Belts and wombats: both cause memories

Today I turned 70 (using 9 as the base for calculations rather than the boringly conventional 10).  Among the presents was an excellent R M Williams belt presented by Frances.  She had cunningly taken an old belt into the horse supplies shop in Queanbeyan to serve as a model.

On trying the new belt on it seemed to be a trifle short.  So I looked at the old belt and found it to be one I had purchased in Breckenridge Colorado in 1981.  It is a very historic item, replete with 2 buffalo head nickels.  However it must have shrunk in the intervening 30 years.  Fortunately the folk in the shop were very understanding and gave me a great value belt: 38" for the price of 34".

Also today I saw some great photos of a wombat on The Nature of Robertson.  This caused me to think of an incident about 25 years ago.

We had gone to walk up Mt Dromedary on the far South Coast of NSW.   We (myself, Frances, Ingrid and our dog-of-the-time Boney) took the back road up and had to walk the last 5km up a fire trail from a locked gate in the forest.  About 1km from the top we passed a wombat snuffling around at the side of the road.  I pressed on and Frances commented that she would like to have had a good look at the beast.

So on the way down I stopped when we got to the wombat - a pretty tatty looking representative of the species - which was still snuffling.  (I now realise the poor thing was mangey and thus partially, at least, blind.) .Boney - a Heeler x Kelpie and thus pretty reliable off the lead - had wandered about 20m further down the track.  Suddenly the wombat seemed to spot or smell her and charged towards her.  Realising that the wombat could, with its impressive claws, open up a dog like a can of beans I:

• yelled (no effetc)
• hit the wombat on the nose with the dogs lead (no effect); and as a last resort to catch its attention
•  kicked at it.

This last was a bad idea on three grounds:

1. as a concept, it is bad to kick wildlife;
2. it felt rather as though I had kicked a large block of concrete; and
3. the wombat whipped round and bit me on the hoof (through the pair of running shoes I was wearing).

However, having bitten something, the wombat went back to annoying grass and ignored the dog and my (sorry) self.  So I walked the 4 km back to the car and drove 40km back to our cottage.  By this time I was the owner of a nice red (once white) sock and decided that a bathe in sea water was what was needed.  All seemed good, although I have still not received my award for Australian of the Year (Bloody Stupid Division).

About a week later after a lunch time run I found it difficult to get my shoe on.  Also there were some soreness and swelling in my groin.  Not good.  By early evening when I got to my GP there was also swelling in my armpits.  He swiftly identified the package as a lymphatic  infection- thank you Mr Wombat - and prescribed some monster antibiotics.  All fixed.

Or so I thought.  About 4 weeks later I ran a fun run and found fat(ter) people passing me in the last 2km.  Also that my shoes were tight.  Back to the GP, and more antibiotics.  This time the scar on my foot erupted and spat out a small chunk of running shoe fabric.  The wombat had obviously punched that down into my foot and this, together with all the nasty stuff that had coated my shoe as I ran through sheep paddocks, was what had caused the infection.

When telling this tale to Canadian friends they commented that I was lucky it wasn't a Canadian groundhog, since behaviour like that in their wildlife would have meant rabies for sure!  Here is a snap of the current state of my foot.  Scar is highlighted.

The key message is DO NOT INTERFERE WITH WILDLIFE!