I complained to the owner of the Kookaburra Inn that I’d not seen any kangaroos after spending six weeks in Australia. I mean, the country was supposed to be crawling with them. Or I should say, jumping with them.

We’d driven more than a thousand miles of highways and seen scores of yellow warning signs showing the silhouette of a leaping ‘roo. So where were they all? We’d seen a few dead ones along the highway. Road kill. “Look, Laura! Isn’t that pile of steaming guts a kangaroo?”

The motel owner told us, “Tell you what. If you don’t see a kangaroo in that meadow in back of the inn, you can stay for free. But if you do, you pay double.” I knew better than to take that bet.

Early next morning we awakened and looked out the back.

There must have been fifty kangaroos, all grazing the way deer do. Perhaps they fill the ecological niche occupied by deer in Europe and the Americas.

Mostly they crouched and chewed on the grass. Occasionally one would rise up on its hind legs and hop to someplace where the grass was presumably greener.

They rest their tails on the ground. In order to move forward a foot or two, they raise both hind feet into the air and scoot themselves forward on their huge tails.

Kangaroos have no natural enemies so they’re not skittish. I was able to approach one closely.

One of our Australian friends told us people become close to kangaroos, especially injured animals they’ve rescued. They become semi-tame, as do deer.

But of course feeding wild animals harms them, making them dependent on unnatural foods and turning them into pests.

We’re told a startled or threatened kangaroo can inflict serious wounds by lashing out with the huge toes on their hind feet. Another good reason for not approaching them to feed them.

I didn’t see any joeys in their mama’s pouches. But we have a little more time left in the country. Maybe we’ll get lucky.