Those dang Kangaroos!

Did I ever tell the story of when I was attacked by kangaroos?

My father is a keen bushwalker. Very keen. Mad perhaps.

My family and I know darn well never to accompany him on his bushwalks,
otherwise known lovingly as "death marches" because thats what they end up
being for those of us who don't own the legs of a 6'8" person (yes, my Dad
is actually that tall) and isn't as fit as a mallee bull. By the time you
think it would be nice to have a little break, have a snack and a drink, and
perhaps replace the missing skin thats peeled off your feet, my father has
only just started to warm up and there's at least another 4 hours of
tramping though untracked-scrub (because my Dad suffers from "Geographic
mis-alignment"  otherwise known as having a total and complete lack of
direction and therefore becoming hoplessly lost on many occasions).

But every so often the Madness would hit and one of us would think it might
be A Nice Thing To Do to go for a walk with dear old Dad.

It was one of those occasions.

Mum had packed me with 6 sandwiches. Not half sandwiches. 6 full sandwishes,
or 12 slices of bread. She did this as a kindness, as she knew I'd need
*alot* of energy that day.

So off Dad and I trot, Dad in his slow and easy 6'8" lope, and me, not being
quite so old as I am now, running after him because I only had the stride of
a child.

Eventually, thank God, we stop. Dad needs a tree to go behind. I fall to the
ground, exhausted. My insanity was quickly corrected, and I realised that I
was in for a whole day of physical torture. I reckon army sargeants putting
recruits through Basic Training have got nothing on my Dad - but then again,
he *was* an Air Force sargeant. Explains alot really. I had come to my
senses and with the quick thoughts of the desperate, reached into my
backpack for one of those many sandwiches I now knew I would need throughout
the rest of the death march. This wasn't actually a "break" merely a potty
stop, and I didn't have much time.

From the perimeter of the clearing, they appeared.

Grey shadows at first, but they got bolder as they got nearer, obviously
being lured by the smell of my lunch

A mob of eastern Grey kangaroos.

And they were Hungry

Dad had dissappeared for the time being, having had to find a suitable Tree
to do things that Dads do that Daughters don't need to know about.

I was all alone.

Now as a kid, you think that wild animals are pretty neat. And the mob of
'roos were pretty neat. For a while, at least. The didn't hop at me, but
rather crawled in their strange tail - and legs - tail and legs sort of
crawl that only young babies can imitate.

I was delighted. Skippy was coming to say hello. I was thinking perhaps I'd
like to scratch them behind hte ears and maybe one could tuck me into her
pouch and then I'd finallybe able to keep up the pace with Dad.

And then they got closer, and they were no longer the size of Skippy, they
were not wallabies (Skippy is actually a wallaby, not a roo) and they
started standing up.

Eastern Grey roos are not the biggest in Australia, that honour goes to the
Red Kangaroo, and the adult males can stand at over 7 foot. But Eastern
Greys are no midgets either, and most of them were taller than me.

With childlike innocence, I thought it would be cute to feed one my
sandwich. I stood up. The mob stopped. I reached out my arm and waved the
remains of my first honey sandwich at the leader.

Much to my amusement, the leader of the mob, a male that was taller than I,
took the sandwich and politely nibbled on it in curiousity. He was pleased
with the taste, and gobbled the rest down greedily.

Another kangaroo hopped up to sample these heady delights

I put my hand into my backpack to get the next sandwich out. I was still
quite comfortable feeding the second and third 'roo my lunch.

And then the mob closed in on me.

And they all wanted this new yummy food called "honey sandwich"

And they were going to *get* said "honey sandwich".

They had seen the source of these delicacies and they all wanted a taste.

Now.

I was being held hostage by a mob of kangaroos and the price was as many
honey sandwiches as dear old Mum had packed.

At least 20 roos jostled and shoved to get to my backpack, which I had
wisely abandoned seconds before. They tore it apart, spilling my water and
devouring anything remotely edible (and probably a few inedioble things -
'roos aren't known for their intellectual capacities).

But once the exotic delicacies that are "honey sandwiches" had run out, they
looked at me menacingly. Perhaps they also had a taste for young human
flesh.

But hten I could hear Dad tromping back from wherever he had been, and they
lazily bounced back to their Kangaroo Mafia hideout.

"Wow!," he said, "Did you catch that mob of 'roos? Amazing how fearless they
are 'round humans. You'd think they'd know better"

The torrent of tears told Dad that I had indeed seen them although my woeful
tale about my lunch being stolen wasn't entirely believed until he spotted
the remains of hapless backpack.

Still, I do have to thank that mob of roos for one thing. Whilst they scared
the absolute bajeebers out of me, no doubt scarring me for life (I am no
longer a fan of 'Skippy' for a start), they also did me one heck of a
favour. Without lunch, we had to turn back. And the mob of roos that nearly
ate me also saved me from another 20km of "bush bashing" with Dad.

Dunno whether I should be grateful, or just very very scared.

Yowie