Anyway that’s a bit in the future before we went to town we took the dogs for a walk in the Wombat State Forest. Didn’t see a wombat but the part we walked had quite a few birds including Brown Treecreeper and a highly possible Crested Shrike-tit, a real bird you unbelievers. It’s highly possible cos I could hear it but I couldn’t see the blasted thing too many trees in the way. Now I’m not sure if I have adequately described the dog Amber. Physically she is black medium length fur which she sheds on a regular basis, she sort of looks like a cross between a dachshund and a terrier when she has her hair cut but more like an otter crossed with Yoda. Mentally she is a walking bag of nerves, admitted she isn’t as bad as she was a year or two ago but she is scared of anything and everything from loud noises, aren’t we all, to remote controls and mobile phones. So she has antiloremophobia, where she wishes the remotes would remove themselves to somewhere more remote. Perhaps they breed in the Simpson Desert that’s pretty distant. She also suffers telephonophobia which is self-explanatory really. What we didn’t know was she suffers from gephyrophobia and needed a helping hand to overcome this major obstacle. See the photo below. The good news is that she does not suffer potamophobia as she and Charlie spent a happy five minutes splashing around in the stream. So after all the excitement of the forest we adjourned to town for a very pleasant lunch.
Now Daylesford is an oldish town in Australian terms as it was established in the mid 1800’s as a part of the gold rush mostly supplying pit props and other woody type stuff as people have got to build out of something. I think they also had a little alluvial gold as well doesn’t everybody. However it certainly isn’t designed for the larger person as the doorways to the shops are narrow and the antique/junk shop is a death trap for the claustrophobic. As is common with many if not all towns there is an element of tragedy associated with the area. In the late 1860’s three little kids wandered off looking for wild goats apparently, when they didn’t turn up at night a major search was instigated with no luck. A few weeks’ later three little bodies were found in a tree hollow where the little tackers had taken shelter. They were buried together and a memorial park called Three Lost Children was dedicated to them. Very sad.
On the birdy front we had an amazing parrot dog walk in the sparrow’s fart of the day. It started with a flock of Sulphur-crested Cockies making the kind of row only they could make. Why anyone would want to keep one of these screeching harridans in a cage close to a living being is beyond me but maybe it’s for deaf people. Or those that want to be. Crimson Rosellas were feeding on the grass verge with a couple of Galahs. In the small eucalypts a family party of Eastern Rosellas were indulging in quality time over a seedy breakfast. Then there was the fly past of 20 B52’s or as they are known locally Yellow-tailed Black Cockies, I think they are really specky species.
Well the weather has changed and it’s peeing down with rain and its cold with it so its turn up the heating time and settle down to a winter of watching a cricket team implode and feeling miserable about the Tractor Boys. Still Melbourne Storm and West Coast Eagles won so there are compensations.