farmdoc's blog post number 690

For each wombat I have in my pen, the Tasmanian Government issues me with a permit. Last Sunday I emailed Patsy (who works in the Government) to cancel my permit for Coco following her successful release. Yesterday I received an email back from Patsy in which she wrote: ‘You have done such a great job with the wombats in your care. Thank you for all your help’. A nice compliment, but I feel grateful for the privilege I have of releasing wombats; so I should be the one doing the thanking. Having cared for and released 12 wombats, I know a tiny bit about them. I know even less about frogs. I know their presence signifies a healthy ecosystem; so it’s unsurprising that frog populations are declining in Australia and world-wide. Thus I’m always pleased when I hear frog calls around here. I adore the name Pobblebonk and the sound of its call. However I can’t identify other frog species by sound, or any at all by sight. My favourite recent frog story is this one – about the 2008 re-discovery in NSW’s Southern Tablelands, of the yellow-spotted bell frog (pictured) – which was presumed extinct for the past 30 years. The NSW Environment Minister said: ‘This is the equivalent of discovering the Tasmanian tiger, in terms of amphibians, in terms of frogs’. Dear treasured yellow-spotted bell frog, you’re a bright sunbeam of hope shining through an environmental thunderhead. I wish you all the success in the world.

farmdoc's blog post number 680

(For some mood music whilst you read this post, click here.)

As Coco wrote yesterday, in Australia today’s the first day of autumn. Here on Farmdoc’s Blog I’ve waxed lyrical about autumn twice before [1, 2]. It’s my favourite season – a beautiful and mellow time here in Mole Creek. But its arrival also signals the end of the warm, full bloom of summer. And that winter’s on its way. Australia’s organ donation rate’s now among the lowest in the Western world (e.g. half the per capita rate in the US and Italy, and a third of Spain’s). I don’t know why it’s so low. In 2009, only 247 deceased Australians donated 889 organs to 799 recipients. At the start of 2010 there were some 1,700 Australians on official waiting lists waiting for the phone call that could save their life. Australian Organ Donor Awareness Week, aiming to increase our nation’s organ donor rate, ended yesterday. Its message? First discover the facts, then decide whether to donate, then discuss it with your family. Registering your consent and telling your family are the two most important things to ensure your wish to donate will be carried out. Would you accept an organ donation if you needed one? If so, then it’s worth thinking about being a donor. Check out the website [3]. It’s the least you can do – on this first day of autumn.

farmdoc's blog post number 679

Hello again. Guest blogger Coco here for the third – and last – time. Have you heard the story that each morning the receptionists at Hilton hotels all over the world are phoned by guests asking ‘Which Hilton is this?’ I wrote in my previous two guest posts [1, 2] that Farmdoc and Sweetheart Vivienne’s wombat pen’s been called the ‘Wombat Hilton’. As cosy and secure as the pen is, almost from the moment I arrived three weeks ago, I was keen to forsake its creature (pun intended) comforts and get out into the bush where, word has it, there are several handsome-hunk boy wombats. I knew Farmdoc wanted to see my poo before he’d consider releasing me, so early last week I left a few well-formed cubic pellets [3] where I knew he’d find them. He did; and sure enough the next morning – last Wednesday – he unlatched the pen’s swing-gate. Folks, I was out of there. Gone. As I headed up the hill I bade farewell to the Wombat Hilton. And as a memento of my 17-day stay I snapped the attached photo. In the four days since then, I’ve begun renovating a disused burrow. And though I haven’t yet seen other wombats, I know they’re near – because I can smell them. So right now my life couldn’t be better. Thank you Patsy, Angela, Farmdoc and Sweetheart Vivienne. Tomorrow’s the first day of autumn. And the first day of the rest of my life. Goodbye. And love from Coco.

farmdoc's blog post number 669

Hello again. Guest blogger Coco here with more of my story. My transfer to Mole Creek stressed me out. Wombats, like humans, take time to get used to a new home, especially if it’s not like an old home. So I spend much time down the burrow where I’m safe, dry and out of sight. Each morning Farmdoc puts food in my food bowl. It’s a mix of oats, grains, and rice pellets called Coprice N. Yum, yum. If I haven’t eaten it all by dusk, though, I must share it with my possum friends. I’m busily renovating a hideout under a hollow log. Digging is such fun. You should try it. I’m also digging near the pen’s perimeter fence, because I’m keen to leave the Wombat Hilton and head for the bush which Patsy’s called ‘wombat heaven’. Farmdoc’s not keen to release me until he’s sure my poo’s well-formed – not mushy like it gets when I’m stressed. But so far I haven’t left any around for him to find. Patsy told Angela she thinks I may be eating it. Am I? Ssshhhh – that’s my secret. Wombats are solitary creatures, but I know Farmdoc’s already released four boy and seven girl wombats. I’m really keen to have baby wombats. I wonder who’ll be their dad: Grinder, Alexander, Johnny or Otis? We’ll see. By the way, do you like my close-up photo? I think I look beautiful. So that’s my story up to now. Thanks for reading it. Love from Coco.

farmdoc's blog post number 668

Hello. My name’s Coco. I’m a Common Wombat, but I’m anything but common. I’m a bit over a year old, and I weigh 13kg. I’m a girl, of course. (If you tell me you’ve heard of a boy called Coco, I’d say you’re pulling my leg.) Sadly, I’m an orphan. My Mum was deliberately shot and killed by a man who then kept me as a house pet – along with his dogs. I’ll never forgive him for murdering Mum. Never. Anyway a lovely lady named Patsy (from the Injured and Orphaned Wildlife Program of the Wildlife Management Branch of the Tasmanian Government’s Department of Primary Industries and Water – whew, what a mouthful!) moved me away from that awful man, to Angela’s care. Angela – a kind and gentle woman who lives near Hobart – fed me, looked after me and loved me until I became big and strong. Ten days ago Angela brought me on a long car trip to Mole Creek – to Onemilebridge where Farmdoc and his Sweetheart Vivienne live. I’m now in residence in their wombat pen. It’s a kind of halfway house – after Angela’s, and before I’m released into the bush. The pen that’s my new home has been called the ‘Wombat Hilton’. I can’t disagree. I haven’t finished my story yet, but I’m tired now. Because it’s morning and I’m a nocturnal creature, you know. So I’ll tell you more tomorrow. Bye for now. Love from Coco.