Now. I’m not a city girl. But. I recently found myself struggling to place the origin of an early hours scream.
The scream happened at first light. Initially, I suspected a murder was taking place directly outside my window. But, again, not a city girl. So, a few strangled notes later I realized I was hearing my neighbours’ young new rooster practicing his wake up call. He’s a gorgeous person and I’ve heard his call before – but not so close or quite so discordant as this.
Fast forward through coffee, showering, hugging Mr. Dog to a glance out the aforementioned window to clock Mr Gorgeous Rooster having the time of his life in my backyard.
This is Kangaroo Valley, at least as I know it. A neighbour who takes in a teenaged rooster because her chicken girls deserve to experience all of life’s riches. A local consult to ensure we all loved this funny little boy, and then the delights of hearing him trying to cock-a-doodle-do with all the problems human teenagers face when their voice is breaking.
So. I went to ask this teen if he’d like to go back to his chickens. He ran up and down the shared fence line like a mad thing, which I took as a yes. Next, we had words. We’d yet to be formally introduced so he was understandably wary. Nonetheless, I sensed that he knew he was in his element – part of a typical KV street wherein he could rest assured all the humans in his vicinity would take good care of him. There was no good telling him that was a cheeky presumption.
He just tipped his head and gave me a look. He knew he was in the street, in the Village, in the wider surrounds, of animal lovers. He must have heard from the wombats, bandicoots, and all the other creatures loved as equals here – perhaps he especially noted the birds’ gossip: I bet they told him they had already been happily cohabiting with said humans for decades.
I told him he was not wrong.
But now, dear reader, I had to catch him. He was missing his chickens but he refused to believe that I was trying to restore him to them. And after all the chasing, I gave in – he was not ready to trust me that far (again, we’d not been formally introduced). So. A second coffee in hand, I walked the immediate neighbourhood in search of a second pair of hands. It only took a minute before I found them. Streets up and down the main Village area, farms in the hills, famous folk somewhere in the escarpment will all of them, I am sure, will agree that we’ve got each others’ chickens’/roosters’ backs.
Long story short – the helpful rooster-catcher neighbour and I were thwarted. This is a healthy teenager rooster, remember? We were no match. But I did get to hug her Mr. Dog which recalled to mind my other neighbour’s dog, who had a special little gate in the fence just so she can visit. Which, in turn, also reminded me to close said gate.
Which details I mention because I’m quite sure the sentiments behind them are shared by most human beings here in KV. It’s horrendous to see any animal killed on the road – but it’s remarkable to note that almost all of those killed bodies have been checked for life and for possible pouch-dependent young.
I was driving back from Nowra recently and came across a roadblock involving at least tens of vehicles. All were stopped to try to help a kangaroo who had a non- working leg (I’m guessing they were hit and the leg was broken – but this is just a guess). So many people had stopped and were willing to do whatever it took to take this wounded roo in. I do not know what happened next – I had Mr. Dog with me so could not take the roo even if we’d managed to catch them.
But, I knew WIRES was on the way. Because the Valley does not imagine itself as separate from its cohabitants or from their environment.
And so. Back to the precocious teen rooster. I did manage to catch him in the end, using an elaborate series of home-made devices worthy of Wallace and Gromit. He’s home with his girls – and all have reported their contentment by not reporting any worries at all. The teen is still learning how to hit the traditional notes, but we here in his range are all open to interpretation.
Dr Custard Honeyroll
Columnist
Write In!
Having noticed a sad lack of a universal exalted moral guide in the Valley, we have commissioned an authority to answer your questions on anything from manners to hiring henchmen. Dr Honeyroll has a degree in phantom moral anguish and real niggling righteousness. Please send your questions, vexations and indignations to kvvoiceteam@gmail.com!
