DJARRAH’S SAGA (Written by Lyn Watson) “A phone call from Mt. Isa”, yelled Peter one rainy December day. “I have been trying to call the Dingo Conservation people for days, leaving messages, but never getting a response”, said the female voice. “We have only today to arrange transport out of here. I have someone who will fly him to Coffs Harbour, and hopefully we can get him to you out of there, she continued. If we can’t find a place today, all is lost for him. He will be shot. Please take him”, she begged. This was in the days before email, instant messaging and digital images. A few more questions established that the pup had been found in a hollow log, after the shooting of his mother by mine an exploration party, a helicopter flight north from Mt. Isa. Remote area, indeed, so with that information alone as to origin we agreed to take this orphaned dingo, now in the hands of a wildlife carer frightened out of her wits that the authorities would find her harbouring the dingo pup which she had now nurtured for a number of weeks. “When I found him under the tonneau cover at the airstrip, he weighed about ¾ of a kilo and did not have his eyes open”, she offered. She did not really have a clue how to deal with him, so broke out the Wombaroo Marsupial Milk replacer and kangaroo teats and hoped for the best. He thrived. “How did he get into the vehicle”, I asked. “Long story. I was working in the office at the mine, when I got a call from Jason, one of the exploration team that had just returned from a mission up north..., she went on, ...who was on board the Cessna and just about to take off back to Brisbane. He said that I should go out and look in the tray of the cream utility parked under the tree near the airstrip”. He said, “The pilot told me to ditch the pup or stay with it, but he sure as hell was not going to land at Brisbane with a contraband bloody dingo on board, and get arrested. “Couldn’t leave the pup to die of starvation so I put it in my pocket”, he said. “My mistake was getting it out for a closer look while in the chopper on the way back, and showing it to the crew”. He knew I was a wildlife rescue carer..., she said, ...and probably intended to drop it on me from the very beginning. “Poor little mite was squealing for his mum and litter mates. What else could I do? I scooped him up and put him in my waste paper basket with some shredded documents, taking him home to a more salubrious shoe box. There he lived and expanded into ever larger quarters. “Now he has done it..., she said, ...shown his liking for chicken wings, preferably alive and with the rest of the chicken still attached. That was meant to be our Christmas dinner”, she exclaimed. “He has worn out his welcome and my husband has ordered him out. I really cannot hide him any longer. Please, please take him”, she pleaded. Djarrah duly arrived the next day in Melbourne, a lanky, single coated, tawny juvenile with a dark face still, but quite sure of himself. He was the first of what would be many to come our way. Of course we were anxious now to ascertain his degree of purity, and Dr. Alan Wilton’s test was now up and running at the University of New South Wales. We immediately sent cheek swabs to the coordinator of the newly formed conservation organisation for dispatch with the next batch for testing. Months later, after many reminders, we were given second hand news, that the sample had received a ‘hybrid’ result. We were dismayed. By now we had lived with this young dingo for some months, noted many differences from our resident and home bred alpine dingoes, yet were struck by how utterly un-doglike he was. Every hallmark box, which we had on our list for purity in phenotype, was ticked with this dingo. He was a particularly upstanding, handsome and proud dingo. I could not accept this result so we requested a fresh test. This time the swabs were taken in the presence of media and veterinary personnel, sealed and dispatched direct to the laboratory, rather than via the organisation. Dr Wilton himself finally phoned me to pass on the result. No dog alleles – “pure”. Quiet odd, he said, that the packaging on our direct sample had spelt the dingo’s name as ‘Djarrah’, yet the packaging on the previous test was spelt “Jarra”. We had never spelt the name any other way than Djarrah because it was a shortened version of his home place, Dajara. Clearly something odd had occurred between the dingo and the lab for the first analysis. From that time, all samples to the laboratory have been sent direct. No more middlemen for us. Djarrah lived a very happy life until at age seven we noticed a clouding of his eyes. Veterinary examination revealed that he was quickly losing vision and in a matter of weeks he was totally blind. We now have become aware that many native animals raised on milk replacer lose vision as a result of early improper nutrition. He managed his environment reasonably well, but continually blundered into things, often injuring limbs. When he finally ran heavily into a sharp splintered fallen branch and did serious damage, we sadly agreed to the vet’s advice to euthanasia. Djarrah had a great life, siring for us a number of puppies, and lives on here at Dingo Discovery Sanctuary through his offspring. He was a forthright character, and would bluff newer carers until they learned how to act around him. He won’t be forgotten. R.I.P. Djarrah from Dajara.
Posted on: Sat, 28 Jun 2014 03:50:39 +0000
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