Bush Baby Rescue

by Rebecca Johnson

  For Mum and Dad

  The kindest people I know. RJx

  I can’t sleep. It’s so hot I can’t even stand to have a sheet over me and the fan just seems to be pushing blankets of hot air onto me. I carefully step over Curly, my cocker spaniel who’s asleep on the floor, to open my window some more. Mum and Dad and Chelsea’s parents are standing silently outside on the pavement in the middle of the night. What’s going on?

  I go outside to talk to them. Curly wakes and follows me. It’s as if he knows something is wrong. That’s when I see the eerie glow on the horizon in the distance.

  ‘What’s that?’ I ask.

  ‘There’s a massive bushfire on the mountain range,’ says Dad, putting his arm around my shoulder.

  I smell the smoke as we all stand and watch the orange line that snakes across the horizon. Suddenly I start to panic. ‘Isn’t that where Maisy lives?’

  ‘No, honey,’ Mum reassures me. ‘Maisy lives further west, but there are houses up in those mountains, and a lot of bushland.’ She looks really worried.

  ‘Come on,’ Dad says. ‘We’d better try and get some sleep. It’s going to be a busy day tomorrow.’

  ‘Why? What have we got on tomorrow?’ I ask.

  Mum takes my hand. ‘Juliet, there are going to be a lot of very badly hurt animals coming out of that fire. I don’t know if it’s a good idea for you to be at home. Perhaps you and Chelsea could go out to Maisy’s farm for the weekend?’

  I can’t believe what I’m hearing.

  ‘Mum, I’m nearly a vet, and Chelsea, Maisy and I have all proved that we are very useful in a disaster. Don’t you remember the cow in the dam? You’ll need us tomorrow. We’re not going anywhere!’ I put my hands on my hips.

  Mum looks over at Chelsea’s mum who shrugs. ‘We can see how bad it gets and make a decision on it tomorrow, Rachel.’

  Mum nods and I try not to cheer.

  We say goodnight, but there’s no way I will sleep now. As soon as I’m back in my room I whip out my Vet Diary and start making a list of the things I’m going to need. Curly is glad I’m awake and positions himself perfectly for a pat.

  Mum taps on my door. She’s seen my light on.

  ‘Juliet, please go to sleep. You’ll be tired all day tomorrow and being cranky won’t help me at all.’

  I hear the back door close softly and realise Mum has gone over to her surgery. She hasn’t come back by the time I finally drift off to sleep.

  I think it is the smell of the smoke that wakes me. It’s much stronger than last night. Then I hear the sound of people talking outside my window. I look out and see a number of cars pulled up on the street and people carrying towel bundles and pet carriers into Mum’s surgery. It’s started already.

  I throw on some clothes and a pair of thongs and Curly and I race out the back door. As I open the door to Mum’s surgery, I can see what she meant last night about badly hurt animals. The room is full of people talking quietly and looking in cages and boxes and taking them to different parts of the surgery. There is at least one other vet helping Mum and some vet nurses too.

  I push my way through the confusion and look for Mum. A nurse tells me she’s on the phone to the animal hospital at the university. It sounds like they’re sending some of the really badly injured animals there.

  When she gets off the phone, Mum is instantly surrounded by people asking her questions about what to do with all kinds of animals. She tries to answer each one as quickly as she can as she straps ice packs to a baby wombat’s burnt feet and checks his heart rate. Vets do that to see if an animal’s in shock.

  ‘What can I do?’ I ask Mum when she’s finally alone for a minute.

  Mum wipes her cheek with the back of her arm, leaving a streak of ash on her face. It’s stinking hot in the surgery even though the air-conditioner is on full bore.

  ‘Can you make sure every cage has a clean towel and water ready for when the animals go in? They’re all very dehydrated. And can you race over to the house and get as many ice packs and ice cubes as you can and put them in the surgery freezer? Can you also ask Dad to get more of the old pet carriers out of the shed and scrub them down, please?’

  I scribble it into my Vet Diary to make sure I don’t forget anything.

  I finish the water and towels as quickly as I can. A lot of the cages already have animals in them. I can see possums, sugar gliders, birds and lots of tiny wrapped-up bundles. The ones that are not too badly injured or burned try to hide from me; the others are too sick to care. They look so sad with their blackened and singed fur. I take a deep breath and try not to cry. I know if I do, Mum will send me away.

  I see Dad over the other side of the room. He is holding a bundle with a fluffy possum tail hanging down. The other vet is checking it. Dad doesn’t like animals very much. He doesn’t even like holding my gorgeous guinea pigs. I feel very proud of him.

  I squeeze through the crowd to get to him.

  ‘What are you smiling at?’ he says. ‘And before you ask – no, we cannot keep it.’

  I smile even more. ‘Mum asked if you could get the rest of the pet carriers out of the shed and scrub them down? But if you get them out, I can wash them. I can see you’re busy!’

  Dad nods and I run out of the surgery. I see Chelsea coming out of her house. ‘Quick, come over,’ I call. ‘We’ve got so much to do.’

  Chelsea doesn’t need to be asked twice. She races over and listens as I go through the list.

  ‘I’ll get the ice,’ I say. ‘Can you start washing the pet carriers Dad gets out of the shed? That’s when he finishes cuddling the animals, of course!’

  Chelsea pulls a face. ‘Seriously?’

  ‘Seriously,’ I laugh. ‘Isn’t it amazing?’

  As Chelsea dashes off, a woman walks up to me. She is carrying a shirt with something wrapped inside it. Curly assumes it is a present for him and wags his tail.

  ‘Do you know if they have room to take one more? ’

  She opens the towel to reveal the most adorable baby koala I have ever seen. His little eyes are watering so badly from the smoke, it looks like he’s crying.

  I hold out my arms to take him. ‘I’m Juliet. My mother’s the vet. I’ll take him straight in to her.’

  ‘Thank you,’ says the woman.

  As soon as I take the baby koala Curly starts to whimper jealously. He is obviously confused by all the commotion. I’ll have to put him inside for the day. Through the shirt I feel the little koala shaking as I head to the surgery. ‘It’s all right,’ I whisper. ‘I’m nearly a vet. I’ll take care of you.’

  A vet nurse takes him from me and heads to the area where the vets are assessing the injuries. All the taps are running as they gently wash the animals’ burns and wipe the soot from their eyes and noses.

  I race back out to get the ice and see that Dad and Chelsea are hard at it scrubbing the pet carriers.

  In the kitchen I find Max, my five-year-old brother, sitting at the table. He has about ten dinosaurs in front of him and an empty plate.

  ‘What are you doing?’ I ask.

  ‘Waiting for Mum to make the pancakes,’ he says.

  I fill a large container with ice cubes and ice packs. ‘Mum’s not cooking pancakes today. If you look outside you’ll see why.’

  ‘But it’s Saturday. We always have pancakes on Saturday. I promised my dinosaurs.’

  ‘Well, you and your dinosaurs are just going to have to hunt for your own food today,’ I snap.

  Max’s lip starts to quiver and he grabs his biggest dinosaur and heads outside. I lock Curly inside and follow with the ice. Max runs over towards the surgery.

  ‘Hey, Max,’ calls Dad, ‘don’t go in there, buddy. Mum’s really busy today.�
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  ‘But I want pancakes!’ He’s fully crying now. Chelsea and I roll our eyes.

  ‘How about I make you some pancakes for lunch instead?’ says Dad.

  ‘Will you make enough for my dinosaurs?’ whines Max.

  ‘I’ll make a hugeasaurus pile. How does that sound?’

  I groan and head back to the surgery.

  Things have quietened down a lot. Mum is now sitting down and giving something a tiny little bottle. It’s a baby possum. It is sooooo cute.

  ‘Where is everyone?’ I say.

  ‘All of the worst cases have gone on to the University Hospital and the sanctuary. The wildlife carers have taken as many as they can. We’ve decided I’ll handle the rest of the orphans and less injured animals here.’ Mum gently wipes the milk from the little possum’s chin. It hangs onto the teat with tiny little paws. They look a bit like little pink hands with long nails. They are gorgeous.

  ‘What happened to the baby koala?’ I’m almost afraid to ask.

  ‘He’s hanging on, but his back feet are badly burned. I’ve given him something for the shock so I hope he’ll settle down a bit and sleep. I haven’t tried to feed him yet.’

  ‘Can I feed something?’

  Mum puts the tiny possum back into its soft material pouch and I follow her to another room where a cage and heat pad are waiting. The room is warm and dark, except for a dim light in the corner. The animals in here are mostly nocturnal and they are afraid of bright lights. It also needs to be very quiet. Vets need to know these sorts of things when they are treating wildlife. There are pet carriers and boxes everywhere and the cages all have bundles in them.

  ‘I think with this many babies we will all need to help. The carers have taken a lot, but there are still so many here,’ sighs Mum.

  ‘I can feed heaps of them,’ I whisper. ‘I’ll help you. I’ll go and . . . ’

  ‘Juliet, slow down,’ says Mum. ‘There is more to this than you think. I’m going to need to teach you how to do it very carefully, otherwise they’ll die.’

  ‘Can Chelsea help? And Maisy? Can you train all of us at once?’

  ‘Actually . . . ’ Mum pauses to consider my offer. ‘That’s a really good idea. I’ll never be able to feed them all on my own. We can run a class and do it all together.’

  We leave the room just as the door to the surgery opens and Dad and Chelsea come in carrying the clean, dry pet carriers.

  ‘Chelsea, guess what?’ I whisper. ‘Mum’s going to teach us how to give the orphan babies a bottle. She needs our help!’

  Chelsea claps her hand over her mouth and her eyes bulge. She is as excited as I am.

  ‘We’ll go and phone Maisy and get her mum to bring her over. Dad, you stay here and cuddle more animals. You need the practice,’ I say.

  Mum smiles for the first time that day.

  Maisy’s mum says she will bring Maisy over straightaway and offers to stay and join our class. Chelsea’s mum arrives too to see what she can do.

  ‘Would you be able to sew lots of pouches, Helen?’ asks Mum. ‘I have some old sheets and pillowcases that you could cut up.’

  They talk about the different sizes and shapes we’ll need and Chelsea’s mum heads off to get started.

  ‘Now,’ says Mum. ‘The first, most important thing we need to do is work out exactly what animals we’ve got here and sort them into groups. We’ll need to weigh them, measure them, check for injuries and dehydration . . . ’

  ‘Hang on, Mum.’ I start to rule up a table in my Vet Diary.

  When I’m finished I show it to Mum. She is impressed. Vets need to be very organised.

  Mum moves from cage to cage examining each animal and calling out information. She checks heart rate, breathing, colour of gums and for any signs of burns or injury. We set up different areas for each group of animals as we go.

  Chelsea fills in the table and Mum passes each animal to me after she has made the assessment so that it can be placed in the right area. We decide that all the really weak, dehydrated babies will go in the cages along the wall and the others can go in the pet carriers in the corners of the room.

  It takes us more than two hours to process all the animals and fill in my table. By the time we are finished we have:

  15 animals that are going to need the greatest amount of care and feeding during the night.

  9 animals that still need bottles but are starting to eat some solid food so they don’t need feeding at night.

  3 animals (one blue-tongue lizard and two birds) that can be released back into the wild when they are well enough and have recovered from their injuries.

  ‘This is going to be a huge job,’ says Mum as she sits at her surgery desk and looks over the list.

  Just then the door opens and Mrs Brown, Maisy and Max walk in. Max is carrying a dinosaur and eating a pancake. There are bits of pancake hanging out of the dinosaur’s mouth.

  Mrs Brown walks straight up to Mum and gives her a hug. ‘I hear you’ve had a tough day?’

  ‘I think my worst ever.’ Mum looks like she’s going to cry. ‘So many of them were so badly hurt, Marg.’

  ‘How can we help?’ she says.

  ‘I guess if I can show you all how to feed and toilet them, we can start getting into a routine.’

  ‘Toilet them!’ Max blurts out laughing. ‘Are you going to put them on the toilet?’

  ‘Don’t you have some dinosaurs that need feeding?’ I snap.

  ‘Well actually, I have something I really need your help with, Max,’ Mum says. ‘Come and have a look.’

  She leads him over to the blue-tongue lizard that is lying under a warm lamp in a box.

  Max nearly drops his pancake and looks up at Mum. ‘Wow. Can I have it?’

  ‘Well, no, you can’t have it. We can’t keep any of these animals because they are wild animals, not pets.’ For some reason she glances in my direction as she speaks. ‘But he will need taking care of for a few weeks until his burns heal. I wondered if you could help me out and look after him in your room. Dad could get that big old fish tank out of the shed for –’

  Max is out the door and on his way to find Dad before Mum has even finished. We all hear him yelling, ‘Dad, Mum’s giving me a dinosaur. A real one!’

  I snigger. Dad is going to be so excited. We all know how much he loves animals inside the house.

  The rest of us stand around Mum’s table and get ready for her to teach us how to feed the babies. Just as Mum’s about to pick up the baby ringtail possum, the door opens and Chelsea’s mum walks in, carrying a washing basket full of pouches.

  ‘That was so quick!’ cries Mum. ‘How did you manage to sew all of those in such a short time?’

  ‘I got the boys to cut up the material while I sewed,’ she says, smiling.

  I can’t help but grin. Chelsea has four very noisy big brothers who are really into cars and football and stuff. I can’t imagine them helping with sewing! It really is a day of surprises.

  Mum puts the possum in one of the pouches and Chelsea’s mum stays while we learn how to feed orphaned baby mammals. I have my Vet Diary out to take lots of notes as Mum talks.

  Chelsea gives Mum a strange look at this last instruction. ‘Don’t you feed them through their mouth?’

  ‘Of course, Chelsea,’ Mum smiles. ‘But we have to make sure they have been to the toilet before we feed them, otherwise they get sick. In the wild their mothers lick their bottoms when they want them to go to the toilet so that they don’t dirty their pouch.’

  Chelsea holds onto my arm for support. ‘Please tell me you’re not going to lick its bottom, Mrs Fletcher.’

  Now we are all killing ourselves laughing. Chelsea has had to sit down.

  ‘No, honey, we use a tissue moistened with warm water, like this.’ Mum demonstrates on the tiny fluffy bottom that is now poking out of the pouch. I go back to my notes:

  ‘See, there she goes,’ says Mum. ‘She thinks it’s her mum’s tongue.’

>   We all lean in to see little beads of yellow urine coming from the baby possum’s bottom. Mum dabs at them with the tissue. ‘Oh, good girl,’ she says as the little possum does a tiny poo.

  ‘Oh!’ gasps Chelsea. ‘They poo too? I don’t think I can do this.’

  ‘It’s okay, Chelsea,’ says Maisy. ‘You can make up the formula and I’ll wipe their bottoms. I come from a dairy farm. I see more poo in one day than you probably will in a lifetime. A little extra won’t kill me. I’m just glad I don’t have to do that to a cow!’

  ‘Thanks, Maisy,’ laughs Chelsea.

  Mum continues.

  We all lean in to watch as the little possum licks at the milk and then takes the teat into her mouth. She closes her eyes and suckles the warm milk. Her little hand rests on Mum’s finger. I can’t wait to have a turn.

  ‘If they drink all the milk do you give them more?’ asks Chelsea’s mum.

  ‘Definitely not,’ says Mum. ‘They are only supposed to drink 10 to 20 per cent of their body weight a day. So, if a possum weighs 60 grams, it will need 6 to 12 millilitres of milk a day. If it has six feeds, each one will only be one to two millilitres. Overfeeding is just as bad for them as underfeeding. The girls and I have weighed them all and we’ll work out how much they need at each feed.’

  Chelsea’s mum nods.

  Chelsea, Maisy and I agree that it’ll work best if we divide the babies that need feeding during the day only between us. Maisy’s mum feels confident enough to be able to take three of the smaller but healthier possums home with her. She’s used to getting up at night to feed lambs and things on the farm. She also has a large bird aviary that the two birds with singed feathers can go in until they are ready to fly again.

  ‘I can come over to the surgery and help feed every four hours during the night,’ offers Chelsea’s mum. ‘I had plenty of practice getting up to feed my five babies, and these ones don’t even cry!’