Abstract

My wombat Birubi died after a brief illness sometime around Wednesday August 18th 1999. I miss Birubi greatly and continue to catch his beloved form (or ‘ghost’) out of the corner of my eye, a half-seen image flitting around the corner of a cupboard or across the verandah. Long after his death, my eyes continued to search out his shape on the moonlit grass. He was part of my life for so long – over twelve years – that I found it hard to believe he would no longer wait for me or greet me, that he was finally gone.

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