Look, Toby, there’s a wombat,’ my dad, Neil, said, pointing to a round, squat hairy lump.
It was 2006, and, aged eight, after the week at school in Sydney, I loved weekends with Dad on his property bordering a national park in the Macdonald Valley just west of the city.
I’ve always felt more at home in nature.
‘I’m going to see how close I can get,’ I whispered, slowly crawling through the grass until I was within reaching distance.
Suddenly, the wombat looked up and stared straight at me. Its eyes were crusted over
