268 Animal Life 
heavily-built frame, but also would signally fail in supplying much of the bulldog 
power so indispensable a faculty in the carrying out of its life’s work. Again, 
the wombat has no tail, Nature once more showing her wisdom in the designing of 
its physical structure by denying the animal an appendage from which it would gain 
no benefit. 
When burrowing, or seeking its food, the wombat does not make a general use 
of its snout, as does the wild boar, but by means of those able implements, its 
fore-paws, tears away the soil and selects such roots as are deemed palatable. 
As I have stated, the burrows vary greatly in length, much usually depending upon 
the nature of the ground being worked. Thirty to forty feet is not an uncommon 
length where the soil is soft and comparatively dry: I have known them longer. If 
the animal, in consequence of drought or any other natural cause, is compelled to travel 
far in search of water, burrows of small dimensions and short length are excavated, 
to serve as points of vantage in case of danger or attack, at various intervals. 
The wombat’s locomotive power and action are in exact accordance with its solid 
proportions; this is practically determined and amply illustrated when the animal is 
watched by an unseen observer. When roaming at will among the heavily-timbered, 
densely-ferned gullies of the bush, its general style is sedate, its “every-day” walk in 
no way hurried. Calmly the animal moves along, occasionally halting to examine in 
a casual way some upturned fern, scratch away the earth from a favourite tree-root, 
or sniff the shaded atmosphere to test the “reading of the wind.” 
Nevertheless, however lethargically the wombat may seem to move about in moments 
of idleness and leisure, under circumstances causing excitability or sudden alarm it is 
difficult to believe that the slow-going, serious-looking creature is one and the same as 
that which gambols with its mate or neighbour, for its action, if clumsy, is at least 
an exhibition of unmistakable agility. Rushing along one of its many. well-trodden 
lanes, the animal, as though suddenly petrified, remains perfectly motionless, awaiting, 
it would seem, a signal-erunt from its playful companion, upon hearing which the 
apparently immovable creature again sets off, as though bent on a mission of unparalleled 
importance, grunting spasmodically as it goes. Later, the two sportives will chase 
each other alternately and finally disappear into some adjacent cavern, wherein, to judge 
from the scuftling noise, the game is continued for awhile. 
So well-defined and firmly beaten are the tracks formed by the wombat in the 
creat fern-patches which clothe the sloping portions of theranges, that I have frequently 
been tempted to cross these seemingly impenetrable bracken thickets, wild tangles which 
otherwise would remain “a closed book” to the hunter. Where wild oats, wire-grass, 
and a variety of creepers and low scrub hide the surface of the ground beneath a 
vegetable wilderness, the tracks of a wombat can only be seen by kneeling upon all 
fours; then, miniature avenues running in various directions suggest to the explorer 
what complete shelter from sun or shower can be enjoyed by the wombats in such 
shady lanes. These tunnels through the lower forest are largely patronised by other 
denizens of the ranges, such as rat-kangaroos, bandicoots, native cats and mountain 
opossums, as is evident by’the tracks they leave behind them where the ground chances 
to be moist and soft. 
The flesh of the wombat is extremely palatable, and can be “dished up” in a 
variety of different ways. Of late I have introduced it into two or three bush homes, 
and in all cases the request is the same: “More, please, as soon as convenient.” 
The wombat may be classed with uniparous animals, since, speaking from my own 
unvaried experience, it gives birth to one “joey” only during the season. 
{The next article in this series will deal with the Porcupine Ant-Hater.] 
