Chapter Four: Koala on the Loose
Chapter Four: Koala on the Loose
The next morning over breakfast, Cassidy gives me more explanation into her biology field work and schedule. She explains that she likes to check out the local RSPCA (Royal Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals), which is an animal shelter, vet, and pet store. She goes twice a week, as it is the closest location and often has specimens. I’m excited for our first field outing, and join for the ride. We visit without calling first, since it is and they have a constant trickle of specimens coming in.
As we spiral around the off-ramp, two-dozen kangaroos graze on the side-banks of the highway.
Cassidy runs around back to grab some pet food, and sends me to see what live chickens they have for adoption.
“If they ever have hens, I’ll adopt them. But no roosters, we’re not allowed to own them in the city.”
I go over and check out the clucking critters. One is bright brown with fingerlike feathers bouncing around. One is large with iridescent black-green feathers, another is small, red and shaggy. Two small hens sport zebra stripes and a mop on their head, and the third is frumpy, short and black. They all seem like rare breeds.
Only the first one is obviously a rooster, the others I’m not so sure. I thought this would be easy, but am just confused, but excited at the possibility of picking new pets for the wild house.
After some time has passed, and Cassidy hasn’t come by, I must hunt for her among the various buildings. While trying to figure out how to get inside, I end up in a graveled area
between two buildings, and to my surprise there is Cassidy, holding something large in a towel, standing and chatting with a woman in nurse scrubs.
“Any new chooks for us?” asks Cassidy.
“I think so . . .?” I say, turning to look at the distant cage with the small moving animals inside. “I’m ashamed to say that I’m not sure.”
“Well let’s take a look.”
The three of us walk over, back to the fluffy chickens.
“How about any of these fancy hens?” I ask, excited about the idea of bringing something new home, having convinced myself they are hens. They are of unusual breeds I’ve never seen before.
Cassidy shakes her head. “Naw, we can’t. Unfortunately, all of these are roosters.” I’m shocked, I thought I could tell a hen from a rooster easily, but I’d never seen any chickens of these unusual breeds before. They certainly aren’t what you’d call conventional roosters.
The volunteer says, “Any hens we get are always adopted right quick, but not roosters. People dump them here, assuming someone else will adopt them. But they don’t, cause people can’t adopt more than one due to noise. Then the roosters we hold onto often get put down after a couple weeks.” She sighs. “The system is far from perfect. Just ain’t room for roosters in this world.”
Roosters make noise and are actually illegal in many cities that allow urban chicken coops. Where I am from, Los Angeles, it is legal to have one, which at least allows someone to adopt them.
Cassidy adjusts the large towel in her arms. I realize I didn’t ask what it was. She unfurls it to reveal a dead Pelican. Something about seeing it in the towel makes it seem sadder, like a morbid version of a sleeping baby.
“Eh, Cassidy, why is that dead pelican in a towel . . . didn’t you say you usually get the deceased birds in a black plastic bag?” I ask.
The nurse answers, “Well, we had an event asking the public to donate used towels for animals, but it worked too well and we got too many towels, so now we give them away.” “That will make a great addition to our household set.” Cassidy says as we set it in the trunk.
My eyes widen, “What?! Tell me you’re joking . . .”
“No, why? I always wash them first.”
“Wait, is this where you got all the towels we use in the house . . .?”
“Not all, but certainly heaps. Why not, it’s a perfectly good towel!”
“Oh man . . .” I feel gross all over. Then a new thought comes to me.
“Do the other housemates know?”
“Aw, I just don’t tell them.” She said with a wave of her hand.
“Ah.” We exchange glances and get in the car.
Passing more kangaroos grazing by a roadside, we start on talking about marsupials in the wild. Cassidy says, matter-of-factly, “Did you know, someone set up a motion sensor camera in the Australian brush, which photographed animals coming by to taste plastic food. The study was trying to see who came back and fell for the trap again.”
“Woah, what happened?” I asked.
“Well, Foxes and other introduced mammals would test it out once, then never fall for it again. Aussie possums would keep getting fooled and flashed over and over again trying to eat the plastic, never learning.”
“I never would have imagined!” I gasped, laughing.
“Yeah, it shows that marsupials are way dumber than placental mammals.” She concludes. There’s always something to learn from Cassidy.
Cassidy explains that while we visit the RSPCA about twice a week, she visits the next closest bird pick-up about once a week: Currumbin Wildlife Sanctuary. It’s about an hour’s drive south of us and by a beach.
“Since we’re heading down there anyway,” Cassidy asks as we speed down the opposite facing highway. “If it’s alright to make a pit stop at a local honey store. They let you try heaps of different kinds, and we can pick out a favorite.”
“Of course.” I say. Who doesn’t want to see a house of honey?
We pull into an unpaved parking area, get out of the car, and I marvel at a massive eucalyptus tree hanging over us. Suddenly something warm plops on the ground. A handsome koala, nibbling on leaves from high in the tree has made a mighty poop.
Cassidy has already strolled into the honey store, a building shaped like a two-story golden honeycomb, while I linger a moment to stare at the koala. He sits in the fork of the tree, grey and fluffy, slowly blinking, as if shrugging at me with how normal it is for him to be there.
I meander into the honey store, where people buzz about instead of bees in the thick sweet-smelling air. Hundreds of different honeys from all parts of Australia line the walls, packed in glass jars along crude wooden shelves, each carved from a single log.
After sampling a dozen honey samples, I pick a Tasmanian variety and remark, “It's a good thing we didn't bring Tiki with us!” Imagining how crazy he would get. Lorikeets are natural honey eaters and he would be uncontrollable in a place like this.
Cassidy laughs, “Yeah, — he’d be flying around, licking everything and screeching with glee! He can be a naughty bird.”
“You’re not getting him one then?” I ask.
“Naw, I buy him his very own honey at the grocery store which comes in a little bucket. Cheaper than the specialty stuff.”
After the honey store, we arrive at the Currumbin Sanctuary, at bottom of a forested street near Gold Coast beach. Cassidy tells me some unexpected news, “I’m afraid that suddenly bringing a second person would be a disturbance. I’m only stopping by for ten minutes, then we can look for wild birds on the beach. Deal?”
She looks at me with a worried expression. There’s his fear of authority again. I gently try to argue. "Can't hurt to ask though . . .”
She says, “Well, you never know what they have going on back there that they don’t want the public seeing. One time, I went into the morgue and there was a guy preparing a large dead kangaroo for storage. He was wearing full surgical scrubs, a mask, and using a hacksaw to remove the tail so the thing would fit into the freezer. There was blood everywhere! The second he saw me, he froze. Then he sighed and said, ‘oh Cassidy, it's just you', and continued hacking
away. And that's why I can't take you with me. I am trusted personnel, and they don't know you."
I don’t feel like arguing with her on my first trip down here, as I am a guest after all, and try to hide my feelings about it in favor of being a good assistant. Truth is, I’m annoyed, I didn’t come here to wait outside! But I grin and bear it, holding my breath.
I am left in the car by the woodland roadside while she runs in to get us the specimens. I decide to walk it off, into the nearby parklands to make the most of the crummy situation. I exit the car and cross the road, shaded under mighty eucalyptus trees, and walk over damp grass into a natural area full of trees, reeds, and a small lake. It’s surprisingly beautiful for a roadside stop, completely unexpected, and my anger subsides. I watch wood ducks and moorhens, which look like fat wild chickens with purple bodies, bobbing around with red triangular beaks. Other water fowl play among each other in the lake.
On our next visit to this location, I try to stand up to her, and insist on coming in. I agree to come for the ride because it’s better than staying home, and we do other errands in South Queensland. I try to argue, but he again shuts me down in his matter-of-fact tone. But I must do something, even if Cassidy doesn’t want to hear another word about it.
I wait for Cassidy to leave the car, giving her a five-minute head start, while I sit there giving the impression of waiting in the car.
After a while, I get out, and simply lean on the outside of the car, watching the giant eucalyptus canopy sway in the wind, biding my time. He doesn’t return in five minutes though, so it seems okay to wander. I creep away from the car and up an entrance ramp to the building. A young couple pass me in the other direction, carrying a basket with a nestled bullfrog.
As I enter, I hold the door open for a man and his son coming inside right behind me. The boy is holding a cardboard box with holes cut into the top.
“G’day” “G’day” We greet each other as Australian courtesy dictates, as I usher them to go ahead of me.
Looking around inside, the modest waiting room has a couple of chairs and a desk with a nurse ready to see visitors. Her desk forms a semi-circular barrier between the public waiting room and the employees only area. I inspect a bulletin board on the wall and peruse the brochures of zoos, wombat facts, and posters about Australian animal safety, and info about what the public should do if they find injured wildlife. I learn to always check the pouch of a road killed marsupial for surviving babies, and to take the baby to the nearest center. I learn that this place is a government run animal rescue sanctuary with veterinary services, and these things are public knowledge and part of everyday life in Australia.
From the corner of my eye, I watch the man and his son set their box on the counter and open the lid for the nurse. "We found this snake on a bush walk, we think he is injured.” “Don’t worry, we will take care of it,” says the nurse, who takes the box containing the coiled snake and hands it to another nurse who appears from the staff side of the desk. The father and son thank them and leave, and the nurse takes note of me.
"Yah’ right there?” She asked in the usual inquiring, common tone only Australians use. She seems alarmed that I am dawdling in the lobby, with no particular goals. “Is there anything I can do for you?"
I must look odd, wandering around without an animal in a place like this. I certainly feel odd. How can I possibly ask her what I actually want?
I stutter, “Oh, I . . . I’m waiting for my friend."
She nods, still a bewildered look on her face, and says, “A’right then.”
Okay, no more of this awkwardness. Now is the time to be bold, so I take the opportunity to speak up. “She’s . . . My friend. That is. She’s in the back collecting specimens for Honor's research. See, I’m his assistant..." I feel pretty dumb, my voice definitely just cracked during that speech.
The woman gives me another puzzled look. This is it, I should just turn around and go back to the car.
As my sneaker comes down at an angle towards the front door, and I about to pivot and bolt, her voice comes unexpectedly behind me, “Why are you not in the back with him?” in such a tone that this is the obvious question from her perspective.
"Could I?" I stutter.
It couldn’t be that simple.
"Yeah. Just through that door right there." She points to her right, to the employees only door. It’s just being called to go into the dentist’s office, through the mysterious doors. My heart pounding, I nod, and slip through the employees only door without another word, before she can change her mind or realize I totally don’t belong in here. Just into the hall, long and white, I do not find a large kangaroo being sawed in half. First, through a glass window, there is a pelican in surgery. Like any hospital, but with a large bird on the table instead of a human. There are several white-clad medical professionals operating on the pelican, holding tools and attempting to remove what appears to be a hook he has swallowed. My body shoots with pain for the poor creature. A surge of sad realization hits me: if this surgery is not a success, the patient lost, he will end up on Cassidy’s research table instead.
Continuing down the hallway, something is crawling towards me. A toddler in fuzzy grey pajamas? No! A free-roaming koala, greeting me in the stark hallway.
Well, you know what happens after this point. Finding Cassidy and the nurse, scooping up the critter, and returning her. I’ll spare you the details again.