, and was nurtured lovingly by my protectors.

I grew into a seedling and continued to be cared for with that same love. The smothering weeds were plucked away to allow me to grow in freedom.

As I grew taller and stronger, my guardians weren’t always there, but trusting that the care I’d had would see me through.

There are others now, my offspring, who also nurture me. And the circle grows.

Sometimes, the days are endlessly joyous - lazy days basking in the warmth of the sun’s rays, enjoying the peace of it all, absorbing the love of the earth - then other days, when the storms beat mercilessly, battering my fragile leaves until they fall, but not to no avail.

 

Those same leaves gathered at my feet, surrounding me with their nourishing goodness, are slowly absorbed to enrich my life.

And time goes by and I see my protectors looking at me, marvelling at how I continue to weather the storms - little do they know that without their love and care I would wither and fade away.

- Mary Hart
Tocumwal, New South Wales, Australia.

My Life is like an Oak Tree

 

    Down to the Devon farm again

 

 

March saw Tom and I, along with Sam, a neighbour’s dog we mind, off to our favourite farm in Devon for a well earned rest and a chance to charge our batteries after winter. Well, I don’t know about Sam, his are kept pretty high on doggy enthusiasm, anticipating meeting all those working dogs and strange animals once again!

The weather was very poor, cold, wet and frosty. Not the best for visitors who were, not surprisingly, in short supply, or for the start of the lambing season. We were very happy to be comfortable and rested in front of the lovely wood fires that Jennifer kept going in the lounge. No, it did not bother us at all, especially when it was time for all the lovely meals we always so enjoy on each of our visits.

However, the activity around the actual farm was hectic due to the lambing now in progress, in such unfavourable weather conditions.  Jennifer, David, Mark and Rachael were up at night coping with the birthings. One dear ewe, produced five lambs, but only two were alive. Then, later, when the placenta was delivered, another little dead lamb came with it. Needless to say, Mother Ewe was exhausted, totally drained by carrying six lambs during pregnancy and then the protracted labour. Rachel discussed it with me (a retired nurse) and I enthused on the ewe’s behalf. They gave her VIP care and attention. Against the odds, she gradually improved and when I went up to see her, she was fine, but with just one surviving lamb.  Until she was fully recovered, Mark was going to keep her in a single, specially made pen, when it came time for her to be moved out of the barn.

All the farm cats looked radiant and well, due to Rachael’s dedicated care. So too were the farm collies [dogs], Bounce, Barney and the young Tess. Our protégé, Sam, was in his element. Tom gave all the dogs regular treats, a boneo biscuit twice a day! There is never a dull moment on a farm, and there are lots of comforts too!

 

- Norah Bryson
Fleet, Hants, England.

Northern Hairy-Nosed Wombat

A story of endurance

Not exactly cuddly

 

A Pocket Full Of Rye

 

Part 2

The Wombat
We all love the koala whom we spoke about in the first section of the story, ‘A pocket full of rye’, in the last issue. You will remember that its pouch opens to the rear, as it does with the animals that are earth diggers and live in dug-out shelters or underground tunnels. We found this a curiosity in a tree dweller.

Let us now meet the wombat, for he may hold the answer to the puzzle. He is certainly no tree climber.

 

His weight is a hefty 20 to 35 kg. and his body is fully designed for tunnelling - an animal bulldozer incarnate!

He too is a much loved animal, though not exactly cuddly as the koalas and possums appear to be. Oddly enough though, he is grouped with them, (Order Diprotodotheirntia) as he shares their characteristic of having only one functional pair of lower incisors. But what about that pouch?

 

Well of course, it is rear facing, as he is a digger and tunneller. Scientists know from fossil remains that koalas and wombats have been around for at least 25 million years. They are certainly distantly related. It could have been that, in those early ages, the koala was also a burrower and ground dweller, feeding, like the wombat, on grass and herbage by night. And some unknown condition caused the koala to become a climber and to adapt to the diet of eucalypt leaves. Compare the appearance of the two animals. You may be struck by some other similarities, the large head, blunt nose and sturdy body shape.

The Common Wombat
He is larger than both the southern and the northern hairy nosed wombats. The latter is critically endangered, only about 100 still remain. All wombats are herbivores, mainly crepuscular, nocturnal, and solitary in habit. They are thick set, with powerful short legs and very strong claws, apt for the earth excavation work they carry out. They have broad heads and muzzles with short rounded ears barely protruding above the crown. Also useful adjuncts to their lifestyle are the tail, which is down-pointed, following the curve of the broad back, and, that backward facing pouch that protects the babes from the dust and detritus thrown up by their earthworking.

 

The wombat is among the largest of the world’s burrowing animals. He tends to select sloping ground or a bank to build his burrow for shelter and protection. It is usually between 1 m to 5 m deep. He even builds an entrance hump to stop the in-flow of any rainwater. Along the length of the burrow, he makes small side tunnels or chambers. The floors of these ‘bedrooms’ he spreads with grass and twigs. Does this not remind you of the badger of the northern hemisphere? The tunnels can reach a length of 30 m. In this underground retreat, he can avoid the extremes of the climatic temperatures.

 

We had been in Australia for many years before we saw our first common wombat. Our home is just out of their climatic range, which reaches to within the southern border of the state of Queensland. In our nearest city, a native animal park opened. There was a much tunnelled area which we frequently, and hopefully inspected for sight of a wombat. One day, last year, we were earlier than usual with our visit. To our joy, there was a wombat sunning himself in the open, I was shocked by his size and the sheer extent of his sturdiness. I found him very special, along with the koalas, possums and ’roos - which are all very special to me!

There are other marsupial burrowers in Australia. The bandicoot is a very well known one.

The bilby, sometimes known as the rabbit-eared bandicoot, is also a digger. To avoid the daytime heat of its inland habitat it, like the wombat, constructs long, deep burrow systems for shelter. It is normally a solitary animal.

It emerges after dark and digs holes as it forages for food, arthropods, tubers and fungi. It is a very pretty little animal if you are fortunate enough to see one.  An effort was made recently for this attractive little native to replace the Easter Bunny of the northern hemisphere. Commercial competition proved too great and a fine idea died an early death. Or did it? I noticed some attractive chocolate bilbies in select city stores this Easter.

 

But enough of this serious talk, come and meet with a little reality here on our mountainside.
Let us meet by Moonlight.

 

 

- Sylvia Roff-Marsh

Gardeners despair when daylight reveals the nighttime activity of the hole-digging bandicoot Oh yes, we have marsupial moles too, but their activities are restricted to the more arid and desert areas of the country.

A story of endurance

Luna loiter

 

Let Us Meet By Moonlight

 

As the late sun falls red behind our mountain, soon to trace its evening path across the arid ‘red centre’ of the land that lies beyond, our wallabies disperse into the shadows. The brush turkeys end their loud feed-pecking of grain from their bowls, to take wing onto our metal roof, to short-cut to their roost high on a dead eucalypt.

When we hear the final dot and carry-one-limp of lame Jake the Rake, we know that their day, too, is also done.

When the curtains are drawn across the glass doors that give access to our front and rear deckings, it is the turn for the nocturnal Wild Ones to take over these areas. We have already prepared the nightly supper for them and set out clean water, just simple necessities in this drought stricken land. The stage is set and the actors are about to make their entries.

 

There is a stirring against the house wall as Humphrey Possum stretches, to loosen his cramped limbs after a day’s sleep on the top of the air-conditioner enclosure under the eaves. This, no doubt, prepares him for the precarious climb to reach the decking rail and his awaiting supper. A strange choice for a bedroom, you may well think, for an arboreal animal. True indeed! A year or so back, a wild tropical storm ripped this little fellow’s home apart. When his home-tree fell, he ran through the rain to the one safe place he remembered. We actually saw him scramble up the lattice fencing to drop onto the floor of the decking. He climbed the house wall to seek sanctuary on the guttering pipes beneath the roof overhang.

That night we offered him supper and he acquired his name!

Thereafter, it became habitual for him to shelter there in stormy weather. One day, however, he discovered the projecting air-conditioner a few feet away, and adopted it as his permanent sleeping quarters. Occasionally, he departs for a day but is always back again for his supper and the following day’s sleep!

This is an interesting example of the way in which animals quickly adapt to their surroundings and learn to profit from the assets that we humans have on offer. Humphrey suffered a nasty experience. His memory of what else was on offer for safe shelter within his territory served him well. For the past year or so, he has lived safely in what to us might seem a very strange place to choose!

To our great delight, on peeping through the curtain one evening, we saw that another possum was partaking of the provided supper. A movement on its back alerted us. This was a female, and she had her babe with her. The young remain in the pouch for 16 - 20 weeks, then ride on the mother’s back for 4 - 8 weeks. They are weaned at around 5 - 7 months. This is the case with many of the arboreal animals, allowing the mother complete freedom of movement. The little ones cling to the mother’s loose-skinned fur coat and ride there, happily and securely for the most part.

Humphrey is a common brushtail possum, who is both terrestrial and arboreal. His food consists of leaves from a wide variety of trees, shrubs and herbaceous plants, flowers and fruits. The gardener’s love him when the prized roses disappear, or in our case the bougainvilleas get a severe pruning!

One night, last winter, there were intriguing little sounds coming from the front decking. Not a possum, to be sure. They are heavy in movement and tend to stomp around. Then who was out there?

Carefully, we drew back the curtain. Here was a puzzle. My first assumption was that a rat was at the feeder, but its tail was too short and its fur was too coarse in appearance. Whoever he was, he was very hungry and was eating all the bird food remaining in the bowl.  He shifted his position and we got a glimpse of his profile. That quickly solved the identity problem. Our new visitor was none other than the northern, or brindled bandicoot. No stranger to our garden though as we're always finding holes galore in the grass! Hunger must have driven him to dare mount the steps. He is now a nightly visitor. 

See also a story by Werner Schmidlin on this subject

The night is full of the sounds of the hypnotic songs of the insects, the croaking of the frogs, and the calls of the owl-like Tawny Frogmouth.

 

See also a story by Jeny Calway on this subject

Shortly after our arrival in this land, my sleep was rudely interrupted one night by most aggressive sounds, seemingly very close to the caravan where we slept whilst building our home.  There were deep gruntings and cacophonous snorts. I had visions of wild boars about to attack us. We had seen, from a distance, six wild pigs crossing our property during the daytime.

Warren woke and we lay listening. The sounds seemed to be coming from all directions around us, even from overhead. They grew louder by the minute and so did my fear, as fierce growls now menaced us. Surely a wild boar could not climb a tree? Warren was all for going outside with a flashlamp but thought better of it as we heard thuds, as though landings were made, then scrambling sounds, suggestive of tree climbing.

 

What animal could this possibly be? It sounded like a herd of them. Frightening thought! I began to feel vulnerable. What if they were to crash through the thin walls of our caravan?     At last the rumpus died down. Silence slipped back to settle, and sleep returned to us.

In daylight, we examined the area outside for marks of battle. We found none, no evidence to support what we had endured! We searched the trees above but no flying pigs were visible, nor extinct Tasmanian Tigers! We saw only a lone ball caught high in the branches of the tall gum that sheltered our temporary home, no doubt lodged there after a hearty footy game.

Later in the day, one of our sons saw a movement. The ball slowly unravelled and draped one leg over a branch then re-settled. This was our first sight of a koala. Later, we were informed that this cuddly looking native was capable of making the most astounding ruckus, should his territory be invaded! We could not have been more surprised, or thrilled!

- Sylvia Roff-Marsh

A story of endurance

Busy, busy, busy!

 

A Week In The Life Of A Wildlife Carer

I should like to share with you a typical week.

 

Not every wildlife carer has the hectic life that I have, as they don’t have all the other involvements that go with my positions on a committee. My phone number is also registered as a main help number that appears on thousands of brochures - at Police Stations, Council Offices, Veterinary Surgeons' Offices, the RSPCA and Queensland Parks and Wildlife Services.

 

So, let's go!

MONDAY
My morning starts at 5 a.m. This is the time for the first feed for the very small babies. These babies are pinkies (furless young) which have to be fed around the clock. I always seem to have a never ending supply of these little ones in care.

After the little ones have been fed, I then start on the larger ones. This usually takes about an hour and a half to complete. By 7 a.m. it is time for my first cup of coffee and, if I’m lucky, a piece of toast. Mind you, that piece of toast has to be shared. A small crust for the rosella, who won’t stop whistling until he gets it, and a little for some of the bigger joeys who smell it cooking.

Next job is a load of washing, kangaroo pouches that have been soiled through the previous day, amongst other things.

By this time, the phone has rung five or six times. Some calls are for rescues, which have to be organised, or calls from carers wanting advice on joeys. This is one of my roles as Macropod Coordinator.

It's now time for another feed for the very young ones, before having to go out to rescue a possum.

I remember our newsletter is due out, so I have to spend some time preparing my articles.

If you enjoy statistics, you'll enjoy this one.  By day's end I have given 53 bottles.

TUESDAY
The day starts off much the same as Monday, but the Rural Fire Brigade has rung to let me know they are doing a burn off on the weekend, and ask if I can be on stand-by for any injured animals. I have volunteered to walk through the 20 hectares that will be burnt to see if I can identify any areas that might be a problem for wildlife.

The afternoon is spent sewing pouches that we sell at a low cost to our carers, followed by a trip to the vet to pick up an animal that has been brought in.

WEDNESDAY
Feeding takes longer this morning because I have been called out to a kangaroo that has been hit by a car and left on the side of the road with two broken legs. On the way out to the first call, I have to stop to check a dead wallaby and a possum.

There is time only for a quick coffee before I have to travel to a nearby town to give a talk to a Women’s Group. On the way home, I have to call into a house and check on a koala that the people think might be sick. It turns out that he is, so I spend the next hour working out a way to get him down and into care. We manage to rescue him, which then means an hour’s trip down to the nearby koala hospital.

There are only eight messages on the answering machine when I get home, which is a relief.

THURSDAY
I am hoping for a quiet day today as I have a few household chores to do.

The day starts when the phone rings at 3.30 a.m. It is a lady whose daughter was on her way home from work and has hit a wallaby with her car. It is still alive, and her daughter is distraught, and is standing beside it on the side of the road. Can we help her? The local vet has given her my number. I wake my wonderful husband and off we go, the wallaby dies just as we pull up, but I was able to calm the girl down and convince her that it wasn’t her fault.

It seems to be the day for rescues, I was in and out all day. The result is I never got the chores done and ended up with another very tiny joey in care, weighing only 200 g.

FRIDAY
All the usual jobs and a committee meeting that went for five hours.  Don't you love those endless committee meetings?

SATURDAY
I finally got my chores done, and had a visit from my daughter. I only went on two rescues, so it was my quietest day of the week.

SUNDAY
Started off with the phone ringing at 1 a.m. Two ladies from down the road, who often bring in injured animals, were on the phone. They were at my front gate with a baby joey. It was a very cold night and when I opened the door, standing there with only her bra on, and this big baby wrapped in her jumper was one of the ladies. They had stopped for a dead mother kangaroo that was still in the middle of the road. She had a big joey in her pouch. While one of the ladies struggled to get the joey out and hold it, the other one was pulling her shirt off to wrap it in. Doesn't this just show the difference? The callous person who hit the mother and left her in the middle of the road, and the caring people who rescued her. Thanks, Melissa and Sue.

The day never got much better with another baby brought in that was found in the park on its own. Something had chewed off the end of its tail. This little one had no fur and was very cold. You'll be pleased to hear that he has recovered and is doing well.

It may sound like a busy life, and can be at times, but the reward has to be felt to be appreciated. All the little ones that think of me as their mum, and trust me completely, make it all worth while. I would also like to thank my husband, without whose help none of it would be possible.

 

 

- Monica Allen
Cedar Grove, Queensland, Australia.

 The East African Savannah

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
 This continues the series about the Savannah lands of East Africa
 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Nile crocodile is to be found in many rivers, ponds and lakes that occur in the East African Savannah. The Nile crocodile is a prehistoric looking monster quite fearsome to behold. It can grow huge, weighing up to 1,000 kg and measuring close to 7 m long.

 

Nile crocodiles are not fussy feeders and will eat almost any animal they can easily subdue.

These crocs have very good camouflage, which serves them very well. Floating silently on the water, they appear like logs – absolutely harmless. The Nile croc is an ambusher and its camouflage gives its sudden eruption to attack a shocking element of surprise that almost always ends in a kill.

 

Nile crocs often lie submerged near the water's edge waiting for thirst-driven animals, which are not as alert as they ought to be. The croc then attacks suddenly, clamping savage jaws on an unwary victim, which is then dragged under, drowned and eaten. The croc feeds by biting and ripping off large chunks of meat and bone. This is achieved by going into a deadly spin. The croc swallows the resulting pieces whole without chewing them.

 

Unlike most other creatures of the wild, the Nile croc is not shy of humans and will readily add them to the menu when they present themselves. During the migrations, the crocs congregate together and share meals of zebra and wildebeest that are such easy takings at the crossings. The Nile croc can eat up to half its own body weight and can then go for years without another meal. They swallow stones and rocks to help them digest their food as well as to help them submerge and stay down longer. They have been known to stay submerged for up to an hour.

 

Cold blooded, the Nile croc needs to bask in order to raise its body temperature. Hence it is common to see them emerging from the water, especially in the gentle morning sun. On land, they have a slow, ungainly, heavy gait, which is misleading for they can burst into amazing speed without warning.

 

In relaxation, their jaws snap open like a spring and stay so without effort. Effort is however required to snap the jaws shut and keep them shut. They have a wide head and a long snout lined with sharp teeth, like a pre-historic monster.

 

Nile crocs reach sexual maturity at 6 to 15 years. The female will lay 70-80 eggs in a shallow hole, which she digs and then covers with earth. The sun does the rest. The eggs incubate for 14 weeks. For such a powerful creature, the Nile croc is a tender and protective mother. She stays close to the nest, listening anxiously for the call of the new hatchlings. She will even help the slow ones to break open the shells. Then she gathers them one at a time in her mouth without hurting the tiny babies. Safe in her mouth, she ferries them to the shallow waters, which also have plant foliage. This serves as a nursery, and her babies stand a better chance of survival here because of the plant cover. The plants also attract insects and frogs, on which the babies feed. She remains close to the nursery and the little ones clamber onto her back for a free ride and safe sunbathing.

 

Nile crocodiles do not shed their skin, but their skin grows as the rest of their body grows. For this skin they have been sorely exploited by man. In fact, the Nile croc has two natural enemies, man and hippos. A fully grown hippo can cut a fully grown croc in half, and they often live together in an uneasy truce.

 

The Nile crocodile's eggs are preyed on by mongoose, snakes and baboon. Of all the eggs the mother lays, only a handful will survive into adulthood.

 

The male is extremely territorial.

 

 

 

- Nyambura Kiarie

Nairobi, Kenya.

Nile Crocodile  (Crocodylus niloticus)

 

“Hey Barret, are you awake? I can smell you from here, and there is the sound of your chewing, but I can not pick out your pear-shaped body wedged in that Eucalyptus melliodora,” grumbled Garth, who was safe, high up in the canopy of his favourite tree.

 

In fact there were a number of trees he had selected and called his own, known by others as his home trees. These trees were scattered among the forest, and covered an area known as his home range. Occasionally, when checking that his trees were in good eating order and were not being stolen by other males, he noticed in a tree close by, other koalas checking their trees.

 

They stayed in their own trees, as personal space was very important to them, and was serious enough to fight to the death over. The only time a koala would share a tree was when it was with one of the opposite sex with whom he desired to start a family. Koala males believed three females on a home range was no problem. After all, there were plenty of trees between them if required and most of their time was spent sleeping anyway.

 

Barret slowly opened his eyes and blinked, adjusting to the dusk that had sneaked up on him. He finished with his small nap and peered in the direction of the noise. He too was high up a tall tree of his own, belonging to his home range that overlapped Garth’s home range. Barrett was an old koala and had slept and dreamed more than most who were in the forest. He was thankful his aging, large ears were still able to pick up noise, even several trees away.

 

“Forget the scientific names,” he said. “We old koalas have been happy for years, to call our food trees simply, yellow box gum.” He was distracted for a moment when he noticed a little housekeeping was required on his tree, so he rubbed his white chest where his scent gland was, over the branch beside him, leaving a dark substance, effectively marking his territory.

 

Satisfied with his handiwork, he continued his chat with Garth, hoping the latter had not fallen asleep. A pang of guilt swept over him, thinking he might be disturbing him, he asked, “I hope you are having enough sleep? A young koala needs lots of sleep, I know.”

 

“Sleep,” repeated Garth. “I find it annoying that we need up to twenty two hours of sleep a day. Since we are talking, I was wondering if you could tell me why any animal would want to eat eucalyptus leaves. They are full of toxins and not only that, we are only able to retrieve twenty per cent nourishment from them. When I am not sleeping I spend most of my time eating. Now if we could have a juicy steak, I would need only four hours sleep a day!”

 

Barret yelled out a loud snore, then a belch, known as a bellow, letting others know this was his area.  He was once a koala of distinction with six females demanding his attention. Alas, time had crept up on him and it was now a full-time job keeping himself fed. “A young Koala, like you, should be starting a family. Remember, you only live for about twenty years. It is up to youngsters like you to keep our species continuing into the next generation.”

 

“Yes, I admit there are not many of us left in this forest,” agreed Garth. “Once it was only the larger noisy goannas climbing our trees after our young, but their noise mostly gave one plenty of time to move away. I have heard cases of the occasional eagle hovering above and plucking a youngster right off its mother’s back, when they were hiding in the canopy. I was chatting to Clark the other day, and he told me that four thousand of our kind are killed every year by dogs and cars. The dogs, I earnestly believe, are mutant dingoes and chase and bark at anything that moves. The only creature that is willing to accept dogs is the human creature.

 

“Those cars are hazardous too. They swallow human creatures whole and dash off at incredible speed, only to spew them out again, with not a bite taken off any part of their body. Sometimes, they speed straight into trees for no apparent reason.” He took a breath, collecting his thoughts and continued, “We are in trouble in another way too. If we are lucky, we have one joey born every year. I am not sure if I want to start a family because those humans have destroyed eighty percent of our habitat already. It is sure hard these days for a koala to find his own home trees within a home range.”

 

Barret had heard all this before, so many times while growing up. Being slightly bored, he aimed his large nose with its sensitive hairs at some leaves, sniffing carefully to ensure they were okay before he commenced to pull them off the branch. “Trouble, I will tell you what trouble, is,” grumbled Barret, and hastily stowed the unchewed leaves into his cheek pouches to enjoy later in the evening.  “Many moons ago, our kind were caught up in the fur trade.  In 1912, the Queensland Government had an open season on us and in just six months one million of us were killed.

 

Garth, being young, and hearing this for the first time, nearly fell out of his tree, thankful his rough pads on his hands and feet were able to grab at the branch again and keep him from falling. “I never knew that,” he said. “Good thing it was only for a short period or there would be none of us left. I reckon that taught them a lesson never to do that again.”

 

“Those humans are stupid creatures,” said Barret. “In 1927, they reopened the season again and eight hundred thousand of us were slaughtered in just one month. Fortunately, in 1930, they declared us a protected species. So my young friend, you are lucky to be alive and sitting in that tree. I suggest after a good long sleep, you find a female and start a family. I have had four young during my sixteen years, who are roaming somewhere out there,” his paw waved at the forest around him.

 

“Yes, I guess it’s time for a sleep,” said Garth. “However, after that horrible tale, I am too hot to sleep at the moment.” He then proceeded to lick his arms before stretching out along the branch, hoping to catch the gentle breeze to cool him down.”

 

Barret never answered. He was already asleep, reliving the good old days when there was a profusion of trees, just waiting for any young koala to call home.

 

 

- Gardenmouse

Canberra, Australian Capital Territory, Australia.

 

Koala Chat

 

Fiction

A story of endurance

Talking with a purpose

Issue 23 will be published on or about 10 September 2007

 

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