Distraught, Sniff and I continued on further, on to the next peninsula, to Balls Head Reserve. Only to be confronted by the same warning sign, inked with the same dates....
Damn those foxes. No more careening along the beach. No more peeing into the aboriginal waterhole. No more carefree fun. For over a month...
I am led to ponder what happens to all the dead foxes which accumulate throughout March. Is it part of the Ranger's job specification to search through the undergrowth and drag out all those 1080-poisoned corpses. And how can 1080 poison be lethal to cats, dogs and foxes and not lethal to possums or any other native creature? Very clever bit of science going on there.
Anyway, Poor Sniff is now reduced to this until April:
Here's something to help you all get your bearings as to where we are now living in Sydney. Our road, Glenview Street, becomes Vista Street at the end of which is, indeed, a vista - a spectacular one of the CBD which Sniff, Daniel and I admire of a night whilst being besieged by Flying Foxes which mass alarmingly close above our heads in great numbers as dusk falls. Here it is, a blurred photo of the vista. The nearest wooded peninsula you can see snaking out into the water is Berry Island around which you accompanied me the other day and the peninsula to its left closer to the city is Balls Head Reserve, from the left hand side of which you get brilliant opera house and bridge views (coming to a blog near you soon). Both peninsulas are for now, miserably, ringing with the cries of dying foxes...
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