Animal Act

Leaving the hills behind, I found myself at the Zoo as a Volunteer Keeper in the Australian native fauna division.

Many years helping farming friends eradicate kangaroos from their properties had caught up with me. Once a fortnight, armed with a bucket, rake and shovel I entered the marsupials' domain.

The job was a challenge: sweeping malteser-sized Skippy excreta onto a shovel and making it stay there without rolling off.  It was like an egg and spoon race as I attempted to deftly balance the bog and transfer it to a bin. Nine times out of ten the little turds would roll off the shovel, hit the beautifully raked ground where they would pick up speed and tumble downhill. It was a shit of job.

Elsewhere, sanitary Sime fed carrlion to a screaming Tassie Devil called Pauline, had a kip in the nocturnal house and tried to dance with a Brolga. But it was a grizzly encounter with a Koala Bear named Darwin that truly left its mark. I wanted to call him Charles but decided our relationship was definitely not on first-name terms.

One morning, I entered his pen with an armful of fresh browse – a verdant mix of three species of eucalypt. Showing remarkable athleticism, Darwin launched himself from a fork in his tree and landed about a metre from my feet. Excellent, he's hungry, or so I thought.

He was totally disinterested in the gum leaves that I waved in front of his button-like nose. Instead, the bandy-legged bear with talons the size of nine-inch nails broke into a canter and began to chase me around his circular patch.

Meanwhile, Eric the Irish keeper who I worked with had ear muffs on and a blower going full blast while he cleaned out the adjoining koala pen. He was oblivious to the increased activity next door.

The exit gate from the enclosure was out of reach and before long Darwin latched on to my right leg. Using his beak in much the same way as a cockatoo grabs a section of roof gutter, within minutes Darwin hooked his beak into my belly, locked his two front claws around my waist and proceeded to drag his woolly backside upwards. It was bear-faced bestiality and thankfully the Zoo was yet to open to the public.

Muttered expletives in Darwin's direction soon became frantic cries for help as he passed my right nipple and locked on to my shoulder. Where would this end? It was an ugly thought.

I pleaded with Skippy and his mates to go and get Sonny but they just peered over the fence and continued to poo throughout their beautifully manicured enclosure. It was ridiculous and unbelievable. I'd volunteered my time but not as a sex aid to an endangered animal.

"Eric, um, excuse me, Eric! Eric!! Help!! Eric! Darwin, piss off. Get off Darwin! Do you mind Darwin. Not now Darwin," I yelled.  Finally, Eric caught sight of me waiving a sheath of gum leaves in the air as I twisted, turned, shaked, rattled and almost rolled in an effort to remove the randy rascal.

Eric was more rattled by the episode than me. He was petrified that I would take the matter further. Not with Darwin but with the Zoo's administration. Patched up with a bit of first aid I assured him all was ok. But I didn't return for my next shift.

Sporting track marks from my ankle to just below my neck and mentally scarred by the fact that I'd been jumped by Blinky Bill, I left the zoo and headed for the airport.