The 'big jump' of 2026 is over. This morning, Limpy Chick and Co. were all spontaneously down on their hocks, grazing on the tiny tiny green shoots. They will, for a few days yet, get as much dirt as grass; but autumn is here.
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'I can't tell the difference between chicks and Dad anymore. They're full-sized!'
In silhouette, neither can I. But they will not be even young adults for another nine months.
'Going to start half-taming kangaroos now?'
They are hungry. But the first sprouts of autumn will be long enough to eat in ten days. But they are really really hungry!
And this was just a random experiment. Apparently Mummy Roo and Baby Roo will eat wheat and nuts and dried mango from a plate.
I sit out in the moonlight sometimes, and Baby Roo now rockets out of the dark; screeches to a halt at the bird bath, and drinks.
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This is not my territory, remi; but I can pass on what I've learned from others;
avian-competent vets are very hard to find. So that's an issue.
Three weeks old? She's a tiny waddle-bottom -- by the standards of how big she'll be in six months.
But wild chicks at this age are breasting wet...
Here is the identification problem: my eyes are bad. Their heads are just never still.
All six look like this. But we'll wait. One or two may become recognisable.
Sometimes you will see a Dad lead his chicks from a feed of wheat to a bare spot nearby, where they all happily sit down and peck the ground. It took me some time to figure out that they were actually ingesting stones.