Under a hotter Sun; The Hunter;

The hunter ;
The Kangaroos came down from the opposite hill to our property to graze.

I was always enchanted when I could observe whole families together. The mothers, their pouch stretched to its limits. The odd leg and foot, a diminutive head sticking out of the pouch. The half grown ones, hopping around still young enough to play and try a bit of boxing.

The joeys scramble out of their protective home to hop around on long skinny legs, nibble here and there a blade of grass.

They don’t run away as long as I stand still and keep quiet, just watching. The Kangaroos stand on their hind legs twitching the ears from side to side to listen, looking at me with lazy interest. They scratch their tummies and nibble neatly on grasses and scrub. If I don’t come to close they ignore me. On our property we saw mainly the grey Kangaroo but also many smaller ones the Wallabies.
One day, I knew, Peter was up to something. He had his gun slung around his shoulder. I asked him where he was going with his gun. He said that he was going to scare the Kangaroos away.
There is something about men when their primeval hunters instinct strikes. They don’t listen to arguing, why, and what for, leave them alone! He left and I was listening, but did not hear a shot. After a while Peter returned. I asked him what happened, I did not hear a shot. He said, he could not shoot them.

The Kangaroos were facing him, theire arms practically akimbo staring him straight into his face. The Macropods stood their ground their eternal right to graze where ever.
Peter never took his gun to the Kangaroos anymore.