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“Anything to eat?” enquires the MOTH (“Man of the House”), gazing hopefully into the refrigerator with hand reaching tentatively towards the basket of ripe juicy peaches.

“Hands off that fruit, that’s for the babies” snaps the dedicated COW (“Carer of Wildlife”), handing him instead an ancient specimen with a nasty bruise and blue mouldy freckles. The MOTH looks over resentfully at two beady-eyed little flying fox orphans hanging by their toes on the clothes airer amongst the cloths and hammocks which are pegged there for them to cling to. How unfair is that? He gets to eat around the bad bits on the rejects whilst they get to enjoy the best stuff and spit out the pieces, which then hang like sticky stalactites from the rungs of the airer. Even worse – the little horrors deliberately aim their bottoms to pee way beyond the boundaries of the newspaper underneath the airer for the unsuspecting barefooted MOTH to step in and get yelled at by COW (aka “fusspot housewife”) for traipsing splotches all over her shiny tiles.

What started out as a little hobby several years ago - caring for injured and orphaned wildlife - has gradually taken over our lives and home. The phone rings incessantly, either calls for rescue or other COWS from the network calling. One of the hot topics of discussion usually being the colour and consistency of poos. Riveting stuff! When not on the phone, the keyboard runs hot composing emails and poison pen letters to Federal, State and local politicians regarding the poor state of the environment.

The devoted COW thus has no time for domestic chores and pays a cleaning lady instead. The poor woman employed by this household takes the menagerie in her stride and she bravely chips off the solidified poo and colourful splashes up the walls without complaining and irons under the watchful (and often evil) eye of whatever is residing in the laundry (hospital ward) that week.

With animals to feed, human meals are often hasty concoctions whipped up from a packet or involve a quick trip to the Scottish restaurant found on most street corners. The “animal” freezer is chock full of the usual array of different milk formulas, cubes of frozen lorikeet mixture, mince and insectivore “hamburgers” and packs of chopped up fresh mango and peaches. These chunks are not baked into some delicious steamed winter puddings or crusty pies but rather thawed and doled out during the year to tempt the appetites of ailing possums, gliders and flying foxes.

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About the Author:
Vicki Bressan is a licensed wildlife carer based on the Gold Coast, and Branch Co-Ordinator of Bat Rescue Inc. a volunteer group specialising in bats which has membership across SEQ down to the NSW border.