Thank You, Wildlife Carers: A Love Letter from the Wild

Dear Wildlife Carers,

Thank you.

Thank you for looking for me when you heard I was stuck in a fence, tangled and terrified. You tried to find me, and when you couldn’t, you came back the next day. You didn’t give up.

Thank you for your gentle hands and your quiet voices. When the outcome wasn’t what you’d hoped for, you didn’t let me suffer. You stayed with me. You made sure I left this world with dignity.

Thank you for driving long distances when you heard I’d been killed. You didn’t just mourn me—you searched for my baby. You found her. You fed her every three hours, day and night, because she needed you. And you never once said she was too much.

Thank you for traveling three hours when you heard I was in trouble. You stayed the night when you couldn’t find me. I’m sorry I ran—I was scared. But you waited. You understood.

Thank you for driving five hours in one day to pick me up when my ‘owners’ got tired of me and dumped me in the street. You didn’t see a nuisance—you saw a life worth saving.

Thank you for your commitment to me, even when I had issues. You gave me medical care, a soft bed, and a loving home. You believed in me. And now, I’m ready to be a wild girl once again.

Thank you for finding me after my mummy was killed. You knew I would come back to her, even though she was gone. I didn’t understand death. I just wanted her warmth. Thank you for catching me gently and giving me a new home.

Thank you for picking me up after I’d been left like a piece of garbage in a hit and run. The car didn’t stop. No one looked back. But you did. You brought me to your home and treated my broken body with respect and dignity. I saw your tears as you buried me gently, alongside other babies who didn’t make it.

Thank you to those who walk the killing fields after a night of shooting—scanning for signs of life among the silence. Thank you for ending lives with care, love, and dignity, even as your heart shatters. Thank you for checking pouches, for finding the tiny ones still clinging to hope, and giving them a chance.

Thank you to those who do the black walks—day after day, week after week—searching for movement, for breath, for life. You walk through grief and horror, and still, you return. You are the light in the darkest places.

Thank you for rescuing me from the dog chase. For nursing me through myopathy, when my body was shutting down from fear and trauma. And when all else failed, thank you for letting me go over the rainbow bridge—safe in your arms, even though your already shattered heart shattered further.

Thank you for searching for me for days after you knew I’d been hit by a car. The driver didn’t stop. Didn’t even slow down. But you did. You searched, knowing that when adrenaline hits, we can run a long way—even in excruciating pain. I’m sorry you didn’t find me. But I know you tried.

Thank you for knowing we come in broken—sick, orphaned, injured, confused. And still, you love us. You give us every chance. You cry for us. You fight for us. You never give up on us.

Thank you for crawling through bushland, for scanning paddocks, for listening to the rustle of leaves and the faintest cry..

Thank you for giving up two years of your life to raise me. You fed me, healed me, taught me how to be wild again. You let me go, not knowing if I’d be okay. I know it causes you sleepless nights, wondering if I’m safe, if I remember you, if I made it. But you did an amazing job. I’m back where I’m meant to be—under the stars, among the trees, living the life you dreamed for me.

Thank you for the sleepless nights, the heartbreaks, the vet bills, and the quiet victories.

Thank you for seeing us—not as pests, but as beings with stories, with families, with fear and hope.

You are the reason some of us get a second chance. You are the reason we learn to trust again. You are the reason we survive.

From all of us—those who made it, and those who didn’t—thank you.