Mike Dixon

Humphrey was entranced. He‟d always wanted to be a biol-
ogist but his mother said there was no money in furry things
and he‟d ended up learning Chinese. A moon moth settled on
a lamppost. He had raised these magnificent insects from
eggs. Kirstin had indulged his childish fascination for bugs
and allowed him to purchase the eggs from a supplier in
Queensland. They arrived by post and the resulting caterpil-
lars were fed on leaves that she helped him collect from the
botanical gardens when the staff weren‟t looking.
The moth flew off and he turned his attention to the brilliantly
colored birds flocking into the park in search of a place
to spend the night. They were rainbow lorikeets. His daughter,
Elizabeth, had a picture of them on her bedroom wall.
Hundreds of the squawking, argumentative creatures were
descending on the palm trees and dislodging the earlier arri-
vals.
Fronds sagged under their weight and birds tumbled to the
ground. Humphrey wondered why the trees were so highly
prized. It was the sort of biological puzzle that intrigued him.
Was it because they were near street lamps? Could it be that
lorikeets are scared of the dark? He was pondering the ques-
tion when a different sort of flying fauna forced its attention
upon him.
A pair of giant fruit bats was contesting
ownership of a mango in a nearby tree.
Elizabeth knew a boy who kept one in a
cage. The silky skinned rodent was said
to make an excellent pet so long as you
wore stout gloves when handling it and
sought immediate medical assistance if
scratched or bitten.
Humphrey figured that earmuffs might
also be needed, judging by the din. The
squawks and screams finally ended when