Monday, September 7, 2009

List of my Australian Fauna writings from "Brucie Bilby"

1 PLATYPUS

Common Name : Platypus, “Flat-foot”

Scientific Name : ornithorhyncus paradoxus, “Bird-Nosed Paradox”

Order: Monotremata*

Family: Ornithorhynchidae

Subspecies: None

Status: Not presently threatened, but lush habitat seriously eroded by settlement.

Natural range : Coastal NSW & Queensland, Eastern Victoria, Tasmania.

Hazards: Dogs and foxes; whilst juvenile, probably cats; pollution or usurpation of watercourses by grazing animals.

Comments : Platypus is deservedly popular choice for world’s foremost living oddity. It is one of only two monotremes - mammals which lay eggs - the other being the Echidna, also an Australian native, see p.( ) Both monotremes are true mammals in that they produce milk to feed their young, but neither has nipples: the milk simply exudes from the mother’s underbelly, and Platykits and Echidna pups lap it off her fur.

With webbed feet and a broad bill to shame any duck’s, rich waterproof fur and a flattened tail not unlike a beaver’s, Platypus looks like a creature from A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Still more astonishing is the fact that the adult male possesses on his hind legs “spurs”, capable of injecting into unwary handlers a neurotoxin, with potentially serious effects. ( Platypus is the only poisonous mammal in the world.)

Yet unquestionably the creature’s most fascinating attribute is to be found in its bill,

a sensory organ capable of detecting electrical impulses in the nervous systems of the freshwater crustacea and waterliving insect larvae which form the bulk of its diet. This sense, the like of which is found nowhere else in Nature, enables Platypus to locate prey at some little distance, even though they swim with eyes closed whilst underwater. Serrate ridges on the contact surfaces inside the pliable bill serve instead of teeth; larger prey such as freshwater crayfish are brought to the surface to break into swallowable lumps. Although notoriously shy, they learn to accept quiet observers, and their vigorous style of foraging and swimming makes them a sight worth waiting for.

[ Note that rather than the ugly plural “Platypuses”, or the pedantic “Platypi”,

we prefer the simple plural Platypus, as is the case with one or many sheep.]

References :

Tasmania’s Native Mammals, Phil Andrews, Tasmanian Museum and Art Gallery, Hobart, 1981

Key Guide to Australian Mammals, Leonard Cronin, Reed Books, Sydney 1991

Australian Mammals in Colour, Irene & Michael Morcombe, Reed Books, Sydney, 1979

The Puffin Book of Australian Mammals, Helen Hunt, Puffin, Melbourne, 1990

The Australian Museum Complete Book of Australian Native Mammals,

R. Strahan (Ed.), Angus & Robertson, Sydney, 1983

Sanctuaries where you may go to see Platypus:

NSW : (Probably several)

NT : ( ? None - ? )

Qld : (Probably several)

SA : 1. Warrawong Sanctuary, Adelaide Hills, Ph. …….. Website www. …etc….

2. Flinders Chase Sanctuary, Kangaroo Island, Ph. ….. ……..www……….

Tas : (Probably several)

Vic : Healesville Sanctuary ………

WA : ( ? None - ? ) (etc …)

Elsewhere in the World : ??????????

*( Hyperlink would embrace Echidna, explain egg-laying mammals etc, but not in great depth, and anyway in your own words. )

2 Marsupial Mole

Common Name : Marsupial Mole

Scientific Name : notoryctes typhlops

Order: Polyprotodonta*

Suborder Dasyuromorphia

Subspecies: None

Status: Difficult to assess. Rarely observed. 1 specimen only captured in last decade.

Natural range : Arid areas of Central Australia..

Hazards: Uncertain. Grazing activities have probably degraded its habitat.

Foxes possibly dig out individuals close to the surface

Comments : The Marsupial Mole has been found over a wide area of inland Australia, usually as a result of ploughing activities. So accidental a mode of discovery does not lend itself to in-depth studies of behaviour, and very little is known of many aspects this bizarre little marsupial. About the size of a Chiko Roll, which it quite resembles, it has no external eyes whatsoever, though subcutaneous vestigial lenses are present; ears are reduced to hollows packed with dense fur, and the tail to little more than a stump. Using the two tusk-like toe-nails on each front foot, it burrows vigorously through loose sand, the hole filling in after it passes, so that it seems rather to swim through the sand than to dig. The nose is horny and spatulate, in shape reminiscent of that of a Koala’s, but set at a shallow angle; it is used to push loosened soil above and behind itself as it progresses. Though most of its burrowing is within the top twenty centimeters of soil, shafts may suddenly plunge vertically for as much as two metres

Though the Marsupial Mole spends most of its life below ground, it may emerge occasionally to forage for insect larvae, and sometimes goes to sleep above ground. During this time it must be intensely vulnerable to introduced predators, whereas whilst underground it is relatively safe from them. Unfortunately, foxes can of course dig too, and since much of the Marsupial Moles’s activity is within a few centimetres of the surface, one must wonder as to how many are excavated by the incomparably larger animal.

How rare is this strange little creature ? The most common assessment, which is no more than guesswork based on distribution, is that it is not in the front line of threatened species; yet so rarely are specimens found that any given individual might, for all anyone knows, be the last of its line. Within the last decade or so, only one has been discovered ( that one being alive and well at the time). It is unlike any other marsupial – though it is superficially extremely similar to the Golden Moles of Africa, down to the twinned front digits and reduced eyes, though the African Moles do have tiny external eyes whereas Marsupial Moles have none at all. Those true moles, however, are placental mammals, in no way related to notoryctes; the similarity is an example of convergent speciation, the growing-alike of quite unrelated animals which happen to share similar lifestyles. Baleen Whales and Whale-Sharks in the way they feed on krill, Beaver and Platypus in body shape, Old World Shrews and Australian Antechinus, Koala and Three-Toed Sloth of South America, all are examples of convergence, but no case is more spectacular than that of these little subterraneans.

Research into a creature at once so rare, so specialised and so fascinating as notoryctes typhlops must be tempered with extreme circumspection, yet there is a vital need to know much more about it if we are to ensure its survival. It seems unlikely that it will prove an easy task to establish breeding colonies in sanctuary or in artificial conditions, and without this option it is more than ever critical that known habitat be conserved and “de-predatored”.

Tasmanian Devil

Common Name Tasmanian Devil

Scientific Name: sarcophilus harrisii, “lover of cadavers”

Second to the Thylacine, ( the“Tasmanian Wolf”, now almost certainly extinct ),

this Staffordshire-Terrier-sized native to Tasmania is the next-largest marsupial predator. Although known to take fowls and undefended lambs, it is primarily a carrion-feeder, hence the scientific appellation. It has uniquely powerful jaws, capable of exerting point-pressures beyond those of any other mammal; this impressive equipment enables it to consume the hardest of bones.

Although its eyesight is weak, its physique less than athletic, its appearance unprepossessing, its vocalizations daunting, and its name a continuing public-relations disaster, this very literal bete noire has adapted to cope well with the same European invasion which exterminated its larger relative. It is common throughout the island State, and may sometimes be found foraging in suburban gardens. It is also well-adapted to semicaptivity, and will readily breed in sanctuary conditions; this apparently puts its survival beyond doubt, provided that there is no recurrence of disastrous disease epidemics such as are known to have occurrred at least twice in the last century.

This is an example of a native animal whose fortunes have been influenced both adversely and advantageously by homo sapiens. Before the coming of any humans to Australia, both Thylacines and Devils were widespread on the mainland as well as Tasmania. Successive waves of Aboriginal peoples, bringing the physically-superior Dingo, canis familiaris, were almost certainly responsible for the extermination of both large marsupial predators from mainland Australia, the Devil as recently as 600 years ago. On the island of Tasmania, never reached by dingoes, both species survived until after European settlement. The last known Thylacine died in captivity in 1936, leaving to posterity ghostly jerky images on film. The Devil at some times has seemed destined to share the same sad fate, but in the last half-century attitudinal changes have led to increased interest in our fauna, and in the case of this particular species, Europeans appear to have ensured its survival by re-introducing it to the mainland, in situations where it is able to breed – if only in sanctuaries.

Tasmanian Devils may be seen at . . .

4 Wombats

FamilyVombatidae

There are at least three species of wombat surviving to this day, and at least one sub-species or species, the King Island Wombat, which has become extinct since European settlement. The three survivors find themselves in vastly different circumstances, from the true-to-name Common Wombat, vombatus ursinus, which exists in safe numbers and with several sub-species over a great deal of South-Eastern Australia, through the Southern Hairy-Nosed Wombat lasiorhinus latifrons, common within a limited range on the arid Nullarbor Plain and in pockets elsewhere in South Australia, to the rare Northern Hairy-Nosed Wombat lasiorhinus krefftii, which is found in sparse populations in a few small enclaves of New South Wales and Queensland. The endangered status of the last-mentioned species, as compared with the more comfortable position of the other two, vividly points up the need for well-meaning conservationists to discern clearly between rare and common species; this is the core of the message in Brucie the Bilby.

Wombats have no near relatives, the Koala being the closest. The order to which they all belong, Diprotodonta, includes the extinct giant Diprotodon, a hippopotamus-sized marsupial possibly seen off by early Aboriginal predation, and whose salt-preserved (as distinct from fossilized ) bones have been found in the vast, usually-dry salt-pans of central South Australia. A splendid skeleton has long been a centrepiece at Adelaide Museum. All Diprotodontids are ( and were ) vegetarian, but where the Koala has specialised in a leafy tree-top existence, feeding largely on a few species of Eucalyptus leaves, Wombats have opted for an earthy life, accessing a wide range of vegetable material including roots, from which they extract most of their water needs. All three species are great diggers, creating prominent warren complexes which may be kept in use indefinitely by successive tenants if circumstances remain suitable. Burrows may be fifteen metres in length and are deep enough to provide insulation from the extremes of temperature – from the desert heat of the Nullarbor to snow conditions in the Australian Alps – to which the different populations are subject. In most cases lacking access to water, Wombats conserve their body fluids by staying in their humid burrows during the heat of the day, emerging at night to feed on dew-damp vegetation when conditions allow.

Although as a rule sedentary, they will often roam several kilometres in a night, returning to their digs by dawn. They are often to be seen sitting at the entrance to their burrows during pleasant weather. Though they shamble along with a rolling gait when relaxed, they gallop when alarmed, and are capable of a very creditable 40 km/hr over short distances – much faster than the comparably-sized Tasmanian Devil, whose best effort reportedly does not exceed 13 km/hr.

Wombats may be found at . . .

5 Glider Possums ( Phalangers )

Family Petauridae

There are four species of phalanger: Greater Glider, petauroides volans, Sugar Glider petaurus breviceps, Yellow-Bellied Glider petaurus australis, and the Squirrel Glider, petaurus norfolsensis. The smallest is about the size of a European rat, the largest nearly the size of a rabbit. ( The tiny Feathertail Glider, acrobates pygmaeus, smaller than a mouse, is a possum of a different feather altogether.)

Of the four, the first two are common, the third and fourth rare. All inhabit tall forest, and all except the Greater Glider feed substantially on a combination of plant saps, nectar, pollen, manna, and honeydew, an exudate from bark-dwelling invertebrates. Birds’ eggs, insects and other animal-protein sources are used to supplement this diet. Greater Gliders, by contrast, feed almost exclusively on Eucalypt leaves.

All gliders are true-to-name in that all volplane on the membranous skin along the flanks.When not acting as an aerofoil, this looks like a fur coat five sizes too big.

In glides this membrane is tensioned by extending all four limbs rigidly in a

St. Andrews Cross configuration. Glides are spectacular in the extreme: the possum flings itself off its branch in the general intended direction, and navigates with a combination of weight-shifting and aerodynamic changes to its body shape, while the tail acts as a rudder. In-flight directional changes through as much as 90° are not uncommon. Gliders seem unconcerned by strong winds, taking them in their glide,

so-to-speak. Near the end of each glide the little aeronaut angles steeply upwards, flattening its body such that the air trapped between its belly and the targeted tree-trunk cushions the impact of landing. In the instant prior to touchdown, the head is thrown far back, averting injuries of the tongue-biting kind. Gliders may reach a tree running, much as one may jump a wide puddle without breaking stride. Horizontal distance covered may exceed 100 m. in some species.

Gliders may be watched at . . .

Needs differentiation of places and situations for different species.

6 Yellow-Footed Rock Wallaby

petrogale xanthopus

Xanthopus is one of at least 9 species of Rock-Wallabies whose common names are worth comparing. All family petrogale, they are: Black-Footed, Brush-Tailed, Unadorned, Godman’s, Rothschild’s, Yellow-Footed, Proserpine, and Short-Eared, and the Warabi, which escaped the fate of one of our imaginative European names.

Most have declined in numbers and in distribution since the coming of Europeans, but fortunately, perhaps because they are Rock-Wallabies, and live in some of the most rugged and inaccessible parts of Australia, all seem so far still to survive.

The spectacularly-ornamented wallaby we feature in Brucie the Bilby was once a plentiful species, but may now be found in the wild only in what were once the farthest-flung reaches of its original range. It has not been well-served by the coming of Europeans, who have done much more than merely to trade in large numbers of its decorative pelts in the early part of last century. We have, more importantly, altered its habitat to suit grazing pursuits, and introduced serious competition in the form of husbanded sheep & cattle, and feral goats, donkeys, rabbits & camels; goats and rabbits in particular are destructive of its food plants. The introduction of feral cats and foxes has also made deep inroads into Yellow-Foot’s population and range, adding new predators to a list which already included the Dingo – itself introduced by or with Aboriginal peoples – and the mighty Wedge-Tailed Eagle, the wallaby’s one enemy for which humans are not to blame, and which does have prior hunting rights.

Only partly because this outstandingly beautiful wallaby has been chosen as South Australia’s faunal emblem, interest in the species is high, and some attempt has been made to eliminate the all-consuming goats from its Northern Flinders range, though the rabbit seems proof against all control measures so far ranged against it. To help ensure Yellow-Foot’s survival, a number of breeding populations have been established in semi-captivity and in sanctuary conditions where foxes and cats are excluded. Though this is a sorry second-best to wilderness conditions, it does seem that for the moment the species is at least fairly secure, if much reduced. It is to be hoped that, with increasing environmental awareness, Yellow-Foot’s plight will soon be alleviated by serious pro-active measures at Governmental level.

7 Numbat myrmecobius fasciatus

This engaging little denizen of open sclerophyll woodland provides an object lesson in the urgent need for conservation in Australia. A very early mammal, unique amongst Australian marsupials in that it has specialised in termites as a food source, it has through the aeons evolved a set of teeth which are many in number (52) but tiny in size, and which are not actually used for chewing the soft-bodied prey. Unusually for Australian marsupials, it is diurnal by nature, sleeping at night in hollow logs which are often lined with dry fibrous vegetable matter. Emerging at dawn, it may spend the whole day foraging, exposing tunnels in termite colonies by burrowing, and licking up the residents in large numbers, with rapid flicks of its long. sticky, prehensile, worm-like tongue. Victims are swallowed whole.

No larger than a European Rat, and with no defensive capability whatsoever, Numbats fall easy victim to the introduced predators, cats and foxes. This fact in particular, coupled with destruction of its habitat by agriculture and by frequent bushfires, has led to a disastrous decline in Numbat population and in its range, from what was once a huge swathe of the largely-arid Southern and South-Western Australia, to a remnant area, less than Tasmania in extent, just North-East of Perth. Even here it is far from secure, with cats still not subject to any organized control measures, and with shrinking resources of the fallen timber needed for its food insects to flourish. Some breeding colonies have been established in cat-proof sanctuaries in South Australia,

and it is to be hoped that a sufficient gene-pool of these charming little creatures will be maintained until felinity levels decrease. Not before then can any re-introduction to wilderness hope for success, even where its original range there are plentiful termites.

8 Ghost Bat macroderma gigas

Bats (Chiroptera) are placental mammals, widespread throughout the world except where extreme cold or great distance from water preclude their lifestyle.. They migrated to Australia aeons ago, probably across land bridges which existed where New Guinea and the islands of Indonesia remain. They are the only mammals capable of true flight, and they fly very well indeed, both fast and with an agility probably superior to any bird’s. However, their wings are a very-lightly-furred, silk-stocking-fine webbing of living muscle tissue and skin, spanning the extremely-extended fingers, and are very much less efficient than the wings of birds. Feathers are modified scales - non-living material requiring no blood supply - and therefore lose no heat energy beyond the negligible amount generated by friction. From such a large surface area relative to their tiny bulk, the little insectivorous bats, or “flittermice”, lose a great deal of heat in flying on cold nights.The consequence for them is that they must feed quickly and efficiently in order to stay ahead of their immediate energy needs. Whilst roosting, many allow their metabolic rate to fall extremely, sometimes to a rate of one percent of that during flight, and to temperatures barely above their surroundings. Some cling to walls of caves or abandoned dwellings, beneath treebark or in any hidden shelter which is unlikely to be disturbed; Fruit Bats suspend themselves upside-down from their hooked, parallel claws, neatly wrapping their wings around themselves like raincoats.

Torpid flittermice revive rapidly when externally warmed, and can fly swiftly around in any sizeable room, proving very difficult to recapture, and also how accomplished they are at aerobatics, (no pun intended ! ).

There are many species of bat world-wide, including the dreaded blood-loving Vampire of South America, a species now under threat itself. The tiny Vampire typically lands quietly near a sleeping mammalian host, clambers softly onto its throat or ankles, bites into a surface vein without waking the sleeper, and laps the blood. Victims include most large mammals such as calves, goats, donkeys and, yes, humans. Little damage is done to the host in any given feeding session, but repeated visits by several Vampires may result in serious blood loss. Much more of concern is that the little nightcomer is known to be a vector for rabies in humans. For this reason, rather than its actual appetite, attempts have been made by public-minded citizens in some places to exterminate Vampires. Poison, strychnine in particular, is smeared on the back of captured specimens, which are then released; when they fly home to roost, their companions obligingly lick them clean, so poisoning themselves. This pro-active campaign, along with the destruction of the South American habitat which parallels Australia’s own, has put the little Vampire under extreme threat. A stern word here: Humans exterminate any species to the planet’s loss, and in special cases such as creatures to which we are hosts, to our own peril. The human flea is a case in point. Is it extinct since the introduction of DDT ? W.H.O. failed to find one for . . .

No Australian bat shares the Vampire’s taste for blood. The species featured here, the Ghost Bat, is a False Vampire, Australia’s only carnivorous bat predating creatures other than insects, but it does not extend its attacks beyond small animals it can kill and carry off.

Bats are divided into two main groups: Fruit Bats, Suborder Megachiroptera, and Insectivorous Bats, Microchiroptera. Australia has eight of the world’s 150-odd species of Fruit Bats, which are often called Flying Foxes for their generally foxy, rather handsome faces. In some species adults can weigh in excess of 1 kilogram, though the blossom-feeding species are much smaller than the fruit-eaters, with some only around 12-20 grams. Many of the insectivores are relatively tiny, with individual species in which adults weigh as little 3 grams, about the weight of a teaspoonful of salt, minus the spoon. The Ghost Bat is midway between the two main groups in size, around 150 grams, and is the sole Australian representative of its family, the Megadermatidae; a few other species in the same family exist in Asia and Africa.

Fruit Bats are highly social in their roosting and flying habits, and large numbers flying overhead can often darken the sky and half-deafen listeners on the ground as they set out to sometimes-distant feeding trees. Their jaws and teeth are not strongly developed; they feed exclusively on juices lapped from very ripe fruit. No species in Australia is presently endangered, though one, the Bare-Backed Fruit Bat, is rare in Australia; populations elsewhere are greater.

The Insectivorous Bats, of which there are hundreds of species worldwide, are amongst the most numerous and successful of all mammalian groups. Many have facial features which are bizarre in the extreme, with heavily-convoluted “nose-leaves” which direct soundwaves, huge ears with strange appendages within, and, in most species, tiny eyes – though none is blind, the popular simile notwithstanding. They have extremely highly-developed echolocatory systems, enabling them to avoid obstacles and to locate insects in absolute darkness, an ability not shared by owls. A phased series of short high-pitched squeaks is uttered, the bat pinpointing the prey by successive approximation, presumably building a 3-D image of its surroundings from the echoes. Some insectivorous bats, sometimes called the Whisperers, are just audible to humans: some sound like a piano’s top C, stuck repeatedly at successively shorter intervals ranging from a second down to as little as one two-hundredth of a second. The Screamers, by contrast, produce sounds quite beyond our audible range; just as well too, for in decibel terms, the volume of sound they do make is extreme, comparing with a Lear-Jet at take-off. ( Reportedly: I can’t say I’ve heard it myself ! ) These bats use noise to disrupt the flight of insects: the voice is amplified and directed by the wing membranes, and infra-red film of these bats catching moths seems to indicate that the prey suffers effects akin to audiogenic fits as the bats blast them with sound waves.

The Ghost Bat is our sole representative of its particular family, the Megadermatidae.

Paler than most bats, it is distinctive in appearance, with a prominent nose-leaf, tall ears joined for part of their height down the centre-line, and large eyes, better developed than those of most microchiropterans. It is less dependent on echolocation, using also its excellent vision to find prey, which includes most small birds, insects, reptiles, amphibians and small mammals, including other smaller bats. Hunting with a technique like a small nocturnal falcon, it captures flying prey on the wing, and often in the wing, as one catches a baseball in the webbing of a baseball mitt. Larger prey is taken to a convenient place to devour.

Ghost Bats’ range covers a large part of Northern and Central Australia, but they are sparse and few in number. They are unfortunately very sensitive to human activity, and this has led to a disruption of their social behaviour in many places. Necessary protection measures must include exclusion of humans from brooding sites, and as always, it is vital to discern the rare and threatened species from commonplace, abundant and plague species if we are to maximize the effectiveness of would-be conservation measures..

9 Quolls

Quolls are Dasyurids, distantly related to the Thylacine, the Tasmanian Devil, and more closely to many smaller marsupials including a dozen different Dunnarts, eleven Antechinus, four Planigales, two Phascogales, and two Ningaui, well as several individually-categorised species : Dibbler, Kowari, Mulgara, and Kultarr. The bizarre little Marsupial Mole is thought to be very distantly related too.

All are essentially carnivorous, and the smaller members of the superfamily, many of which closely resemble the unrelated placental Shrews elsewhere in the world, are every bit as voracious as those notorious little creatures. All except the Devil and perhaps the largest Quoll, the Spotted-Tailed, are physically monstered by the introduced cats and foxes; to boot, environmental destruction is in many places total, so that few species are safe. Some are probably extinct, with many rare or threatened.

There are four species of Quoll, largest of surviving Mainland marsupial carnivores.

They are the Spotted-Tailed Quoll, dasyurus maculatus, and the Eastern Quoll dasyurus viverrinus, Western Quoll, d. geoffroi, and Northern Quoll, d. hallucatus, unimaginatively if accurately named, though the Eastern Quoll should possibly now be re-named the Tasmanian Quoll, since it appears to be extinct on the Mainland.

All species are expert hunters. They work by night, moving swiftly over open ground, probing likely rock crevices and hollows in fallen logs. They take all manner of prey within their capabilities, and prefer fresh kills, but will also take carrion. They also include grasses, fruits and berries in their highly-varied diet. Lacking a fully-prehensile tail and opposed thumbs, Quolls are less adapted to an arboreal lifestyle than most Possums, but they are nevertheless competent climbers, avidly raiding accessible birds’ nests and exposing bark-dwelling lizards and insects.

Quolls are not long-lived, about seven or eight years being about the limit. Across all species they become sexually mature at one year of age, and may continue to breed for several years, but more usually do so only whilst quite young. Mating is a protracted affair, lasting many hours at a session, and apparently confirming a pair-bond at least for that breeding season. Males are 25-40% larger than females, and take an active part in defending shared nesting-hollows, and in providing some food for the gravid females.

Female Quolls in some species may produce as many as thirty tiny embryonic babies, each about the size of match heads, but since the females of all species have only either six or eight nipples, to each of which only one embryo can attach itself, only the first ones to secure themselves nipples can survive. This is probably a very fine “coarse filter” to ensure that females do not waste precious bodily resources on weak individual offspring. The babies stay attached to the teats in the forward-opening pouch until suckled, remaining there during weaning until the space there is no longer adequate; then they hang on to their mother’s back, in exactly the same way as do baby American Opossums, which are after all marsupials too. Mortality during the parenting phase is low, and successfully-reared Quoll families of at least five are not unusual in good conditions. It is when young Quolls have to begin fending for themselves that they are subject to heavy losses. Without effective cat control, the future of all four Quolls must remain under a cloud.

10 Bilbies and Bandicoots

Many of our Bandicoots are now restricted to the arid lands too dry for human activity, and in some cases to the offshore islands where cats and foxes are not. The (uniquely) Pig-Footed Bandicoot is extinct, and several other species are breathlessly close-to-the-edge. Some, however, such as the Brown Bandicoot of the Eastern Coast, which is common throughout much of its range including the leafier suburbs of Northern Sydney, have proved capable of prospering under the heel of European settlement. Few are well-known beyond the scientific community, and there needs to be a great deal of public education about these less-than-honoured natives.

All the true Bandicoots have stiff bristly coats; Bilbies are distinguished by their soft fur, and also by their habit of constructing well-appointed burrows. Two species have been identified, the Bilby macrotis lagotis, and Lesser Bilby macrotis leucura, but the latter, never plentiful, now appears certainly to be extinct. The species remaining exists in a much-reduced area at the extreme and most-arid limits of a range which once embraced two-thirds of the continent. As is the case with most native mammals, it has been devastated by Europeans’ destruction of its habitat and by the introduction both of competitive species such as rabbits and goats, and the introduced predators, cats and foxes. Fortunately for its potential survival, the Bilby is a most appealing member of our wildlife, and its cause has been taken up in new-age sanctuaries, where staff are having some success in breeding programmes, mainly by providing predator-proof habitat. From almost complete obscurity the Bilby has in the last decade become one of the best-recognised of our native fauna, to the extent that Chocolate Bilbies have even become popular alternatives to Easter Bunnies. This does indicate a hopeful trend in our awareness, and indeed the little Bilby has become an ambassador for and icon of Australian conservation. [ Hence the choice of Brucie.]

Somewhat larger than a rabbit, smaller than a hare, the Bilby has ears to shame both of those introduced placentals: not just for appearance, nor purely for hearing neither, though they certainly play a role in both. Paper-thin and parchment-like, sparsely- furred, and visibly lined with many bright-red blood vessels, the ears’ other function is probably to shed excess heat rapidly. The fur on the rest of the body is extremely soft and fine, from white through beige to slaty blue-grey, but the predominance of the prominent nose and pinnae tends to gives Bilbies a pinkish look. The tail, starkly black-shafted and white-flagged, is very nearly majestic, being held stiffly erect when the animal moves at speed; Bilbies are very nimble, but in fleeing appear to feint and dodge away, rather than to jump as do wallabies, or to run as do rabbits. The whitish hindfeet are surprisingly kangaroo-like, though the hind limbs are neither so specialised nor so disproportionate to the forelimbs as are those of the Macropods generally. On the contrary, the front legs are particularly well-developed, with sharp strong claws which are used vigorously in digging for roots and in dislodging fallen timber in search of invertebrates and lizards. Bilbies excavate comfortable, deep burrows in which they pass the entire daylight hours, venturing out only after dark.

11 Koala

Of all Australian fauna, second-best-known only to the Kangaroo is the Koala.

Yet for all its great popularity, this archetypally “furry cuddly” marsupial is by no means a secure species, being beset by some particularly intractable and unpleasant problems. Apart from the shameful mass slaughter for the pelts of these quintessentially-inoffensive and defenceless animals in times now long past, these include continuing destruction of and encroachment on its habitat, attack by domestic dogs, road trauma, and damage to the front teeth in falls, especially in situations such as Port MacQuarie, where suburban housing has intruded on areas frequented by Koalas. In attempting sometimes-impossible crossings from one tree to another they often fall face-first onto house-roofs, keeping local diprotodontists busy all the year round repairing their dentition..

Of greater concern still are the diseases to which Koalas are prone. Many become blind through a condition akin to opthalmia, and more again are rendered sterile by chlamydia, an ovarian disease known to be affecting a large proportion of females in most populations. It is urgent that these health problems be investigated, and solutions found, if we are to avoid the threat of a possible catastrophe in Koalaland .

Where Koalas live in concentrated numbers, as in the Flinders Chase Sanctuary at the Western end of South Australia’s Kangaroo Island, they put such pressure on their food trees that would-be conservationists must consider the horrifying and paradoxical option of culling, since resettlement is not an option, most potential habitats already having their own resident populations. The alternative to this regrettable action may be that the food-trees die, as has already occurred to some.

Perhaps the biggest single threat is from Eucalyptus Dieback Disease, a phenomenon of huge concern for us all, but of course most worrisome to Koalas, already beseiged by the sea of troubles outlined above.

It seems certain that Koalas and Wombats evolved from common ancestors, but whereas Wombats have evolved to eat a wide variety of plant foods, Koalas have become one of the most highly-specialised of marsupials, perhaps second this time to its very distant relative, the Marsupial Mole. Koalas feed almost exclusively on the leaves of Eucalypt (“Gum”) trees – and only about a dozen species of gum at that.

Of those species, most in turn become toxic to Koalas for at least part of the year, and they must be able to swap species as and when the need arises. It is conjectured that in the wild they may ingest small amounts of some other species of Eucalypt - even perhaps different plants altogether when they are under ideal conditions where they have a wide choice, or perhaps when to the contrary they are in desperate circumstances where there is nothing else – but there is no doubt that gumtree leaves form the vast bulk of the diet, so that within the very limited variety that that diet does afford, it is vital to Koalas’ well-being that they get exactly the right stuff at any given season.

Koalas have evolved a number of unusual adaptations to their arboreal habit. Unlike most mammals, Koalas stay out in all weathers, never seeking shelter, and rarely if ever drinking, at least whilst healthy. They must rely on their thick woolly fur to protect them from the extremes of winter and summer, which can range from below freezing to heat-wave conditions that may see runs of eight or ten consecutive days with maximum temperatures well above that of the human body. To survive in all conditions, Koalas need to derive maximum nutriment from their food, which is low in available protein and high in toxic oily materials, and especially to conserve what moisture they can garner from gum tips. This requires effort more of a cerebral than a physical kind, so Koalas spend a great of time in deep thought in any hammock-like fork in a shady tree during the heat of the day, and even at night will often cease feeding to have a think. The daunting task of digesting Eucalyptus leaves – with their volatile, pungent antiseptic oils in sufficient concentration to sting human eyes – is left to micro-organisms in the caecum, the organ which in humans is reduced to the vestigial if pesky appendix, but which in Koalas is taken to the other extreme, for they have in proportion to their size the largest caecum of any mammal. Digestion takes considerable time, which is why Koalas sleep so much. [ The placental mammal most comparable in life-style, the 3-Toed Sloth of the New World, is even less active, to the extent that in its tropical rainforest habitat its hair becomes host to a luxuriant growth of greenery.]

Koalas have but one joey as a rule, a rule that has been broken just once, and that very recently as at this writing. Milo and Otis are the first-known Koala twins, born in Melbourne towards the end of 1999 and first brought to public notice in January 2000. Media attention world-wide has been focussed on these little charmers, and will no doubt follow them all their days. This fanfare and publicity is of no direct benefit to our wildlife in general, nor even to Koalas in particular, yet on the other hand it is indicative of the real yearning which most people feel to see our wildlife more sensitively conserved. If that well-meaning attitude can be tapped for the physical and financial support which it presages, if serious effort is directed to educating the public to discern and protect the creatures that are rare, rather than wasting resources on those in no danger, perhaps our wildlife may look forward to a future in which they are treasured, rather than regretfully back at our callous, simplistic and ignorant past.

12 Echidna

There are two species of Echidna, only one of which, the Short-Beaked Echidna, is native to Australia. The other is the much larger Long-Beaked Echidna of New Guinea. Collectively they represent one-half of all surviving Monotremes, (egg-laying mammals), the other being the Platypus.

Echinoderm means spiny-skin, and Echidnas are very aptly so named. The spines are modified hairs up to the length of a human finger, and are very hard and sharp, and strong enough to pierce a sandshoe with ease. They are interspersed with bristly hairs which cover most of the body, the hair becoming softer as it gets shorter, so the Echidna in effect wears a luxuriant suit of fur-lined armour. Its protection has proven highly effective in defence against all comers, for Echidna enjoys the most extensive range of any indigenous animal, that being virtually 100% of Australia including Tasmania, Kangaroo Island and most other off-shore islands. Under threat, Echidna curls up underneath, becoming a spiky hemisphere with no vulnerable part exposed. Anyone who has picked chestnuts, or tried to handle living sea-urchins or the most forbidding of cacti, need not stretch his imagination far to get the picture. On diggable ground the defensive Echidna will excavate underneath itself, the spines along its flanks wedged firmly into the soil of the developing hole, making the animal very hard to dislodge without leather gloves and digging tools. In easy ground it simply seems to disappear, betraying nothing of the vigorous efforts it is making below the level of visibility, a little in that sense like the proverbial duck. On impossibly-hard ground or paving, it will simply curl up and wait until the threat passes. For the most part Echidna displays an unworried, unhurried, rather whimsical demeanour, shuffling along without taking much notice of human observers. Nowhere is its population dense, yet it seems to be stable, partly because unlike Numbat it includes the ubiquitous true ants in its diet, as well as the less-plentiful termites which are Numbat’s exclusive food; partly because in its armour it is largely proof against those introduced villains, foxes and cats. A superb digger, Echidna easily breaks into termite mounds, and explores the mazes of galleries with its long sticky tongue. Eggs, larvae and adult insects alike are taken in great numbers, along with large amounts of their detritus, which is probably also essential for Echidna’s digestion and nutrition.

A solitary species except in mating season, Echidna does not form pair-bonds, the female taking the responsibility of caring for the young entirely by herself. For this she is well-equipped, without the expenditure of a great deal of special effort. She lays only one smallish soft-shelled round egg directly into her own pouch, where in a little more than a week it hatches. The pup remains there for the 3 months of the “suckling” phase, though as with Platypus this term does not truly apply; the mother has no nipples, nor does the infant have a sucking mouth, instead simply lapping milk exuded from the mammary glands in the pouch. During the earlier stages of maternity the female spends much of her time in a burrow, but for most of the year, given the lack of need for haven from predators, the shelter of logs or tussocks of grass suffices.

Copyright Bruce Bilney 1999

Wednesday, July 22, 2009

Ranga Day? Again ? Hooray!

Last year, for the duration of the October holidays, Adelaide Zoo invited redheads - natural and artificial too - to a free visit to the Zoo. It was a sort of humorous harmless gimmick apropos the fact that the Zoo had had its three Orangutans for one year, but it was also a very shrewd marketing ploy. I took them up on the offer, and two non-rangas came with me; it was plain as we walked around that this was the usual sort of arrangement, one redhead plus some non-redheads too, and the Zoo did very well out of the whole Ranga initiative.

For us redheads, it was great fun. So many redheads, of all shades and ages and genders, and all of us grinning at each other like the happy orangs we were. It felt fine, the first time ever that we were in big enough proportion that we felt (abnormally) normal.

The original idea had also involved the notion of photographing all the redheads, which would have made a wonderful display had it eventuated. Unfortunately one man injected such a sour and threatening note that the photographic initiative was called off, and the whole program was nearly cancelled. I found out the exact details from the ticket-selling gatewoman whom the man had threatened: a black-haired man, with a black-haired little girl, came up to her and said aggressively "This is my red-haired daughter! - And I'm red-haired too!" and demanded to get in free. The woman held her ground, and the man got really nasty. It made bad press, some of which made it seem that redheads objected to the Zoo's offer, which is nonsense. But if the black-haired man felt so strongly preferenced-against, he could have dyed his and her hair reddish,
that was already clear in the terms of the offer, if you weren't natural you could show solidarity and commitment by using dye, henna or whatever. This creep was just a bully, but he failed to intimidate the staunch ticket-woman.

Anyway the Zoo persevered until the end of the holidays, and it was a great success except for that one glitch. So for about 16 days the redheads kept coming, I only went one day of course but if you multiply the number of redheads that were there on that day by 16 or so, then the answer's a lot! Thousands! So we won, and so did the Zoo.

Well today I rang the Zoo to see if they intend to repeat the offer. They haven't made a hard decision yet, but they would like to do it again at least for one day. Good on 'em. If they only do it for one day it will be amazing, thousands of redheads will come all on the same day and suck all their friends with them, the Zoo will have a super-record crowd! I'd love them to do that.

I'm going to join Friends of the Zoo. They're ecologically right-headed and I like them.

Monday, July 20, 2009

Sympathy for the (Tasmanian) Devil

On Thursday July 9 I watched Catalyst, the ABC TV science show. One segment featured Devils' Facial Tumour Disease (DFTD), a horrible contagious cancer now threatening to exterminate Tasmanian Devils. In particular the item focussed on the research work being done by one Dr. Kathy Belov and her associates into this unique and dismaying disease.


Funding for conservation is always disappearingly minute compared to the boggling sums spent on submarines and warplanes, Olympics Games and sporting venues and such. I have always resented that ordering of priorities.

As I watched the ABC program, the Rolling Stones' amazing song Sympathy for the Devil came into my head, and it occurred to me that if the Stones' energies could be enlisted in support of Devils, it could provide a major source of funds for Devils, and attract deserved popularity for the musos themselves from all who care about conservation.

I emailed Kathy Belov next day to offer that suggestion. She replied almost immediately with the astonishing news that Jon English, rightly famous for very much more than just rock music, had already weighed in on Devils' behalf, with the notion of a series of benefit concerts for them, Devil Rock, an initiative backed by Conservation Minister Peter Garrett, himself an old rocker of course. Kathy says that many bands have already volunteered their cooperation, and good on all concerned. Kathy took on board the Stones' particular relevance, and as you might know, Mick Jagger has a particular fondness for Australia, so . . . with the right sort of approach . . . the Stones just might lend their weight to Devil Rock.

Research into DFTD is the sole hope for Devils, and funding is the sole key to research.


I want people who read this blog to look up Kathy on the Net, read up on the situation for yourselves, and vote for her for the Eureka Science Award. It's not hard, and if she wins the award it will be of major benefit in drawing attention to the Devil's plight, and also to the plight of other native creatures and habitat.



Did you know that Koalas and Platypus suffer from new and dreadful diseases too? I don't want to dwell on them for now, but if you want our wondrous fauna to be around in future, we better start doing as much as possible as soon as possible. Once extinct they don't come back. and there are many on the brink, and many already gone. It's a national disgrace, but it shouldn't be allowed to get any more shameful.

The point about the Devils, though, is that they are indeed at the pointy end of all conservation efforts in Australia at the moment. If funding isn't to be found for research and action to save them, we might as well go home tail between legs. Devils are our litmus species.

I haven't finished about this issue, but I want to post this much at least rtight now.

Please look up Kathy Belov's work on the Net, and do please vote for her in the Eureka Award.
And Jon English's CV is something to astonish you, he is an international treasure.

Friday, July 3, 2009

An Attenborough Moment

(A true story I told to Carole Whitelock's listeners
on ABC Radio 891, 23/06/09)


In the early 1970’s, while teaching at Elizabeth Vale Primary School,
I organized for my Year 6-7’s a week-long camping trip to the Flinders Ranges. In those days, the Flinders were very much less trafficked
than they are now, and we were able to camp all alone in a beautiful spot
in a deep gorge. It was a fine full-moon night, and after a splendid meal provided by our multi-talented bus driver and my helper-cum-chaperone, Caroline - (who I see still sends weather photos to the ABC) - I suggested
a moonlight hike up the creek in the deep steep valley. About a half of the 40-odd kids came with me, the rest were happy to go to bed early. Everybody felt good.

I had already taught the youngsters to walk quietly, listening to the sounds of the bush, and they were all surprised at just how little noise they could make when they tried (and so was I!) When we were a few hundred yards from camp, I sat the group down in a circle in the meditative pose we had used many times at school, cross-legged with eyes closed. There was not
a sound, the kids had never experienced such profound silence in all their lives, and no-one broke the spell with so much as a giggle or a murmur.

We had only been there for a few minutes when there came a scrabbling rattling noise only twenty-or-so yards away on the other side of the creek-bed. We opened our eyes, and to our delight, there was a pair of Yellow-Footed Rock Wallabies, quite unselfconsciously making their way in our direction, crossing with some difficulty a steep scree slope covered with loose shale. No-one made a sound, we sat spellbound, not even daring to breathe, as the lovely creatures came closer and closer still, until at last they saw us, and stopped stock-still, less than ten yards away.

They stared at us in puzzlement, hopped a few steps, stopping again and again to stare at us, obviously in increasing amazement – they plainly could hardly believe their eyes and ears that humans could be so quiet and so still. Eventually they made off unhurriedly in the direction they had been intending to take, with not a single child betraying the stillness and silence. It was not until the wallabies had gone that the kids dared to breathe again, their eyes wide and shining, staring at each other with shared delight and a new pride in each other and in themselves, that no-one had spoiled the magic of the moment.

On the way home the kids vociferously voted the trip the best time of their lives, no risk.
The Wallaby incident was certainly the best moment of my teaching career.

There may be some of those kids – now aged nearly 50 - among your listeners.
I’d love to hear any of them ring in with memories about that trip.
Bruce


My website http://www.ozzigami.com.au/ Email brucebilney@ozzigami.com.au 0409 060 419

FLORAL EMBLEMS OF AUSTRALIA

Floral Emblems of Australia
[This verse may be sung
to the tune of Click Go The Shears]

The Wildflowers of the Wide Brown Land
grow glorious and free;
The people of each State all chose
their favourite-to-see;
So rich! - So rare ! But - which goes where?
Our picture illustrates :
Rehearse our verse, you'll always know
which flowers with which States.

The Cooktown Pink Orchid's
from Queensland's Gold Coast;
Taswegians love Blue-Gum's
fringed blossoms' gold the most;
Red-and-Green Kangaroo Paw
is the Wonder of the West,
Whilst New South Welsh folk think
big crimson Waratahs the best.

Canberra's right-Royal Blue–Bells
are such a lovely sight;
Pink Common Heath's Victorian
- So common, yet so bright!
For North- and South Australians -
One ‘Sir’~ named both of these -
Sturt's Pink Desert Rose, and
red-and-black Sturt Desert Peas !

Chorus :
Dusty old Acacia,
dull deep-green,
Plainest of plants
on the bushland scene -
Yet in early Spring the Wattle
is a splendour to behold:
Australia's emblem, radiant,
in emerald and gold !

© Bruce Bilney 1990
Ph 0409 060 419

Note that the verse names each flower,
its colour/s and its State of origin.
I reckon this song~verse should be taught
in every school in the land!

Blossom the School Calf

1980?
I was teaching at Pooraka Primary School, in the unusual, and to me novel, capacity of Primary Science Teacher. I used to teach elementary science to all grades from Reception to Year 7. It was a big double-decker school, 800-odd kids, two-and-a-half classes of each grade as I remember. Each week and lesson period I had to zip around the school to visit the littlies, we'd do bubbles or fizzy stuff or magnetic tricks, then it'd be Year 4 for paper models or pulleys and levers or magnetic tricks, then Year 6-7 for air pressure or Newton's Laws or magnetic tricks . . . Busy I was, yes indeed.

I started there at the beginning of the school year, and right from the start I went looking for local nature-study-type possibilities. They were very limited indeed. Pooraka School, a hectare or so including a decent green play area, is on busy Main North Road, and nestles in the NW corner of the many-hectare abattoirs stock paddocks (as they were then). No child ever crossed the main road, it's too wide and dangerous and there's nowhere across there to go anyway, and essentially they might as well be in a fully-fenced institution for all the interaction there is with the local community. The only place to look for natural stuff is in the stock-paddocks behind us.

These stock paddocks were only about seven or eight miles out of Adelaide's CBD, and were quite large. Probably a mile by a mile and-a-half, yeah alright one-point-six by two-point-five clicks, (ptui!), divided into biggish fenced sections by barbed-wire fences.
They were cropped with wheat or barley year-on-year, then grazed mainly by cattle waiting for slaughter. Pretty sad really, the cattle and the state of the paddocks both. Well at least the cattle were well-fed, for commercial if not for humanitarian reasons. As for the cropped paddocks, they were wheat in winter, stubble in late spring, and red dust as summer wore on. Nothing of ecological interest whatsoever.

But the whole perimeter of the paddocks was bounded by a double fence, one inside the other, about 8 yards apart. (OK, 7-point-xyz metres). It was neither grazed by stock nor walked on by humans, and was planted with two lines of quite-old trees, pinus radiata on the outside, some lopped and rather sad gum trees on the inner line. Grass and weeds and occasional toadstoolish funguses grew between the trees, and you could find stones and parrot feathers and red meat-ants there. Murray Magpies (mudlarks) and Willy Wagtails nested in the pines, though I wasn't about to betray their presence to the children, even though the few bird species were really the only genuine wildlife left. Most of the kids would have left them alone, but I wasn't prepared to take the chance that a few might have destroyed them. All in all the ecosystem was cactus, as they say.

Nevertheless, within a couple of weeks of starting at Pooraka, I decided to take the Year 7's for a 'nature walk' across the bare paddocks, to see what could be found in some distant and disused old sheds. At least we were out of the classroom, and since no-one ever walked in the paddocks there was a certain sense of outlawism by going there at all. The kids knew where to get through the fences, and we set off in good spirits.

As we neared the sheds we saw a group of half-a-dozen abattoirs workers, sitting down for a break. They saw us too, and called us over. I feared that they were going to give us a hard time, but not so. Instead they showed us a tiny red calf, still with umbilical cord, and looking in desperate condition. She had not even been licked clean, and was almost too weak to stand. The blokes told us that she had been born on a cattle truck 4 days ago, that her mother had already been slaughtered and that she too would be killed if no-one was prepared to foster her.

The kids were aghast as the callousness of the whole abattorial exercise suddenly came home to them,and they were desperate to save the calf. "Oh Mr Bilney, can we keep her, pleeeeeze?" came from every side, and I was done for. I never saw any group of children more moved by pity, nor more determined to get their way.

Holy Cow! Well yes, Calf, but, what to do?

There was a rush of blood to my head, and I picked her up to carry her the half-mile or so (you work it out) back to School. (She was too weak to walk at all.) Now I'm a little light bloke, but then so was the calf, and I managed the task OK. But how she stank! As I said, she'd never had the luxury of a maternal licking, poor little mite, and my clothes reeked for the rest of the day.

So then I had immediately to broach the whole matter with the Headmaster. (OK, Principal, but he was the Headmaster back then.)
Though he wasn't a decisive man, he was fairly decent as HM's go, and he didn't actually ban the kids caring for the calf that day.

How to care for a tiny starving cold little calf? I'd never had any close contact with calves at all, though as a tiny child I had adored my Auntie Mardy's Jersey cow Cutie. (Or was it Q.T.? I never knew. I called her Cute Cow, she let me ride her once or twice, and with a bit of help from Auntie Mardy, she was able to squirt fresh warm creamy milk direct into us kids' mouths - or eyes! - at a distance of 2 or 3 yards. She never thought in metres.)

The first thing was to find the wee calf a name. Names immediately engender enhanced protectiveness, when you come to think of it. I put it to the Year 7's, and instantly Matilda, a big fat pimply frog of a girl with a heart of gold who yet commanded absolute respect amongst every kid at school - most especially, and critically, the Year 7 girls - responded Blossom! There wasn't the slightest doubt that that was the calf's name, she was Blossom from that moment on. And all the bigger kids at the school, but especially the girls, fell in love with her there and then.

First we had to try to get her to feed. As soon as lunchtime came I raced off to a feed store to get a big bag of Denkavit calf-milk substitute, $20 or so out of my own pocket, and some baby bottles from the chemist, (OK, pharmacist), and hurried back to the waiting kids. All the Year 7 girls and some of the boys clamoured to be allowed to be her carers, and on my instructions they washed her with warm shampoo and dried her off. Except for being so pathetic, she was quite lovely when she was cleaned up, with brilliant red translucent hair all over, not a single white one.

We tried to get her to suck the bottle, but to our dismay she didn't seem to get the hang of it easily at all. One of the female teachers had spent time on a farm showed us how to stick our fingers in the milk and then in Blossom's mouth, and we worked at it, but it was still very difficult to get much milk into her. That was so for not just days but for several weeks: she was quite a trial to feed for most of the term. I discovered very early that she should have received a first meal of colostrum from poor dead Mum, and we simply couldn't provide that, we hoped for the best.

But where to keep her? You remember Dear Reader the double fence around the stock paddocks, well we fenced off a little space at the open end - the other end was the side fence of the school - and it made a nice little calf paddock. Well not really all that nice, it had no green grass at all (February in Adelaide!) and precious little dry grass either, not that Blossom would be ready to eat grass green or brown for many weeks anyway. Still it was fairly safe, and indeed Blossom was never hassled by anybody to my knowledge. She had shelter from the worst of the cold winds at night at the SW corner from the caretaker's shed, and dappled shade in the heat of the day from the pine trees to the NE. We gave her carpet to sleep on, and all in all, as an orphan calf, she was as well set up s she could reasonably hope to be.

Every day the girls were there, before school, at morning recess and lunch time, and after school too. There was rarely a moment when Blossom was not surrounded by half a dozen or more kids, mostly but not all female; quite a few boys, but they mostly craved a bit more vigorous forms of play, and in any case many of them seemed a bit bemused by the notion of caring for a baby something. At ages 11-13 girls are so much more responsible than boys, and nowhere have I seen that so demonstrated as in Blossom's case. There were many girls whom I could safely trust with her care, while probably no boys who showed themselves worthy of such confidence. Not that the boys were ill-disposed towards little Blossom, they just weren't so sensible. Some of the girls would sit there with her and each other all lunchtime, sharing matters girly, and even though I sometimes had to chase them up to see that they had mixed the Denkavit properly, or that they had spent enough time in the onerous task of actually getting enough into her, I knew that no harm would ever befall her by silliness or inattention.

Though she was never very robust as calves go, she gradually grew, until I could probably not have picked her up if I'd tried. (Not that I ever did after the first time.) I had to replace the $20 bags of Denkavit more and more frequently, the school never offered to share the cost and I never asked, I wouldn't have lowered myself, several of the other teachers were quite sniffy about the popularity Blossom reflected on your chronicler, even though it was plainly good for the kids' morale and confidence and caring experience, and the Headmaster was really pretty insipid in my support, even though I think he recognized how valuable an exercise it was for those kids.

Weeks went by, Blossom blossomed, and soon I was getting kids to try to find a bit of greenfeed for her. At first she wanted just nibbles, but even then there was so little calf-edible tucker around that she rarely had a proper feed. But at last the rains came, and in ten days or so there were blessed green grass shoots coming up. Sparse and insubstantial as they were, Blossom demolished the meagre handfuls (OK, handsful) the kids brought, and looked for more.

One day an old fellow I'd never seen before came to me, saying he lived directly opposite the calf enclosure, acroos the more crossable Pooraka Road, behind a galv fence which I'd never seen over. He had been watching me and the kids and the calf though, and I glowed when he told me how much he thought of the job I was doing. His house was set in an almond orchard, 2 or 3 acres (or a hectare or so to be exact), and new grass was sprouting everywhere between the trees. His block was safely fenced all round - Would I like to agist Blossom there during the school daytime?

I was nearly in tears of gratitude (as I am now at the memory), and the kids just couldn't thank him enough, their sincerity and manners made me proud. We put a lead round Blossom's neck and walked her across the road, obedient as could be, when you realize she'd never been a yard or metre outside her yard. (Not metre!) As she reached the open gate and saw the vista of greenery before her, she jumped for joy, clicking her heels - no lie! - and instantly got stuck into the grass. It was a wonderful moment for all of us. It was the only time she ever did that, but once was perfect.

Every day before school Year 6 & 7 kids would walk her with care and caution across the road, and after school they would solemnly conduct her back again. The sense of importance and responsibility in walking her across the road was more to the boys' taste than just keeping her company, and a couple of the most sensible were always on hand after school. Although now the kids couldn't be with her at playtimes, they recognized that she was growing up and needed solid food. They still had to give her Denkavit daily, but by now she had learnt to drink from a bucket, though she was never "bullish" about it like other poddy calves you see. In fact she was never "poddy" at all, indeed I could have wished her more so earlier, but she was plainly out of danger by now.