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The Day for Kangaroo

fiction

By DannyMoxPublished 2 years ago 6 min read
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There were four kangaroos in the pen: one male and two females, and the other was a newborn baby kangaroo.

She and I were the only ones in front of the kangaroo pen. The zoo is not very crowded, and it was a Monday morning, so there were many more animals than visitors coming in.

Our goal, of course, was the baby kangaroos, but we couldn't think of anything else to see.

We learned about the birth of the baby kangaroo about a month ago from the local section of the newspaper. For a month we waited for the morning to come when it was appropriate to see the baby kangaroos, but that morning refused to come. One morning it rained, the next it rained, the next the ground was muddy, and the next two days the wind was blowing nasty. One morning she had a painful worm's tooth, and another morning I had to go to the district office.

And so, a month passed.

A month, in the blink of an eye. What exactly did I do during this month, I can't remember. It seemed like I did a lot of things, but it also seemed like I did nothing. I didn't even realize that a month had passed before the newspaper subscription collector came to the door at the end of the month.

But anyway, the morning of kangaroo watching came. We woke up at 6 a.m., opened the curtains, and instantly saw that it was a good kangaroo day. We washed our faces, ate, fed the cat, did laundry, and then put on our sun hats and headed out.

"I say, is the baby kangaroo still alive?" She asked me in the tram.

"I think alive, after all, there is no report that it has died."

"Maybe he's sick and hospitalized somewhere."

"Even then it would have been reported."

"Or maybe she's got a neurosis and shrunk inside and won't come out."

"A baby?"

"More than that! The mother, perhaps with the baby has been hiding in the dark room inside."

I couldn't help but sigh: girls come up with all sorts of strange possibilities.

"I feel like if I miss this opportunity, I'll never see the baby kangaroo again."

"Not so much."

"No. Have you ever seen a baby kangaroo before this?"

"Ah, that's not true."

"Can you be confident that you will see them in the future?"

"There is no way to tell."

"That's why I'm worried."

"But," I protested, "maybe the situation is as you say, but I have neither seen the unicorn give birth nor seen the whale swim, so why is the baby kangaroo alone now a problem?"

"Because it's a baby kangaroo!" She said.

I took a truce to read the newspaper. Arguing with a girl has never won before.

Of course the baby kangaroo is alive. He (or she) was much larger than in the newspaper photo, running around on the ground in a godlike manner. Rather than a baby kangaroo, it would have been more appropriate to call him a mini-kangaroo. This fact was somewhat of a disappointment to her.

"It doesn't even seem to be a baby anymore."

Like baby's well, I reassured.

"It would have been nice to come earlier."

I went to the kiosk, bought two chocolate ice creams, and when I returned she was still leaning against the fence, staring at the kangaroo.

"It's not a baby anymore!" She repeated.

"Really not anymore?" I handed her an ice cream.

"Not yet. Babies are supposed to get into their mommy's pockets!"

I nodded and licked the ice cream.

"But it didn't go in."

We started looking for the kangaroo mom. Kangaroo Daddy was instantly recognizable instead - the biggest and quietest was Kangaroo Daddy. He looked steadily at the green leaves in the food box with the look of a composer with a depleted talent. The remaining two were females, the same build, the same coat, the same face shape, and it was no surprise which one said it was the mom.

"But which one is the mother and which one is not?" I asked.

"Well."

"So what's the deal with the kangaroo that isn't mommy, anyway?"

I don't know, she said.

The baby kangaroo ignored this and just circled the ground, pawing around and digging pits for who knows what. It seems that he (she) does not know what boredom, in front of and behind the father ran a few laps, chewed a little green grass, digging the ground, grabbed a handful of two female kangaroos, "bones" lying on the ground, and then get up and start running.

"How do kangaroos run so fast?" She asked.

"To escape the enemy."

"Enemies? What enemies?"

"People." I said, "People who use back darts to kill kangaroos for meat."

"Why do baby kangaroos get into the pockets on their mothers' bellies?"

"To escape together. The little one can't run that fast."

"To be protected?"

"Well." I said, "The children are protected."

"Protected for how long?"

I should have looked up everything I knew about kangaroos in my animal atlas, because this was a situation I had anticipated.

"A month or two, just a month or two."

"Then that baby is only a month old," she said, pointing to the baby kangaroo, "and deserves to be burrowed in its mother's pocket."

"Uh," I responded, "it's possible."

"Aye, you don't think it's wonderful to be in that pocket?"

"Wonderful, I guess."

"It's the maternal return complex, isn't it, the pocket of the so-called robot cat?"

"Isn't it?"

"Definitely."

The sun had risen to the zenith. The sound of children's laughter came from the nearby swimming pool. The clear summer clouds were floating in the air.

"Something to eat?" I asked her.

"A hot dog." She said, "With Coke."

The hot dog vendor, a young working student, had a large record player on a canopied vending bed in the shape of a mobile serving cart. Stevie Wonder and Billy Joe sang throughout the time it took to grill the hot dogs.

As soon as I folded back into the kangaroo pen, she pointed to a female kangaroo and said.

"Here, here, look, get in the pocket!"

Sure enough, the baby had gotten into the mother's pocket. The nursery pouch was bulging, and the only thing visible were the little pointed ears and the tip of the tail twitching up on it.

"Not heavy?"

"Kangaroos are Hercules."

"Really?"

"That's why generations have lived to this day."

The mother did not sweat a drop in the strong sunlight. She looked as if she was taking a nap in a cafe after shopping at the supermarket on Aoyama Street at midday.

"Are you under protection?"

"Yes."

"Did you fall asleep?"

"I guess."

We eat hot dogs, drink coffee, and leave the kangaroo pen.

As we leave, the kangaroo dad is still searching for the note lost in the food box. Mama kangaroo and baby kangaroo rest as one in the long river of time, and the unidentifiable female kangaroo keeps hopping around the enclosure as if testing the performance of her tail.

It looks like it's going to be a long hot day.

"Aye, no beer or anything?"

"Yeah." I responded.

Adventure
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DannyMox

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