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| Adult and juvenile bettong. Photo: P Edwards |
It is pitch
dark outside. the big stars having little effect on the texture of the night. A
stiff little breeze blows in from the west, carrying the edge of winter. I
tread with care, flicking my torch over the grass, straining to listen above
the sound of the wind in the she-oaks. I move the light across the lawn, then
quickly away again. He is there, a small lump, motionless, paler than the
grass. I move towards him quietly, needing to be closer, avoiding highlighting
his position with the torch. A powerful owl is in the area, I heard it just
last night, and it takes only a few swift seconds for its silent wings to bear
down on a plump and tasty meal.
The tiny 700g bettong finishes his
toilet and races a quick circuit of the lawn, moving from zero to lightning
speed in a second. I can't see him now, but he is aware of where I am, staying
close, and in time I pick up his almost soundless steps bounding back to my
heels, then behind, then shadowing ahead again, playing, stretching his legs,
gaining vital muscle, speed and strength.
It is a critical time for a baby
bettong. He is rapidly nearing soft release, but at this age it is dangerous
for him to be out alone in the night without his mother. If she is not with
him, he is likely to stay tight in her nest, waiting for her return from her
nightly foraging to feed him the milk he still needs to grow. If she fails to
come back, he will pine, and die, starving in the nest.
But by now he should be following
her on short sojourns, learning about the night sounds, what to fear and not to
fear, how to feed himself, and importantly, to learn his territory and how to
return to his nest. For this it is vital that he trusts his human carer, sees
me as his security, and if something triggers his natural response he will
always come back to where he knows I am waiting. It doesn't matter that I am
human. As with all native animals he will soon revert to wild behaviour once
independent and in his natural habitat
In the dark around the garden I
can't walk the kilometer or two he needs to travel, but 4 circuits is a good
run and he is moving further than me, racing in circles, bounding to and fro,
exploring, stopping to dig, expending his pent-up energy, until finally he
slows and stays at my heels, moving in unison with me. Then it is time to walk
him back to his pen, to show him the partly open gate, and his nest, where
grain and vegetables wait scattered in the soil for him to dig out in the
night.
It might be cold outdoors but it is
a magic time, enhanced by the silent arrival of a newly released older bettong.
Bec has been out in the wild for a week. She has her own nest somewhere in the
forest and knows her way around. But she likes to meet and greet the baby and
play for a while, joining us on our walk in the garden. Then she is gone as
suddenly as she appeared, and the baby is tired, glad to wriggle back into his
warm nest and sleep again for a time
-
Pat Edwards
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| Bettong Pumpkin in care Photo: P Edwards |
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So far Pat
has released 13 bettongs into the Shannondale area, a known hot-spot for the
species. Rufous bettongs are listed as Vulnerable under the NSW Threatened
Species Conservation Act, but through cat and fox predation, clearing for
development, under-scrubbing, and fire while the joey is in the nest, they
could be disappearing even from where they were previously doing well.
Every
hand-raised bettong must be soft-released, their nest kept readily available
until they have built their own, and the old one is empty for several days.
Some online information suggest they can be released at 500g. But a bettong
alone at that age, with no nest, or understanding of how to build one, means
certain death for the baby. At that weight they are extremely vulnerable to
predators, especially larger forest owls that can easily carry an under 1kg
animal, and a 500g baby is still dependent on its mother, will still be
suckling for a further 7 weeks, and will rarely emerge from the maternal nest
without her.
At least one
bettong has come into care at only a little under this weight. Pumpkin, as he
was called, was found dying, tick-ridden and severely dehydrated beside his
mother's body, unable to survive alone.
He was
safely reared and released.
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Pat Edwards is a wildlife carer with WIRES in the Clarence Valley. This article is being published in the WIRES local newsletter.
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Pat Edwards is a wildlife carer with WIRES in the Clarence Valley. This article is being published in the WIRES local newsletter.
