Six Years of Sanctuary – A Reflection from Amaris
Six years ago, I packed up eight joeys and drove them to a place that would become home—for them, and for me. Six of them had already been in a pre-release pen when I was told they had to go. I didn’t know what the future held, but I knew they deserved more than uncertainty.
By faith and trust —I found a beautiful property that belonged to a friend. They had just decided to put it on the market. It was perfect: semi-rural, no fences, surrounded only by weekender blocks and bushland. A place where joeys could roam, rest, and grow wild again.
That Saturday morning, we left Albany in a convoy. One car, one driver, one carer per joey. No dramas, just quiet determination. Mia and Merci were tucked in the back of my car, still under a kilo—easy passengers, tiny hearts. The first few hours at Amaris were tense. Would they stay? Would they bolt? But they stayed. And they made it home.
Those eight joeys became my teachers, my companions, my family.
Caree is now the matriarch of the mob—wise, grounded, and still watching over us all.
Coco left home two years ago. I still pray she’s roaming free and wild, living the life she was meant for.
Charlie, my beautiful big boy—RIP. You were strength and softness in one.
Cruz is running wild and free, just as he should be.
Tappy too—wild and free. I haven’t seen her for 18 months, but I still look.
Rosie, my gentle girl—RIP. You are missed every day.
Cherish and Calle are still here, happy and free to come and go as they please.
Over the years, I’ve learned more than I ever imagined—some of it beautiful, some of it heartbreaking. Words I’d never heard became part of my daily life: myopathy, coccidiosis, cataracts, scouring, Bordetella bronchiseptica, and yes, the plug, the bits a male leaves behind after mating (yep—yuk). I learned because I had to. Because they needed me to.
I’ve also learned that education is key, and that listening is a lifeline. Not just to mentors and vets, but to the animals themselves—their breathing, their posture, their silence. You learn to listen with your eyes, your hands, your gut.
There is no room for egos when a life is at stake. You have to be willing to ask, to learn, to admit what you don’t know. I’m so deeply thankful to the mentors who have taught me so much—who’ve answered late-night calls, shared their hard-won wisdom, and reminded me that compassion and curiosity must always come first.
There’s no such thing as Medicare or bulk billing in the wildcare world. You either learn, or you go broke. So I learned:
How to administer subcutaneous fluids to dehydrated joeys
How to inject antibiotics and sedation safely and calmly
How to dose and deliver medications with precision and care
How to bandage tails, support fractures, and protect delicate limbs
How to dress wounds, clean abscesses, and monitor healing
How to treat dehydration, manage pain, and stabilise shock
How to recognise and treat prolapses—yep, sugar. The simplest things can save a life.
How to recognise subtle signs of decline before it’s too late
And how to stay calm when everything in you is breaking
These aren’t skills I ever imagined needing. But they became part of daily life—learned in the quiet hours, in the middle of storms, in the back of cars, and under the stars. Because when a life is in your hands, you do what you must.
And I learned patience
Over the years, I’ve cared for many Western Grey Kangaroos and joeys—each one with their own story, their own spirit. But Amaris has welcomed more than just roos. We’ve opened our arms to a whole chorus of wild lives:
Ringtail and brushtail possums, each with their own quirks and climbing styles
A pregnant pygmy possum carrying twins—tiny, perfect miracles
Magpies with attitude, and red wattlebirds with voices that fill the trees
A cuckoo-shrike thrush, and a parrot with a story to tell
A cheeky pink and grey galah who made us laugh
A determined echidna, waddling through with quiet purpose
A soulful tawny frogmouth, a watchful Southern Boobook, and the haunting beauty of an Australian Masked Owl
And yes, even a blue-tongue lizard or bobtail—slow-moving, sun-loving, and full of character
Each one has taught me something new—about species, about care, about myself. Amaris has become more than a sanctuary for kangaroos. It’s a refuge for the wild in all its forms, and a reminder that every life, no matter how small or feathered or spiky, matters.
One of the greatest joys was seeing Caree with her first bub. Kyah was the first baby born at Amaris, and she’s still here—now a Mumma herself. Watching instinct kick in, watching the love and protection passed down from a joey I once raised… it’s magic.
Thanks to generous grants, Amaris has grown. We now have:
A multi-purpose pen, currently home to two cheeky magpies, Myndy and Jyndy
A nursery pen for the littlest arrivals
A feeding shelter
Essential equipment
And now, three active grants supporting our Room to Roam project, expanding safe space for our growing mob
Generous Support and Donations:
Thanks to generous donations and creative fundraising, we now have:
A beautiful logo featuring Jaffa as the hero of Amaris
The Jaffa Shop, which raises funds for the mob through merchandise and gifts
A wonderful website that shares our stories, updates, and advocacy
Jaffa Portraits, celebrating her role as ambassador and sanctuary spirit
And even Jaffa’s own range of teats, designed to support joey care with heart and purpose
Amaris even has some amazing patrons now - Thank you
Along the way, I’ve made incredible friends, mentors, carers, and lifelong companions. People who’ve stood beside me in the mud, in the heartbreak, in the joy. People who understand that this work is messy, miraculous, and worth every ounce of effort.
Would I change anything? Nope. Well—maybe how to keep the males away. But that’s part of life’s cycle. Without them, there’d be no new joeys bounding through the bush. Watching them with their mums—especially when the mum is one I raised—is a joy beyond words.
We’ve had our challenges:
Bandit, with his broken tail (twice!) and osteomyelitis
Karli, whose tail was pecked off by crows after a hit-and-run
Jarew, caught in a fence and left with a broken foot
Elijah, learning how to be a kangaroo after growing up as a solo roo
Katie, What a struggle. What heartbreak. What frustration. What tears. My vet’s words still echo: “I don’t think we’re going to make this one.” But Katie rallied. I fought. She fought. And last week, she was transferred to her final stage before release. She’s proof that sometimes, instinct and grit can outpace prognosis. That love and persistence matter. That miracles still happen.
And then there’s Jaffa—the heartbeat of Amaris. She’s cheeky, wise, and utterly herself. She inspects new builds with a tail swish, leaves licorice balls as approval stamps, and reminds us daily that sanctuary is more than safety—it’s belonging. Jaffa embodies everything Amaris stands for: freedom, resilience, and the quiet joy of coming home.
She’s also our foster mum. When new babies arrive, Jaffa quietly babysits them while they sleep, keeping watch with calm assurance. And when they’re ready, she teaches them the ways of the wild—how to move, how to listen, how to be kangaroo. After all, a hooman mum can’t do everything… and certainly not everything wild. Jaffa can. And she does—with grace, mischief, and a heart as big as the bush.
Six years. So many stories. So many lives. And we’re just getting started.
Maisie with her joey. Maisie arrived with Marnie 2 days after I moved here, joining Mia and Merci