Beasts of the Field

Bay the frog, after sitting on her leaf passively for over two days, was gone shortly after I drank my dawn coffee this morning.  She was there when I greeted her.  Gone not much later.  I did not see her climb down or where she went.  I am always a little anxious when she is gone from the tree, because I have rather made her a favourite –  she is so easily identified, so tiny, so unafraid.  It was with a little surprise and a fair bit of consternation that I just happened to spot her as she headed back to her tree in the mid afternoon.  She came hopping out from under the Wormwood bush, which to my mind is a long way off for a little frog to wander. In broad daylight she gaily hopped along without a care in the world.  My first instinct was to stand guard over her, or even to transport her by hand back to the tree.  A magpie could swoop in at any second, or even the dog staying with me at the moment might leap on her.  Or a bigger frog could get her.  But no. I have to let her be herself.  She has to cope with the world as it is.  Metaphor for daughters really.  She made it across the lawn – which is pretty much just dead grass and sand at present, vanishing into the cavities under the pot plants and pond.  Shortly afterwards, as if by magic, she was perched back in the Bay tree.  I did not see her make the climb.  Once again she has a tubby little tum, indicating that she has caught her fill of whatever tiny delectables she hunts.


I mentioned I have a dog staying with me.  His name is Jack, he is a bull terrier cross.  He is nine years old, quiet, obedient and a house trained gentleman guest.  His owner is from Gnowangerup and was admitted to Katanning Hospital on Friday. She asked for Jack to be put in the pound, but I took him in.  I thought she would get better quicker, knowing he was being cared for.  He has been no trouble at all.  although he gets excited when he hears the possums in the trees and is clearly very interested in them, he comes whenever called. A joy to care for and a friendly old companion.  If he was a German Shepherd, he would be the perfect dog.



Almost I got a baby roo to look after too today, but luckily for me – and for it I suspect – we found a good home for it.  It was too young to be put in the hands of an amateur.

Carl was called out to deal with a roo that was injured on the side of the road.  He asked if I wanted to care for it.  I would have tried, but it was too badly injured.  I reminded him to check its pockets for ID and loose change.  Sure enough, there was a joey in there.  Carl had to shoot the mother, so there we were with a youngster, still hairless and with closed eyes.  It looked like the baby from Eraserhead 

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Stephenie was keeping it warm and she and Carl set off to find appropriate food while I searched the net for advice or contacts who could help.  I knew there was a kangaroo carer in Katanning. I met her at the DEC on the evening we went nightstalking. but I could not remember where she was,  I finally got a lady in Mt Barker who put me onto Mary, whom I called at once.  She graciously agreed to look after our charge.  I must put it to the work social club that we should do a little fundraising for her. I was pleased to see the little beggar go to good hands. I did not fancy its chances if Carl and I were looking after it, though Steph was suitably maternal and may well have saved the day had we not found Mary.   

One would think that is enough animalia for one day, but as I was eating my evening meal of reheated left-over chilli I spotted a mouse dashing out from the laundry and around under the stove.

My trap is broken, so I must get another.  I like animals, but I don’t like mice. This one is a goner.

About Uisce úr

Though I am old with wandering Through hollow lands and hilly lands, I will find out where she has gone, And kiss her lips and take her hands; And walk among long dappled grass, And pluck till time and times are done, The silver apples of the moon, The golden apples of the sun.
This entry was posted in Autobiography, Death, Depression, fires and disasters, frogs, Health and wellness, Hobbies, Humour, Joeys, joeys, kangaroos, Life, don't talk to me about life!, Lifestyle, Nature, News and politics, Non-Events, Philosophy, Photography, possums, snakes, Wildlife and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to Beasts of the Field

  1. Pilgrim33 says:

    It is?
    No wonder I waste so much time trying to find things.


  2. Alan says:

    It’s not really surprising that everything is always in the last place you look. It is usual to stop looking after you have found it.


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