LET'S BE DEVILS' ADVOCATES

Tasmanian Devils have an undeserved reputation as being nasty, ferocious little varmints you'd be wise to avoid.  As a threatened species, considered to be on the road to extinction like their distant cousins the Tasmanian Tigers, they've attracted a lot of media attention in recent times. 

Life is precarious for these creatures for a number of reasons.  For the last ten years or so their numbers have been decimated by a rare infectious and deadly facial cancer.  As well, they too often end up as road kill, predisposed as they are to scavenge for the carcasses of other animals on Tasmania's heavily tourist populated roads.  This has always been the case, but in combination with the inroads of the cancer, it's a far more serious threat than previously. 

For an as yet unknown reason, those animals that inhabit the north-west of Tasmania have proved more resistant to the disease than their counterparts in other regions.  Now however these apparently hardier little critters are likely to be impacted by the newly approved mine proposed for the Tarkine region in the north west.  With this combination of adversities, the odds are really stacked against them. 

This is unlikely to be a populist cause, and unless you're a nature conservationist or environmentalist, it may seem just one more of the endless problems we're asked to get concerned about.  The devils have gotten rather a bad rap, not being the most appealing of animals when pictured with their jaws gaping, and the graphic documentaries showing the cancer sufferers'eaten away faces have probably done little to endear them to lovers of the cute and cuddly.

Other than seeing them dead by the side of the road and the stuffed version in souvenir shops across the island, we didn't encounter them on our recent trip until the day we left Cradle Mountain and visited Devils@Cradle. 

 Devils@Cradle is a world class animal sanctuary located adjacent to the World Heritage area of the National Park and is an amazing place.  In a largely natural environment of eucalypts and flora unique to the region, the sanctuary provides a safe habitat for the devils, as well as other native marsupials, including quolls, wallabies and wombats.

As the only visitors, when we arrived we were lucky enough to get a personalised tour of the facility which housed a number of devils of all ages including babies.  These animals are part of what's called the Captive Breeding Program administered in conjunction with the Tasmanian Government's "Save the Tasmanian Devil Program", an initiative to help sustain genetic diversity in Australia's native animal populations.

The program also conducts orphan rehabilitation through taking in abandoned babies and hand rearing them to maturity, either to stay in the sanctuary or be released back into the wild.  The wildlife carers are exactly that, caring and expert in their knowledge of and skills with these unique creatures. 

While there, we were amazed to see the level of rapport between our tour guide and the animals, which allowed her to pick them up and cradle them like kittens.  Far from being the ferocious miniature man-eaters they can appear to be, we learned they only seem that way because of their huge jaws, fearsome looking teeth and the spine chilling cry they emit when afraid or threatened.  In this case their bark is a good deal worse than their admittedly not inconsiderable bite!

It would be a tragedy to see the devils go the way of the tigers, which are now only a distant and mythologised remnant of our history.  Apart from the fact that these animals seem to have gotten an especially raw deal over recent years, as a part of Australia's world renowned and unique native fauna, what's left of them must be preserved.  Let's not allow them to be crushed for ever under the advancing tread of so-called progress. 

If, like me, you want to be a devil's advocate, check out "Save the Tasmanian Devil" for ways of supporting them.  

Kenny K rides again

Just when we thought it was safe to expect a night's sleep uninterrupted by close encounters of the animal kind, Kenny K decided to drop by again. Hell hath no fury like a koala given the cold shoulder and this time he decided to give us that message personally.

The happy trio were peacefully slumbering en famille last night. Me snoring faintly and doubtless dribbling, Scully snoring loudly in her bed and Fergus on his/my bed not snoring but emitting pollutants from his posterior of sufficient strength to render our personal methane footprint the size of an elephant's.

Suddenly all hell broke loose. Fergus gave a clarion cry like a pack of hounds to the chase and burst from the bedroom into the loungeroom, from which there shortly came not four but eight clacking claws pounding the wooden floor. To this was added the cacophony of ferocious growling, yapping etc. as noted in my previous post, and another indeterminate sound which soon turned out to be .... wait for it .... Kenny K - having a very bad fur day and at large, and I mean large, in the bosom of our home. Whether he thought he'd drop by for a spot of quiet TV viewing while the coast was clear, or what I don't know. He had apparently slipped through the aperture of the back screen door left open to cater for urgent canine calls of nature in the night and then forgot which way was out.

Fergus already somewhat embittered by the previous confrontation was not about to do any turning of blind eyes, other cheeks or similar wimpish stuff. The scene that met my eyes was not a happy one. I had to decide in a flash what to do and being both a dog and and a koala lover there was a decided conflict of interest. The potential for flying dog and koala parts was high though. So what could I do but leap into the fray, feet protected by the trusty holy bedsocks but hands sadly not. Like the proverbial mother throwing herself in front of a truck to protect her beloved brood, I prized the creatures apart, seized Fergus and hauled him off into the bedroom slamming the door behind him.

I was then left to face Kenny K, alone, as is my lot in life. By this time he was in a state of advanced panic galloping about, as if to the strains of the William Tell Overture, scrabbling up armchairs, blundering into furniture and so on. Having the presence of mind of one who is expert in emergencies, or in other words doing the first thing that leaps into my mind, I threw open all the doors and windows and kept out of the way. Kenny eventually cottoned on that freedom beckoned and gallumphed his way out the door and off into the night, apparently uninjured.

On subsequent inspection Fergus also proved to be unscathed, which is more than I can say for myself. My passage through the house was marked in classical chain saw massacre fashion by large drops of blood on the floor and smears on the walls. This alerted me to the fact that I was wounded, messily but not mortally, now evidenced by some impressive looking medical dressings along one arm and finger.

Fergus when allowed out of the bedroom was bent on vengeance and spent the rest of the night seeking it. A glance at the bedside clock radio revealed the time of the incident to be 2.00am so there was a sizeable bit of night remaining. Sleep was but a dream as Fergus tore through the house in a frenzy for the next four hours. An excitable dog at the best of times, he outdid himself on this occasion. Scully slumbered on through the whole uproar. Deafness has its advantages.

What happens next who knows. I will be barricading the dogs in the house at night from now on at least until the coast is clear of the mad koala. If you don't hear any more from me, you'll know I've either gone bonkers from sleep deprivation or have started a new career as a taxidermist of native animals.

Another brush with an Australian fauna icon

I’m moving – somewhere – anywhere where the innocent populace is not plagued by rampant marsupials running amok.

First it was Skippy the kangaroo or one of his relatives, blundering into my car and causing one hell of a mess. Now it’s Kenny the Koala decorating my backyard with the fruits of what must have been a veritable orgy of pooping, and then to add insult to injury rudely awakening me from my well earned rest last night.

To be fair it wasn’t Kenny K who woke me. It was Fergus, my trusted terrier, conscientiously fulfilling his watchdog duties, who must have heard the plop of koala excretions hitting the ground or something (his hearing being very keen). On being alerted, he leapt to attention, sprang from his bed (unofficially my bed, but he sees it as his), tore outside at top speed and erupted in a frenzy of hysterical yapping interspersed with ferocious growls – both loud enough to wake the dead, let alone the peacefully slumbering neighbours. I gave it ten minutes or so, in the wishful hope that he might have just had a bad dream and on realising there was nothing there calm down and come back inside. No such luck though. The barking and growling if anything escalated in volume and intensity. There was nothing for it but to drag myself up and go outside to investigate, bedecked in all the splendour of my winter season night attire, complete with holy bedsocks. A vision that can only be imagined.

There was Fergus in full cry, springing up and down, tearing around in circles and generally acting like a mad dog. Above him, perched precariously on the pergola was Kenny, the giant koala. Judging from the state of his figure he had clearly been feasting on those special gum leaves beloved of koalas which I suppose are now flourishing because of all the nice rain we’ve had. Hence the voluminous poops. Despite his bulk, he managed to trot back and forth along the beams of the pergola quite nimbly, occasionally glancing down at Fergus in a taunting sort of way as if to say “come on dog – make my day”. Which I’m sure he would have – and his breakfast, lunch and dinner as well. No cute cuddly teddy type this one I can tell you.

Needless to say, it was mother who had to save the bloody day, as far as one can in the dead of night. After a few fruitless efforts to tempt Fergus inside with calls of “bickie, bickie” I realised this was useless. Normally no matter what the alternative temptation, Fergus is such a glutton that this feeble ploy actually works. However in this case a cartload of bickies wouldn’t have done it. There was nothing for it but to try and catch him. Easier said than done. Despite lots of plunging and lunging as he sped past, he managed to slip through my fingers. Eventually though as he was attempting to climb the wall to get to his prey, I grabbed his collar and hauled him inside. Of course I then had to haul him all the way to the other door that was still open in order to close it before he could slip through and escape again. Quite a test of strength it was too. Even at the risk of strangulation, the little bugger kept surging ahead, desperate to make a dash for the exit. But I prevailed and with all the exits blocked, decided it was safe to go back to bed.

Back to bed I went but not to sleep of course. Foiled in his attempt to get up close and personal with Kenny K, Fergus was not happy. He made this very clear throughout what remained of the night by rampaging through the house, pummelling at the doors to get out, whining and yelping and otherwise carrying on. The only one who slept was Scully, who luckily for her is stone deaf.

Aroused to another day of work by the clock radio, I dragged myself from my bed in an even more advanced state of stupour than usual. Fergus having momentarily lowered himself into a prone position for the space of a few minutes just before dawn, immediately jumped up again ready to burst into the outdoors – that exciting realm of furry nocturnal invaders. I made him wait until at least I’d had a shower and got dressed, thoughtful enough not to inflict my night-time sartorial ghastliness on any neighbours who might be abroad. Once we did venture outside, thank goodness there was no sign of Kenny K. Presumably he’d moved off to partake of another serving of leaves somewhere else, or after the excitement of the night, was sleeping it off amongst the branches.

Let’s just hope he doesn’t decide to pay us another visit tonight.

Kangaroos and Cars don't Mix

This is the story of something that happened to me a couple of months ago. I had lunch yesterday with Mme Benaut, dear friend and inspirational blogger, and she suggested I should recount this for the edification of others. And to serve as a cautionary tale.

It was, as they say in the classics, a dark and stormy night. In fact it was the night before I was to leave for a weekend in Sydney to celebrate my friend Nina's birthday. Being away from home of course necessitates putting my canine children (Fergus and Scully) up in a boarding kennel, much to their disgust. We've become accustomed to using a very good one at Mylor, (Top Spot Kennels) which although some distance away in the wilds of the Adelaide hills, looks after the dogs really well.

This particular night saw the onset of the autumn rain, with a vengeance. It had been raining steadily all afternoon and by the time I'd dropped the dogs off and turned back towards home, it was already pitch dark at six o'clock or thereabouts and absolutely teeming. While the rain was like manna from heaven to this driest of dry cities, it made driving conditions hazardous in the extreme. This wasn't helped by the fact that the stretch of road between Mylor and Aldgate, the next hills town, is very narrow, winding and dark.

My night-time eyesight is not all it could be, along with all the other failing faculties, so I was peering myopically through the windscreen and feeling fairly anxious already when a huge greyish white apparition loomed up out of the blackness to my left. With an enormous thud it smacked straight into the passenger side of the car knocking it off course and then seemed to disappear. There was nowhere to turn off the road and cars were right behind me so somehow I managed to keep driving, but very hesitantly as I didn't know how badly the car was damaged. I was also in a state of panic because I didn't know what I'd hit. For all I knew at that stage it could have been a person or a child. Visions of being convicted as a hit-run driver flashed before me. A bit further down the road there was a muddy turn-off to the left so I managed to pull in off the road and stop, very shaken. The drivers of two other cars behind me both stopped also to see if I was alright, which was kind of them.

One of them, a young girl, came over and I tried to open the passenger side door but it was stuck. She told me I'd hit a kangaroo as she'd seen it bounce off my bonnet and disappear over the other side of the road. The other driver who stopped was a young man who was really kind and thoughtful and had a very close look at the car for me to see whether it was driveable. He was soaked to the skin, it was raining so hard, but he still got down in the mud and looked under the car to see whether any oil or fluid was leaking out. He then offered to drive in front of me until we got to Aldgate, as by now I only had one headlight. I don't know who he was but I am very grateful for his help. It seemed like the car was alright to drive, in that it had no mechanical problems. Just the slight problem of a busted headlight and missing rear view window on one side, which had apparently been sheared off by the kangaroo.

I felt pretty bad about the kangaroo and was afraid that I might have killed it or at least seriously injured it, but there wasn't much I could do. Subsequently quite a few people told me they are actually pretty tough and unless you hit them full on with a vehicle with a roo bar attached, they often survive without too much ill effect. So I hope that was the case with this one.

It was a hair raising drive home as although I'd negotiated the rest of the narrow, winding hills road I was on, the remainder of the route was not much better and of course it was still raining heavily. Visibility with only one headlight was appalling so I had to keep the working one on high beam, which the approaching drivers probably didn't appreciate.

Finally I got home in one piece, which is more than I can say for the car. I still went away for the weekend and left the disaster locked up in the garage to deal with on my return. It needed quite extensive repairs as it turned out, although fortunately the insurance paid for them, all except the unavoidable excess.

Running into a kangaroo was the last thing I would have expected to happen so close to the metropolitan area, thinking they would only be a concern out in the middle of the outback. But apparently they are not uncommon in that area, and of course there are also lots of koalas. It made me realise that wherever you drive where there are trees and bushland, it's important to be aware of the wildlife that may be around and keep alert to the possibility of an animal getting onto the road. Of course in the case of this one, as it seemed to literally launch itself out of the bush on the side of the road straight into my car, there was little I could have done to avoid it. But I will be a lot more wary driving through those parts in future.

The cutest of critters

Taronga Zoo in Sydney now boasts two extremely cute baby meerkats – Zanzibar and Nairobi, (the two tiny ones just above) born in January, bringing the zoo’s meerkat family to a total of nine. I have always been fascinated by these little creatures, with their quirkily alert little faces and upright almost human stance. They are said to be quite precocious, intelligent and social animals. Interestingly the females tend to be larger and more dominant than their male counterparts who have somewhat more relaxed laid back personalities.

Fellow Earthlings Wildlife Centre, http://www.fellowearthlings.org/index.html situated in the desert of California, is a unique facility that specializes in caring for meerkats that may be orphaned, injured, old, sick or unable to be housed. Such animals are usually sent to the Centre by other zoological establishments. The meerkats sent there are given homes for the rest of their lives. Visitors can visit them at certain times of the year, interact with, hand feed and even sponsor them. One of the Centre’s meerkats was in fact the inspiration for the endearing Disney character Timon in the movie “The Lion King”

According to the Fellow Earthlings Wildlife Centre, the Meerkat Motto, (which we humans could do very well to adopt also) is:

Respect the Elders
Teach the Young
Cooperate with the Family
Play when you can
Work when you should
Rest in between
Share your Affection
Voice your feelings
Leave your mark

There are some delightful pictures and fascinating information on their website, including this gem describing how they feel about their little charges:

“They remind us how important it is to enjoy the simple pleasures ~ the warmth of the morning sun on your face, the afternoon breeze that whispers in your ear, the lovely pink sunset that wraps the world in a magical light. Each afternoon, we pause from our chores and join the meerkats in their ritual of bidding adieu to the sun as it settles behind the mountains. In the stillness, after the light slips away, we are grateful for the beauty that surrounds us and the wondrous little creatures that grace our lives and teach us about what really matters.

These sentiments could just as well describe how most animal lovers feel about the animals in their care, I suspect (as I wrote about in my last post).