At day’s end, when I complete some task,
It is with pleasure that I descry,
Just limping along through the gathering dusk,
A wallaby on my property.

She gets here through a barbed-wire fence,
Clambering under somehow, and tall grass,
A covert where dingoes might hide in suspense
To ambush my uninvited guest.

She comes for the lawn that I keep cut,
The acre I mow and I would mow
In any case, whether she came here or not;
Well I have no reason to object.

The grass I keep cut is fresh and green
And nothing she does can alter that:
A meal for the wallaby makes a nice scene
And both of us benefit from it.

A wallaby isn’t a movie or a book
But what harm will all my looking do?
What about all the chances I took
Limping my way to something new?

And yet I never risked as much
As she does and never with such cause.
She carries a baby in her pouch.
Like eyelashes are those peeping paws.



The courage of a mother wallaby is a beautiful thing to watch because she comes so delicately, not at all like a wild thing. Sadly, it isn’t all beauty. A wallaby carries ticks. I lost my 5 month old puppy to tick poisoning recently and the tick was almost certainly carried by her or some other native mammal. There is an animal track through the long grass around my dam and I suspect that is where the the tick hijacked my unsuspecting pup. Bye Baby Biggles. Luv u always.


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