More Lucille Ball Moments...

As a teenager, I knew I was clumsy.  I knew this because at six years of age, I was the only person I had known who had been unceremoniously beaten up by a wallaby.  That's right, a wallaby.  I was  beaten about the head (I was after all just the right size for a wallaby to beat me about the head) by a furry miniature kangaroo, an animal I had heretofore held in awe and high esteem.  That all changed after my beating.

You can never live down a wallaby thrashing... especially when it occurs in the supposedly safe confines of Sydney, Australia's famous zoo -- in the petting zoo  no less.  Had it not been for my Uncle Paul, I would have been launched into the air courtesy of two very large hind paws.  But I am getting ahead of myself...

My mother is originally from Australia, and I was lucky enough to go with her to meet family members I never knew I had including uncles, aunts, cousins, and great aunts and uncles.  Many firsts occurred on that trip...first plane ride, a stopover in Hawaii (ok, a 15 minute stopover), first earache due to air pressure buildup, first sausage pie, first reading of the Australian children's book series "Snugglepot and Cuddle Pie", first taste of vegemite, first snubbing by my arrogant male cousins from Down Under who refused to play "football" (soccer for us Yanks) because I was a girl.  There were my first farm experiences which were not very pleasant either but deserve their own special blog post some other time.  Yes, many firsts filled my six year old brain.  But the most powerful legacy belonged to that damned wallaby.

My uncle Paul was kind enough to take my mum and I to the Sydney Zoo one afternoon where I got to see animals I had only heard about.   Australia has white sand and black swans, platypusses (an odd creature that looked like God grabbed some leftovers from a few ducks and beavers put them together, then decided to make the males poisonous to even out the whole black widow things from earlier).  I climbed a circular ramp that lifted me high into the branches of the eucalyptus tree (think about Hall's cough drops and you will know what the area smelled like) where koala bears stared at us as we watched them while they munched quietly on eucalyptus leaves.  I saw emus, kin to ostrich because they, too, can't fly.  I was having the time of my life...until we visited the petting zoo.

The petting zoo wasn't much different from those in the states.  They had a lot of sheep in there, some goats, rabbits I think...but I only had eyes for the wallaby on the opposite side of the pen.    My uncle suggested I go pet it and he would buy some food for it and be right over.  My eyes widened and I looked at him as if to say, "Are you serious?  I can go touch that amazingly magnificent creature?"  I looked over at Mum, and she, too, nodded in tandem with Uncle Paul. 

"Sure.  We'll be right over."  Oh, this was just to good to be true.   I was about to pet the animal that was know as the Australian symbol...ok, the miniature symbol of Australia since wallabies max out at four and a half feet tall.  It's cousin, the kangaroo, is often over six feet tall.  I looked once again at the creature across the pen and began to walk toward my destiny.  Its big brown eyes seemed to put me in a trance, to beckon me, spur me forward. I robotically placed one small foot in front of the other and raised my arms as I prepared pet the wallaby.  Left, right...left, right...

I seemed to have this rhythm down pretty well and was about a foot from the wallaby when, apparently six year old body forgot how to walk smoothly.  My right foot grazed the side of my left leg.  I wobbled as my right foot hit the ground.  My left foot raised up in the air and took an overly large step in an attempt to regain the balance lost from the previous step and then landed...right on the wallaby paw.  The big one.  The one that could kick.  Hard.

I regain my balance as I fell into the wallaby and stared into its soft brown eyes.  I swear each eye closed and reopened as small beady black orbs of hatred.  The wallaby went into Terminator mode, raised each small paw and began some of the quickest combinations I have ever seen.  Left.  Right.  Left-Right-Left.  My head bounced back and forth in perfect rhythm, much like a boxer's speed bag. 

Too shocked to say a thing, I just stood there while the wallaby turned me around.  The paws continued to pound me, blows glance my ears, the combinations pummeling the entire circumference of my head. 

What I didn't know then that I know now is that wallabies and kangeroos  can use their tail as a third leg and can balance on that tail while they raise both hind paws.  You can imagine how strong their legs are since all they do is hop, hop, hop all day.  If I hopped everywhere I went, I bet my quads would look like theirs, too.  Well, that was this wallaby's intention...to launch me back to the United States.  Thank goodness I didn't know this was occurring at the time or I would have probably fainted right then and there.  Instead I kept trying to cover my head amidst each round of combinations.

My uncle Paul finally saw what was going on and went into superhero mode.  He ran to me, grabbed the wallaby and flung him (or her) in one direction while he flung me in the opposite direction.  I took flight, slid on the dirt and landed at the fence.  My mother rushed over, looked at me...and began laughing hysterically.  My mother had a penchant for laughing in situations like these.  She always saw the humor in things.  That is when I started to cry.  I started noticing the small crowd that was gathering outside of the petting zoo confines.  My mother picked me up, checked my scratches and dusted me off.  Then we headed to the car.

From that moment on, I knew that I was not going to ever be selected as the most graceful student, the most athletic, the most coordinated.  I would have to find other talents.  This event was the catalyst for all the other Lucille Ball moments in my life, as my friend Julie puts it. 

I don't know whatever happened to that wallaby.  I am sure he was far more afraid of me than I was of him.  But one thing is for sure.  Anytime people tell you a wild animal is tame, remember it earned the adjective "wild" for a reason!