More writing by Agnes Bland

[braided-rug]

Another summer I found my chickens disappearing mysteriously and then I found one with one leg torn out. It died, but I had now a good idea of where they were going so I lay in wait at evening and morning whenever I had a spare moment. I was rewarded just at dusk - I had been sitting on the soak fence nursing the gun for half-an-hour when I heard a commotion at the coops, so hurried there just in time to meet a big husky goanna making off with a squeaking chicken in his teeth.

After I shot him I opened him and there were nine small feet of chickens still undigested in his stomach - I had got the culprit, sure enough.

[braided-rug]

I found, too, that the goanna was rather fond of eggs - good fresh hen eggs in particular. There were two nests at the foot of a haystack, and without warning the hens there seemed to have stopped laying, although I would hear the triumphant cackling with thich they celebrated the event. Being curious I made it my business to lie in wait one morning, and so caught the culprit "red handed".

I noticed two hens in the hay-nest, and first one hopped out "cha-cha-king" vociferously, but nothing happened. A few minutes later the second one completed her day's good deed and also gave tongue to that effect, then there was a vigorous rush around the stack and up came a big old goanna in a mighty hurry. He grabbed an egg, dashed back behind the stack for a minute or so, then scuttled up to the nest and siezed the second one; but at that moment I loosed my hold on the big dog's neck and sooled him on. There was a nip and tuck race for a few chains, then Caesar had the goanna in his jaws, gave it a few shakes and all was over bar the burying or burning. Later on I dosed some eggs with cayenne pepper and laid them in a nest, but they were disdainfully passed by - goannas take fresh and new-laid eggs, or none, it seemed.

[braided-rug]

I had heard often of Laughing Jacks killing snakes but never actually saw it being done; however I did see a Royal Hawk killing a four-feet-six copper snake one late spring morning. I was crossing the hay-field which was full of stooks, and noticed the handsome big hawk soaring and scouting at a fairly low level above the ground. "After mice," I thought while admitting the beautiful majestic and easy-poised sight. He hovered a couple of minutes over a certain stook, then made a lightning downward swoop and up again in a second with the writing body of the snake in his beak. I was a bit too far away to see just how he held his prey, but I saw the thing drop towards the earth, the hawk swoop again, catch the snake and settle on the ground with it. My dog, which as usual accompanied me, make a rush barking savagely, and the big hawk rose in the air again.

I reached the spot and saw the bright coppery coloured thing squirming around with several rips and tears on its body, as good as dead.

I kicked it out well away from a stook, and before I was more than a chain away, the bold hunter was back, and soared slowly towards the timber with the ******** form of the snake in his claws - evidently a meal for his nestlings, over in some high salmon-gum tree-top.

After that I never shot a hawk unless it ravaged my poultry yard and I was forced to rid myself of it. It is a mistake, I have found, to interfere too much with nature and so upset the balance. Shoot the hawks and goannas, and you have gotten rid of the enemies of the snakes; clean out the rabbits and you leave the foxes no option but to live on your poultry and lambs; poison the birds along with the rabbits, and you find garden and crops pests unlimited - the Great Natural Balance destroyed.