Every year, well‑meaning members of the public rescue joeys from the pouches of kangaroos killed on our roads. Their hearts are in the right place — but without the right knowledge, equipment, and experience, love alone can’t keep a joey alive. In this blog, we share why “love is not enough” when it comes to raising orphaned wildlife, and why the most loving thing you can do is place them in the hands of a registered, experienced carer.

When Krysti Severi stood before Parliament, she didn’t just speak—she bared the soul of every wildlife rescuer in Australia. Her words were raw, heartbreaking, and necessary. They echoed the pain we carry, the injustice we witness, and the relentless fight to protect the animals this country claims to love. This blog is inspired by her testimony, and by the kangaroos like the one who died on the roadside in Donnybrook—alone, broken, and unseen.

There is a joy and magic in wildlife care that defies words—yet we try, because it deserves to be felt. This blog is a glimpse into the heart of being a joey Mummy: the quiet miracles, the fierce love, and the moments that change you forever. It’s not just about rescue—it’s about connection, transformation, and the kind of magic that wraps around your soul and never lets go.

Welcome to a little corner of joy, magic, and marsupial miracles. If you’ve ever wondered what love looks like in fur and feet, let me introduce you to Jaffa Roo—the heart and hope of Amaris. This isn’t just a story about a kangaroo. It’s a story about healing, belonging, and the quiet ways love shows up when we need it most.

Jaffa is more than a carer—she’s a nurse, a mother, a protector, and a teacher. She wraps her arms (and her heart) around every joey who arrives at our sanctuary, and somehow, she wraps them around me too.

This blog is a celebration of her magic. Her joy. Her gentle strength. It’s a reminder that sometimes, the most powerful healers don’t wear uniforms—they hop.

So grab a cuppa, settle in, and let your heart be tugged in the best possible way. Happy tears welcome.

When disaster strikes—whether it’s a bushfire, flood, or roadside trauma—it’s wildlife carers who show up first. We cradle the injured, comfort the dying, and make impossible decisions in the absence of sirens, uniforms, or formal support. We are the unseen responders to suffering that others overlook. Yet despite the emotional toll and frontline role we play, we remain unfunded, untrained, and unacknowledged. It’s time that changed.

Cruelty wears many faces. Some is forgotten—buried in roadside ditches and decomposing pouches. Some is deliberate—when shooters don’t aim to kill, or joeys are bludgeoned as waste. Some is systematic—approved by planning departments, wrapped in red tape, and bulldozed into silence. And some is legal—sanctioned by codes that excuse suffering, ignored by inspectors who never arrive.

This is the cruelty our wildlife endures. And this is why we speak.

Why Don’t Vets Treat Wildlife for Free? It’s a question many ask—especially those new to wildlife care. In this post, I explore the realities behind veterinary support for our native animals: the costs, the compassion, and the quiet sacrifices made by vets and carers alike. If you’ve ever wondered who pays, who shows up, and who carries the grief when wildlife are injured, this is for you.

Thinking about becoming a wildlife carer? This blog is for you. It’s a no-nonsense follow-up to Is It Worth It?—written for those who’ve felt the pull and are ready to step into the reality. Before you sign up, read on. Because caring isn’t just cuddles and compassion—it’s commitment, financial cost, and heartbreak

Thinking of becoming a wildlife carer? Brace yourself—it’s not easy. It’s heartbreak, exhaustion, and sacrifice. It’s leaning on mentors, second-guessing yourself, and doing it anyway. You won’t get paid, but you’ll be paid in trust, in love, in the moment a joey looks to you as their whole world. And when you release them back to the wild, knowing they’ll thrive, nurture, and live free—that’s when you’ll know: It’s worth it. Unequivocally, YES.

You’ve found a joey. You want to help. But what you do next could mean the difference between life and death. This blog is not a guide for raising wildlife—it’s a plea to protect it. Because no matter how calm that joey looks in your arms, it is not okay. Trauma runs deep, and well-meaning mistakes can kill. Read this before you act. Then call a carer. Immediately.

Every day, wildlife carers face the heartbreaking truth that so much suffering could have been prevented. We hold broken bodies, comfort terrified joeys, and bury those we couldn’t save—all while knowing: She didn’t have to suffer this way. This post is a tribute to the lives lost, the carers who keep showing up, and the choices that could have made all the difference.

There are days in wildlife care that feel like miracles—when a joey takes her first hop, when a wombat finally eats on his own, when the eyes of a once-traumatised possum softens in trust.

And then there are the other days.

Nothing pierces the heart quite like the cry of a newly orphaned joey—calling out for the Mummy who will never answer.

Her Mummy is gone. Taken too soon.

Every year on 17 August, let wildlife carers across Australia pause to honor the lives that slipped through our fingers—the joeys, possums, birds, and beings we loved fiercely but couldn’t save. This blog is a tribute to them, and to the emotional toll borne by those who care. It’s a candlelit reflection on grief, resilience, and the quiet strength of those who keep showing up, even when the heartbreak feels too heavy to hold.

Possums are among Australia’s quietest casualties—gentle, nocturnal beings often overlooked until it’s too late. In care, we see the toll of misinformation and neglect: fragile bodies failing from incorrect diets, orphaned joeys clinging to life, and species like the Ringtail teetering on the edge of extinction. This blog is a space to illuminate their stories, advocate for informed care, and remind readers that every possum life matters.

Kangaroos are far more than the bounding silhouettes on our national crest—they are emotionally complex, socially bonded beings who suffer deeply when misunderstood. In regional care settings, we see the consequences of that misunderstanding daily: joeys torn from mothers, adults overstimulated or neglected, and survivors like Cherish who arrive on the brink. This blog is a space to reclaim their stories, challenge the narratives that fail them, and celebrate the quiet, powerful work of healing that happens when we choose empathy over exploitation.

Australia’s kangaroos are iconic, yet increasingly treated as expendable. Behind the labels of “sustainable” and “humane” lies a reality of mass slaughter, orphaned joeys, and cultural disregard. This blog asks the hard questions: When did it become OK? And how long will we stay silent?

A Land That Once Knew Balance

Australia is a land of paradox — ancient yet scarred, vast yet shrinking in spirit. For tens of thousands of years, kangaroos bounded across this continent in harmony with its people and its rhythms. They were never just animals; they were part of the story. Aboriginal communities understood this deeply, living with the land, not over it.

But something changed.

This blog post is a call to conscience. It draws parallels between the fate of kangaroos in Australia and the wolves of North America — both victims of narratives rooted in fear, not science. It asks: When did it become okay? And more importantly: When will it stop?

Australia loves its kangaroos—until it doesn’t. Every year, tens of thousands are shot across the country under the guise of management and conservation, often at night, often without public scrutiny, and always at a cost. Meanwhile, animated mascots bounce across tourism campaigns, airline logos, and national branding, selling the kangaroo as a proud symbol of Australian identity. This blog post explores the staggering contradiction: how a nation can glorify its wildlife for profit while systematically erasing it from the landscape. It’s time to ask—what does it really mean to love a species, if we’re willing to kill it to keep it out of sight?

At Amaris Wildlife Sanctuary, every life matters—no matter how small, how broken, or how wild. Behind every rescue is a story of compassion, courage, and unwavering dedication. This letter is written from the perspective of the animals whose lives have been touched by wildlife carers. It’s a tribute to the quiet heroes who walk through heartbreak to bring hope.

To those who show up, again and again—this is for you.