John stopped about six feet in front of the wounded kangaroo—Kirk and I both stopped beside and slightly behind John. He then said, “Stand still,” and he took two steps sideways while carrying the flashlight with him. The kangaroo looked like it was going to stare a hole right through him. John said, “You see, this roo is down but it is still alert and mad, and has plenty of fight left in him. You cannot underestimate an animal in this condition. Stand back and watch this!” John was wearing a hat made out of rabbit fur. It looked just like a Davey Crockett coon-skin cap—only made of rabbit, and without a tail in the back. He took it off his head and tossed it to the kangaroo. The roo saw it coming and grabbed it before it even hit him. He tore at it frantically with his hands (front legs) for about two seconds. I thought it was going to tear that hat apart, and I wondered why John was willing to sacrifice a perfectly good hat just to make the point. Just as suddenly, the roo pitched the hat aside and fixed his stare on John again. John told me, “Here, take this club and sneak around behind it while I keep it distracted with the light. When you are behind it, club it on the head. If the roo sees you, jump away immediately. It can still spin around in a flash to face you.” I did as John suggested. Then John took the club from me and hit the roo once more. I am sure John was thinking, “If this is supposed to be a lesson for the boys, it’s better that the roo doesn’t wake up again and start a fight.” John leaned over, retrieved his hat and put it back on his head. We all grabbed the dead animal, carried it back to the Land Rover, and threw it in the back of the truck. John’s dog, who had just watched all of this passively, jumped back in the truck, too. John said, “Let’s see if there are any more around here.” We got in, and John started driving slowly again—this time with the spotlight on. He was driving with one hand on the wheel and the other on the spot—using it to scan the area on both sides and ahead of us. Shortly, we came upon more kangaroos. This time it was Kirk’s turn to take the shot. Kirk repeated my shot to the haunches, and the roo went down. We all got out of the vehicle and walked up to the roo. John handed me the flashlight and told me to make a commotion in front of the downed kangaroo while Kirk snuck around behind it and hit it on the head. John stepped back a little and just observed. Kirk and I were going to have to learn to do this as a two-man team. The three of us threw the dead roo into the back of the vehicle, and we drove on again. John said, “You’re getting the hang of it now. Another roo or two, and we’ll head back.” The next shot was mine again. Everything started unfolding according to script, but then we got a surprise. This shot was at a longer distance than the previous two. The kangaroo was at the ten o’clock position from the direction we had been driving. It was a little harder to see the animal distinctly. I took the shot, the roo went down, and John hollered, “What was that? I saw something else!” Using the spotlight, he scanned the area slightly to the right of the downed roo. Then he saw movement in the brush. He said, “I think there must be a joey in there.” Then we saw the reflection of the spotlight off the eyes of the smaller animal. It seemed to be hanging around rather than running away. Maybe we had shot its mother, and it did not know what to do. John grabbed his flashlight and gun and sprinted toward the wounded adult. As he got closer, the joey made a break for it and started hopping away from us in the two o’clock direction (as we faced the downed roo). John whistled, and the dog took off in exactly the correct direction even though I didn’t think the dog had seen the joey in the bushes. I think John took his gun in case the joey headed back toward him. If the dog was chasing the joey and the joey ran back to its mother, John might have to quickly kill the mother in order to save his dog. As things unfolded, the young kangaroo ran deeper into the brush with the dog in pursuit. By now, the dog could hear the joey as it hopped, so the dog knew where it was. John could not give any commands to the dog because it was pitch black, and none of us could see either one of them. Kirk and I had joined John who was just standing there between the mother and the direction in which the joey had run. We asked, “Now what?” John said, “We just wait. The dog knows what to do. It may take a few minutes, but they’ll show up.” Every now and then we heard a little “Yip” from the dog. After about ten minutes, the joey appeared with the dog about six feet behind it. John spoke to the dog, and the dog just settled down, hugging the ground, eyes fixed on the joey. I have never been so impressed with a dog in my life. Up to this point, I had thought the dog was just a pet, going everywhere with John. It was obviously a very smart and valuable asset that John used while managing his sheep station.
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