I just found this deep in my suitcase (where the cleanest clothes are) from Nina:

Okay then, I’ll tell you all. There are currently 26 wombats in care at Sleepy Burrows Wombat Sanctuary, all in different stages of rescue, rehabilitation, and release. Most were orphaned when their moms became roadkill (and drivers were thoughtful enough to check the pouch before driving on). Others were kept as house pets until they became too large and inconvenient for their humans. Here are the current residents, by location:

In the house are the youngest wombats, who are bottle-fed, swaddled in cloth pouches, and sheltered in wooden crates that simulate burrows:

• Lincoln and Barron (they’re buddies, though Lincoln is getting aggressive with Barron and they’re being separated)
• Abram and Panzer (an adorably dynamic duo)
• Walnut
• Bungee (named because he was found in Bungadore, but he’s also a bit bouncy like a bungee cord)
• Cruiser (the nicest, feistiest little spirit)

Cruiser’s first time in the fresh air.

“The Studio,” a sort of mobile home outside the house, is a little like a halfway house:

• Chance (long story for another time)
• Dawn (another long story)
• Pecan and Pistachio (sweet female newcomers, very teddy-bear-like, doing great, previously “pets”)

Pistachio and Pecan playing piggyback.

“Up the back” are full outdoor enclosures with corrugated tin shelters and fencing; wombats can dig their own burrows. Things get wilder here as wombats become less habituated to humans:

• Silo (a big, truly badass wombat)
• Lucy (her success here remains to be seen; she was a baby when I came last year)
• Soldier
• Ruth (pregnant!)
• Sally
• Peanut
• Parcel
• Clipper (I gave him a bubble bath last year)
• B Squared (named because his mom was called Boney Bum)
• Sherman
• Billy
• Evie

Where the almost-wild things are.

Lastly, there’s “the bush,” to which the “enclosure” wombats eventually graduate if all goes well. The sanctuary has 200 acres so most will stay more or less on the property, digging their own burrows or inhabiting an unused one (its previous resident may have died). On this list would be almost 100 wombats that Donna and Phil have successfully rehabilitated. The most recent addition to the bush is Hazelnut, who sprung herself from the enclosure a few nights before I arrived.

But some wombats never leave Donna and Phil’s care:

• Blind Boy (for obvious reasons) is in a special outdoor enclosure.
• Dawn and Soldier (brain damage from mistreatment)
• Barron (a young newcomer who Donna has predicted will be a permanent resident because his jaw was injured when his mom was hit by a car; as a result he can’t eat properly).

Barron is a bit of a runt because of his misshapen jaw. We’re all rooting for this sweet, gentle guy.

Okay, all present and accounted for, at least for tonight…

7 am: 2-year-old Becca crawls into bed with me.

7:30 am: Giant mug of coffee with Donna on deck.

8 am: Solo hike along creek bed (it’s the only way I won’t get lost on the 200-acre property) with Bella the excellent dog; got covered in burrs, but saw plenty of wombat burrows and three kangaroos. Felt a bit like Alice in Wonderland about to fall down a wombat burrow (or perhaps I already have…)

9 am: Peanut butter and honey on a crumpet (Donna and Phil let a beekeeper keep his pastel-colored bee boxes on the property, and in return he keeps them swimming in honey).

9:30 am: Donna and I peek in on Walnut, who has a urinary track infection and is on antibiotics. He’s not too happy, but the antibiotics are clearly working.

10 am: Wombat intake. Two female “pet” wombats (Pistachio and Pecan) are dropped off (they join Hazelnut and Walnut). Donna gets them settled in a dark crate and leaves them in a quiet room.

10:30 am: Walk with young Cruiser, who’s having one of his first exposures to the outdoors and fresh grass. He’s hesitant but intrigued. Soon enough he wants to go back into his pouch. He’s a “cuddlebat,” as Donna says.

11 am: Generous American donors come to the sanctuary for a tour and photo op. I help show them around and take pictures of them playing with the wombats.

Noon: Off to town.

Abram and Panzer’s first-choice breakfast: my shoelaces and rubber soles. Odd that it doesn’t bother me at all.

Their second choice: fresh-cut grass in the humans’ kitchen (followed by carrots and sweet potatoes).

MY breakfast of choice: “a long black, white with two” is how I request my regular coffee with milk and two sugars. Took awhile to get it down, but now I’m a damn pro.

Within an hour of waking this morning, I’d checked out three different kinds of shelter—all created by humans who give a damn:

Here’s a possum house, not to be confused with a bird house.

Here’s Phil with one of the six new wombat enclosures he built. Salt of the earth, this guy.

Here’s a wombat crib, designed to simulate a real burrow: dark, with a little entrance.