Joey paparazzi

I can't watch this precarious manoeuvring. It looks so unsteady, yet it's really no different to how a koala behaves in a tree, a fluffy ball swinging from branch to branch like monkey. Waggling his bottom from side to side, he reaches the other edge of the roof and returns safely to his gunyah. I feel like I've just watched a private performance of Koala du Soleil.

Koala sign on Pacific Drive
From koalawrangler's gallery.
It's a gorgeous day today in koalaville, unlike this time last week when the koalas and the koalawranglers all ended up like a drowned rats. It's the Ironman Triathlon today so my road's closed. This means walking 25 minutes to where I parked my car last night. It's a beautiful day for a walk so I don't mind.

There are two new bods at the hospital today: Scottish Chris and American Tracy, international vollies newly arrived from Scotland. It's a good thing they're here as we're down a couple of people. They're trailing after John in the aviaries, learning the ropes. The fewer numbers means I've got Cathie Sampson, Oxley Westi, Kempsey Carolina and the joeys in yard 6. Only Kempsey gets fed, so I begin with her. She defies the recent feeding refresher training we had: she keeps moving the syringe to the front of her mouth where she can get a hold of it with her teeth. I manoeuvre in out of the way to prevent her fanging it too much and snapping off the tip. There's minimal spillage today. Tracy comes into the yard to feel how soft Kempsey's fur is. Like Ocean Therese, Kempsey condones a good pat and a scratch; something you wouldn't want to try on the more koala-like koalas, say, Ellenborough Nancy or Calwalla Bill.

Links VTR
From koalawrangler's gallery.

As I'm trimming Kempsey's recycled leaf, Chris (one of the leaf-collectors) pops by. He asks if Kempsey liked the <insert exotic leaf name here> he got her yesterday. It was something like a spotty, lemon-scented, stringy-barked peppermint gum...either way, it made me realise how truly narrow my leafing skills are. Chris speaks 'leaf' fluently, while for me it's still a second language.

John takes Chris and Tracy into the joeys' yard, probably to show them the routine in a regular yard, before they get stuck into the aviaries. I see that Emma has arrived and pop into yard 9 to say hi. She's feeding Lucky Wiruna. I go and check on the babies. Links VTR is on his gunyah but scales down to greet me, peering up at me at the gate. "Leaf please!".


Cathie Sampson
From koalawrangler's gallery.
Over in Cathie Sampson's yard, he's surprisingly frisky. He makes his way down to his gunyah's cross-beams and jumps to the ground as I'm scrubbing out one of his leaf pots. He's not like O'Briens Fiona who comes begging for formula, or like Sandfly Jye who'll chase you round the yard. He's just snuffling around the yard because he's unable to locate fresh leaf. He pauses to look up at me, does a perimeter check, then returns to his gunyah. But he doesn't stop there: he climbs one of the inner supports of his shelter out to its far edge, shimmying horizontally, while backwards and upside down. I can't watch this precarious manoeuvring. It looks so unsteady, yet it's really no different to how a koala behaves in a tree, a fluffy ball swinging from branch to branch like monkey. You'd also never believe that fragile tree forks could support them at 60 metres, but they do. Waggling his bottom from side to side, he reaches the other edge of the roof and returns safely to his gunyah. I feel like I've just watched a private performance of Koala du Soleil.

Oxley Westi
From koalawrangler's gallery.

I decide to get Sampson his leaf first, before Kempsey, and even before I clean Oxley Westi's yard. Anything to keep Sampson gunyah-bound. Westi is also mobile. I see a fuzzy blur out of the corner of my eye as I pass through her yard with Sampson's wet leaf. She doesn't make for the gate though. I quickly rake up Westi's prodigious scattering of poop, cut her leaf and return to Kempsey. Both girls have been waiting patiently. I also cut leaf for the joeys before ducking my head into the aviaries. Barb's hubby, Geoff tugs on the back of my smock as he passes me at the leaf rack: "you're supposed to wet the leaf", referring to how wet and muddy my smock is. It's a gift.

There is a new occupant in the aviaries, FiFi Houdini, otherwise known as O'Briens Fiona. She didn't last three days in the yard 10 enclosure. Ocean Therese wasn't a calming enough influence on her: Fiona kept making her way into the main part of yard 10 (and making off with Tractive Golfer's leaf). To prevent her hurting herself or escaping the hospital altogether, she's now been placed in an aviary. She's being "dehumanised", so no handling or formula; hopefully, she'll be released soon. We're terribly fond of her though; her wiley ways and delightfully pushy personality have made her a favourite. I remember when I first encountered her back in ICU. The FiFi Houdini paw-hooking manoeuvre has not changed:

Exhibit A	Exhibit B
ICU: 25 Jan	Aviaries: 1 April

She's still getting the best of care. Once I prepare her new leaf, she returns to her gunyah and settles in for a feed. I notice a shiny, round object at the far corner of her aviary amongst the poo pellets. As I suspect, it's a nice full tick. I pocket it to process later. Tracy is standing outside Ellenborough Nancy's aviary while John cleans it. With macabre delight, I call her over to reveal my find. It's a part of koalawrangling you just have to get used to. Her reactions are just as mine were when I first encountered a well-indulged tick: squeamish discomfort.

Together we consider it in my palm; its struggling legs indicating it's still alive after vampirically feasting on poor little O'Briens Fiona. I return the wriggling thing to my pocket and finish sweeping her poop and laying down paper. She's settled back in her leaf now, calmly watching me as I work around her.

On a trip to the leaf rack, I see Robyn entering yard 9 with a towel. She's collecting Ocean Kim, the female joey from yard 9A, to pop her on the scales in the treatment room. The koalas are weighed from time to time to ensure they are not losing weight (or are gaining it, if that's the objective). As Robyn approaches, Kimmy aloft on her shoulder, Emma and I whip out our cameras. "Paparazzi", I mutter.


Ocean Kim
From koalawrangler's gallery.
Kimmy has her paw splayed on Robyn's back like a set of furry fingers. At such close range, I also notice that Kimmy has a single white eyebrow jutting out from above her right eye. Together with her impossibly fluffy ears, it makes her look wacky and dishevelled in the cutest way. She moves her head from side to side, likes she's curious about her vantage point from this newly mobile tree. Barb is there and I remark at how much Kimmy resembles her mum, Ocean Therese.

Barb fills me in on Walcha Barbie's progress after Friday's appointment with the vet. They've cleaned up the dead skin on Barbie's arm. Unfortunately they also had to remove one of her fingers due to gangrene, but this shouldn't affect her ability to climb. At least now her arm will continue to heal. Barbie's disposition is energetic; she seems to be well on the way to recovery.

Back in the dayroom, I ask Chris and Tracy whether they can to watch me write up the tick I found. From what I understand of the matter, ticks don't bother koalas like they do dogs and cats. Robyn's washing up the feed pots and explains that ticks can still result in anaemia if a koala gets a lot of them. Emma chimes in that she found 18 ticks in one go on Kempsey Carolina once.

Before I leave, we take a stroll around yard 10 to visiti the koalas up there. Tracy and Chris come along to meet them. Emma joins us to take some photos. Robyn goes into Ocean Therese's yard and gives her a neck scratch. There are plans to move Therese to a wildlife park, since it's unlikely she'd survive in the wild. We'll really miss her eager little face.

Click here to view more of today's koala hospital photos.

Bye-bye Burraneer Henry *sniff*

He's completely trashed the place. There's a large patch of bark he's chewed or scratched off his gunyah; the newspaper on the floor is trampled, and he's kicked over his dirt and water which has intermingled with the bits of chewed off leaf and poop scattered over the floor. It looks like the koala version of a rockstar's hotel room. Did Jim Morrison come back as Morrish Steven?

Cathie Sampson
From koalawrangler's gallery.

Judy is teamleader today and I'm allocated the smaller yards near the ICU block. Lately I'm always doing yard 10, 9 or the aviaries, so I tend to skim past these smaller yards without stopping to smell the roses...er, koalas. It's good to be able to look in on Oxley Westi in yard 1 and Cathie Sampson in yard 3.

I remember the day that Sampson was brought in; he was suffering from acute diarrhoea. It was a Sunday and we had to put him a vacant aviary as there was a full house in ICU. I understand that his current prognosis is poor. You can tell he's an old koala just by looking at him. His face is slightly gaunt in the cheeks, like O'Briens Fiona; but mostly his age shows on his nose, the most prominent part of a koala's face. Sampson's nose shows he's been in the wars; it's scratched like he's foraged around in more than a few bushes in his time, and maybe even had some scraps with other male koalas.

Oxley Westi
From koalawrangler's gallery.

He's quietly sheltered by his leaf pot at one end, so I clear the leaf at the other. Sampson starts moving up the gunyah, tightrope-like, towards me. He stops still and regards me solemnly for a moment. It's then that I notice a tear welling in his right eye. It's a not a tear, really; his eye's just watering for some other physiological reason. Any other interpretation would be anthropomorphism, as Cheyne calls it.

Oxley Westi is is sleeping as I clean around her. It takes me ages to finish sweeping up her copious poop. As I stand up, I notice Peter coming out of the aviaries with a koala in his grasp. It's a small one so I don't recognise him straight away. "Who's that?" "Burraneer Henry" "That's little Henry?!"

Burraneer Henry
From koalawrangler's gallery.

Peter pauses on his path to the treatment room to give me a better look. It's Henry all right. That same angelic little face that none of us could resist photographing incessantly when he first came in back in January. He'd been brought in suffering a tick infestation and was in need of some serious R&R. Henry soon became a minor celebrity, holding court in yard 1A, enjoying the oohs and ahhs of visitors and vollies alike. He even had his picture in the local paper.

He's spend the last several weeks wedged high in the fork of a tree. After being there for all of us to gawp at lovinlgy for so long, these days all we've been treated to has been a glimpse of his furry posterior. Indeed, the only other evidence of his existence is the nibbles to his leaf each morning after his nocturnal munchies. That, and the new littering of poo pellets around his neatly raked yard. Henry's become like the Easter Bunny I remember from my childhood: leaving half-chewed carrots and a trail of easter eggs the morning after, with no sign of the animal in question.

There was a note up on the whiteboard for a while alerting the vollies that if/when Henry made an appearance on his gunyah, he should be captured in preparation for release. This must have occurred yesterday. I follow Henry into ICU like a lovelorn pup. Peter places Henry on the treatment room table to the delight of the onlookers at the viewing window. Cheyne prepares a basket for Henry's transport to his new home. Joeys typically don't have a home range; often joeys that come to the hospital are raised in home care. They usually release joeys in pairs to give them some company, like Links VTR and Ocean Kim.

In Henry's case, he's being released at the wilderness end of Burraneer Avenue where he was found. Barb also looked after Henry at home. Today she expresses her fears for him being a young male own their on his own. As well as the threats of urbanisation, motor vehicle accidents, and dog attacks, male koalas also each other to worry about.

With the outside yards complete, everyone chips in to clean the intensive care units. Judy's doing Jupiter Cheryl, Helen's in with Calwalla Bill, and I start on Morrish Steven's unit. He's completely trashed the place. There's a large patch of bark he's chewed or scratched off his gunyah; the newspaper on the floor is trampled, and he's kicked over his dirt and water which has intermingled with the bits of chewed off leaf and poop all over the floor. It looks like the koala version of a rockstar's hotel room. Did Jim Morrison come back as Morrish Steven?

Steven starts emitting that otherworldly mating noise the males make. His head is raised like he's howling at the moon. He's a feisty one, and a bit grabby. He reaches out towards me in a pushy manner. He's probably after fresh leaf. The koalas are often frisky until they get their morning leaf. Normally I suppose they'd be looking around for new leaf themselves; as patients, they have to wait till the hospital leaf trolley arrives. At least, it's better than human hospital food.

Across the way, Helen is cleaning Calwalla Bill's unit. He's moved off the upper beam of his gunyah onto the cross-beams below it. Helen is just bending to mop the floor, chatting as we all do to our respective koalas, when Bill unexpectedly swipes at her twice with his paw. It all seems to happen in slow motion. Helen pulls back. Luckily, she's only received a few scratches on her face. It wasn't aggression on Bill's part, merely his way of telling someone they're in his personal space. The trouble is he's armed with Edward Scissorhand-type claws. I remember Jules the tour guide telling us that koalas only actively use their claws for gripping trees; if actually were an offensive animal, imagine the damage they could do. Dogs would think twice before attacking them.

Click here to view more of today's koala hospital photos.

National Koalagraphic

We're getting a bit of blue gum lately. I call it Skippy leaf -- according to my dusty mind records, it's exactly the kind of leaf that Sonny Hammond used to blow against to summon Skippy the bush kangaroo to the (usually improbable) rescue in the eponymously titled TV show.

Links Lorna
From koalawrangler's gallery.

I get in at 7am again today, Thursday. I'm continuing my teamleader training with Amanda. The concreters are at work pouring slabs around the edge of yards 1a, 2, 3, 4, 5 and part of yard 9. Just in time for the koala hospital open day on Saturday 7 April 2007.

Amanda has already checked that all koalas are present and accounted for inside in ICU. Like last time, she draws up a matrix with the acronym for each leaf type in columns across the top and the name of each outside koala down the side. Teamleaders only read leaf for those koalas directly in the care of the hospital, not the ones being monitored by the uni researchers. We then head out to the yards and attempt to determine which leaf is flavour of the month and which isn't.

The different types of leaf flummoxed me when I first began at the hospital. Several weeks of cutting and stripping branches on every shift has produced a gradual familiarity. Now I'm astounded by my growing ability to recognise different eucalypt types. I can pretty much tell apart Tallowwood, Nicholii, Melaleuca, Swamp Mahogany and Blue Gum. Swamp Mahogany is always a koala favourite -- for the koalas around here anyway; a koala from a different part of Australia would probably eat a different array of leaf, depending upon what is available in their home area.

We're getting a bit of blue gum lately. I call it Skippy leaf -- according to my dusty mind records, it's exactly the kind of leaf that Sonny Hammond used to blow against to summon Skippy the bush kangaroo to the (usually improbable) rescue in the eponymously titled TV show. Skippy was the after-school staple from my childhood. (You can see the scintillating opening credits to this iconic piece of kitsch 1960s Australiana here.)

I should qualify that I can generally pick the different leaf as long as each is in a nice single branch, but not necessarily when they're cut up and bunched together in the pot. It's a bit like being able to recognise whole heads of lettuce -- cos, iceberg, mignonette, romano....and then having to 'read' said leaves from within a mesclun salad. And 'reading' the leaf is what we have to do.

When we head into yard 10, there is koala on Tractive Golfer's gunyah and it's not Tractive Golfer! Yard 10 is a large open yard with a small circular yard within it that houses Ocean Therese. There are also about six smaller yards that run along the periphery of yard 10; these yards contain some of the koalas being monitored by Sydney uni researchers.

Tractive Golfer, one of the hospital's long-term residents, has free run in the main area of yard 10. He has scoliosis, producing a distinctively misshapen spine, whereas this unfamiliar koala is small, has normal spine curvature, and female -- judging by the tag in her right ear. Wait a minute! It's that tricksy O'Briens Fiona a.k.a. FiFi Houdini! Before I start wondering by what rare feats of magic she got from yard 9 (her most recent stomping ground) to yard 10, Amanda explains that, according to the whiteboard, Fiona's just been moved into the circular enclosure in yard 10 with Ocean Therese. She's obviously managed to scale her enclosure to make it into the main part of yard 10 (so still safely captive within the hospital). There she is sitting there happily chomping on Golfer's leaf.

There's a fine line to be trod between confining the koalas securely, but still enabling them the open-air environment they covet as wild animals. Most of the time, this balance works beautifully: the koalas enjoy both a secure outside existence in the yards while they still receive the best possible treatment and care. In Fiona's case, she seems to be a born roamer, and like her famous namesake Harry Houdini, is an expert at escapology.


Amanda & O'Briens Fiona
From koalawrangler's gallery.
By now Fiona has made her way to the ground and is coming towards us, ever after that elusive formula. Amanda mutters that she wishes she had a towel so that she could pick her up and redeposit her in her correct yard. "How 'bout my smock?". I whip off my koalawrangler smock and it works a treat. All koalas present and accounted for in their correct yards.

With the leaf checks done, I scatter the collection boxes around the yards. The morning troupe is trickling in. Vanessa and I are doing yard 10 together today. There's a couple of photographers here from National Geographic who are snapping away as we work. They're especially interested in the feeds. I go in to feed Sandfly Jye and wonder how my hair looks (like is there a huge green insect in it like the other day?). I'm mostly carrying on with my work as usual, except that I feel a little self-conscious cracking off superfluous stems at the leaf-rack with a photographer clicking away right in front of me. Now I know how the koalas feel when I'm on shift. Should I "vogue" or something?

Oxley Jo
From koalawrangler's gallery.

When I carry the wet leaf into Oxley Jo's yard, the photographer's compadre interrupts and asks if I can enter at less than a breakneck speed. And can I walk around the gunyah the long way. Okay, shurrrrr. I wonder what captions will appear under these photos. They dutifully copy down our names and the names of the koalas. I wonder if I'll be listed as "Oxley Jo" or "Links Lorna" by mistake.

Cheyne is giving "how to feed" refresher training to all the shifts this week. The first koala I ever fed was Kempsey Carolina. Her feeding style is pretty unique and I had to make it up with every new koala since, so it's good to understand the right way to do it. Cheyne has Anna Bay Miles to demonstrate on. The two most important things appear to be how much of the syringe you place in the koala's mouth and how fast you squirt. Only the skinny tip of the syringe should enter the koala's mouth, even though they may try to draw the wide part of the syringe in. Sometimes they chew on the end too; this makes sense since chewing is the natural way for them to eat, not slurping on a plastic tube. However, letting the koala chew on the syringe increases the likelihood that they'll bite a bit off -- not good. Although they will often try to pull the syringe to the front, it's place to slot the syringe tip along the edge of the koala's mouth between the front and back teeth. Their left-hand side is usually best since most people are right-handed and therefore feed from that side.

The other important aspect of feeding is not to force the formula out too quickly. No-one wants liquid syphoned into their mouths like a firehose -- including koalas. Drinking the formulat should be a pleasurable experience -- they should be allowed to enjoy it!

When I return to yard 10, I glance over to yard 9 and notice that both joeys in 9a are bunched up very high in their tree. Wow! Linksy is really climbing now, like a real koala. I'm happy-sad about it; glad for him that he's koalarising along with dehumanising, but sad that it spells his imminent release. I don't think he weigh enough yet though, so we'll have him for a while longer.

Before I go, Tricia points out Oxley Westi in a lounge pose. They usually let their limbs hang or stretch them out when they're trying to cool down.


Oxley Westi
From koalawrangler's gallery.
Click here to view more of today's koala hospital photos.

Wet koalas, wet koalawranglers

I'm talking to one visitor about koalas with wet-bottom, but she suddently breaks off the conversation to report, "SorrySorry, at first I thought it was a leaf but, actually, you have a praying mantis on your head".

Lookout Harry
From koalawrangler's gallery.

It poured rain all night, accompanied by a wild wind that disconcerted the cat. She cried out several times during the night and demanded comforting. During these wakeful moments I wondered whether the koalas were okay during the blustery night.

I woke early and got to the hospital at 7.45. Strangely, Peter, the Sunday team leader wasn't there yet. I walked around the grounds and all koalas seemed well, albeit a little damp. Sandfly Jye and Birthday Girl were the only two koalas who were completely awake. Still no sign of Peter which was really peculiar. Jo, another volunteer, arrived and she gave Pete a buzz on his mobile. "Oh", I heard her say. "Daylight saving's ended". That's right, the clocks went back during the early hours of this morning. It wasn't now 8am, it was 7am! D'oh.

Shamefaced, I ask Peter if there's anything useful I can do to fill in the next hour, like rinse the feedpots of their anti-bac. He says, sure, and I can make up today's feed as well. I feel well practised after closely watching Amanda mixing up the feed, and then preparing it myself last Thursday. It's complicated though -- different dosages, different types of formula, some are administered by vollies, some by vets. So I talk to myself throughout the process, wetting face-washers to go under each filled pot. There's a black lump in the sink which, when I tweeze it out with my fingers, I recognise as being a tick. It might have fallen off one of yesterday's vollies.

Sandfly Jye
From koalawrangler's gallery.

Emma and I are assigned to yard 10. It's started raining again and I'm relieved to have my plastic poncho. Emma starts to feed Ocean Therese and I head in to feed Sandfly Jye. He's perched on his gunyah among the leaf fronds and accepts the first syringe of formula. He jerks his arm towards me, not in a swipe, but probably to grip onto me as he would while eating leaf. It becomes awkward to feed him this way as my arms are bare, so I give up until a little later when he's more in the mood to feed.

By now, Emma is feeding Tractive Golfer who is sitting on the edge of his gunyah where he's getting rained on. She's got no wet-weather gear and is getting wetter by the minute. I start to rake out Ocean Therese's yard -- she's also drenched but outside her the shelter of her leaf, hugging a tree. A rainjacket-clad Andrea comes through to do her rounds. I try to feed Jye some more. He's moved up to the highest fork of the gunyah, shirking the shelter of the overhanging branches of leaf. This time, he drinks more readily and lets me finish the pot.

Sandfly Jye
From brokenpuzzle's gallery.

As I set out to sweep his yard, he jumps down to the lower beam and leans towards me. He's a funny one in terms of instigating human contact, chasing me around his gunyah the other day. I don't know if it's possible for him to jump on me...well, I know it's quite possible, I just don't know if he'd do it. I give him a wide berth and he scales down to the ground. At first he runs towards me, so I squat down to his level while I scrub out one of this leaf pots. I'm able to stand up and go about my cleaning and he generally leaves me alone; occasionally I feel a claw on my sock, but that's about it. He's bounding around his yard, scampering through puddles, not noticing the rain.


Sandfly Jye
From brokenpuzzle's gallery.
Lookout Harry and Warrego Martin are next. I swing Harry's umbrella around to shield him better from the rain. I empty one of his pots, revealing a cache of koala pellets in the fork of the beams once the leaf has shifted. Harry's face is encircled by leaf. Martin is cozy under his umbrella -- the only koala in the yard who's managed to stay completely dry. As I rake around his yard, he decides I've encroached his personal space and heads north...up to the spokes of his umbrella.

Warrego Martin
From koalawrangler's gallery.

Emma has looked after the koalas at the other end of yard 10: Links Lorna and Ocean Roy. We're now both drenched, despite our rain ponchos. We head inside for a cuppa and to dry off. Jim ducks his head into the day-room to ask if there's a trick to moving a koala off his towel. Jim's in ICU, warm and dry. I tease him that there are benefits to arriving late. He's replaced one of the towels on Anna Bay Miles's gunyah, but the koala is facing away from the direction Jim wants him to go and refusing to budge. I recall that Miles likes Melaleuca blosssoms so I head out to the leaf shed and try to hunt some out. I return with a branch. Miles nibbles the blossom enthusiastically, but won't be lured away. I suggest to Jim that he just leaves him; it's more distressing to force a koala to move that doesn't want to. He'll move when he's ready.

Danae is finished in the yards too, so she, Emma and I pitch in to help finish the units in ICU before the fresh leaf arrives. Emma takes Jupiter Cheryl, Danae takes Morrish Steven, and I take Calwalla Bill. His unit is wonderfully dry and quite clean. He hasn't kicked over his dirt or water, like many of the ICU koalas do; but, after I sweep away his paper and poop, he continues to drop pellets like airborne missiles, the same as on Friday.

Ocean Therese
From koalawrangler's gallery.

The leaf arrives and we re-don our ponchos and head back to the swamp of yard 10. We're realy drenched now, despite the wet-weather gear. Ocean Therese is still wrapped around her tree out in the rain, even though I replenish her leaf. Her fur looks soggy; I can squeeze it between my fingers and watch the rivulets run off. I could probably wring her out. She seems unpeturbed.

We do our best to give the koalas tall branches that droop to provide plenty of shelter. I struggle to stock Sandfly Jye's highest pot as I get asked a few questions by the tourists. I'm talking to one visitor about koalas with wet-bottom, but she suddently breaks off the conversation to report, "Sorry, at first I thought it was a leaf but, actually, you have a praying mantis on your head". I calmly call to Emma to get it off me. She doesn't want to touch it and flicks it off with a bunch of leaf.

The praying mantis that was in my hair!
From brokenpuzzle's gallery.

here and Click here to view more of today's koala hospital photos.

By any other name would smell as sweet

Koala poo earrings
From Roo Poo Co.

Koala droppings are the chief constant in the life of a koalawrangler. Much of our 'wrangling' time is spent diligently sweeping or raking away each day's supply of poop. They collect in the forks of gunyahs where the koala has been sitting, like a little stash of eggs the koala's been nesting on. They gather in the corners of units and aviaries, only to skitter out across freshly cleaned floors with the flick of a broom. They float swollenly in water bowls (I once mistook one for a tick). Koalas drop them on you as you mop the floor beneath them like small missiles. Researchers even collect them for analysis from time to time.

The vollies have affectionate names for them: nuggets, bush chocolate, coffee beans, jelly beans, easter eggs. Another day, another pile of koala poo.

You don't realise how much there is to be thankful for that koalas have the pleasantest-smelling, least offensive poo I've ever encounter in an animal...until one gets diarrhoea. A recent admission, Walcha Barbie, has the affliction. She was caught in barbed wire and has to have her dressings changed every day. She has the most delightful disposition; sitting calmly as her arm is dressed, looking comfortable and at ease in her towel-packed basket.

The reason Barbie catches my eye as I pass the treatment room is that today she is wrapped in a rather fetching vividly striped towel, a bit like a fringed sash. It looks like she's wearing a Mexican serape, making her resemble a tiny Mariachi performer.

Barb gently cradles her upper paws and head on the treatment room table, while Cheyne sets about the unenviable task of cleaning up Barbie's sloppy fecal matter. This involves wiping around the fur at her bottom and also between the 'toes' of her back paws, which she alternately splays and relaxes as Cheyne cleans. I'm reminded of the time a tourist -- watching one of the volunteers refresh the leaf with a hose -- asked how often we bathe the koalas. (The answer is almost never). Barbie doesn't look at all uncomfortable during her sponging, and even tilts her face upwards to sniff at Barb in way that looks (but isn't) affectionate.

Standing away from the action at the treatment room door, I ask Cheyne if it smells? She assures me it does. It's funny how desensitised I've become to koala droppings actually being faeces and not just some inoffensive koala byproduct whose uniformly shaped pellets make them look almost mechanically produced. Each pellet consists of the densely packed eucalytptus leaf that the koala spends much of their waking hours diligently chewing. Their smell is barely distinguishable from the general eucalyptus haze that prevails in ICU.

Click here to view more of today's koala hospital photos.