There is a big Buck kangaroo in our garden. He recently took up residence inbetween the cactus and the bouganvillia. He sticks his head out from behind his nestling spot and spikes his ears like a dog picking up a new scent. Kangaroos don’t usually come so close to humans, although a drought will bring them towards lawn and green shrubbery without a shade of reticence. The land is massed with an abundence of drying grasses at the moment and the watering points across the property are full, so he is not visiting for sustenance. My father suspects a recent altercation with another Buck. He seems sprightly enough and he can hop over our garden fence in an easy bound so his injury may be one borne of pride. He remains happy until lawn, trees and plants must be watered. He watches us warily and sounds a low growling sound from deep within his muscled grey hide chest.  He bounds away, the grass flattening out beneath powerful hind legs and a tail meaty in size. Yet we have a feeling he will return. He doesn’t seem quite ready to return to where he has been recently ostracised.