Christmas and The Joey.

Around a decade ago I spent Christmas in Australia.
It was hot. It was gorgeously hot- that really kind type of hot that meant you could be anywhere, live anywhere, tree branch, wherever, no worries mate.
In a combi van 4x4 along roads that were so bumpy you could hardly take a pull on the bong or change out of your wetsuit in the back.
Night, dark and the roos were bounding out of every stretch of bush imaginable. The driver's job was just to keep on, hoping the lights and the noise of the engine would steer them away.
At the time we were staying with Camo and Katie, a young couple, early 20's, about to have their first baby. They lived in a cool place off the beaten path and drove this road several times a week to go surfing.
So one night we're on our way back from the beach. Camo in the driver's seat, Katie beside him rolling up her usual "road spliff" and me and my guy, holding onto the boards in the back so they wouldn't get too bashed around.
Then whomp!
We hit a roo. Shit! Shit!
Got out, went over. A female, hit bad. A joey , still alive in her pouch. Joey had a chance, but she didn't. Camo looked around and came back with a large rock. We said a few words to the struggling roo, something like, "we're gonna take care of your baby-please don't worry".
Katie cried like only a woman who had her own baby inside her could, I fell silent. Camo cried a bit, but he'd done this before and knew it was the right thing to do. We turned away then.
We had a joey to take care of.
We wrapped the wrinkled baby in our towels and Katie held it tight. We placed a large eucalyptus branch on the mama roo and climbed back in the van.
When we got home it was night, there wasn't much in this little town, nothing open. We checked the joey for bleeding and broken bones. It was so young, still so hairless and barely looking around...we felt helpless.
Katie slept with the joey in her bed and we made a fake "pouch" out of lining form one of Camo's coats. We took turns wearing it. We tried to feed it with a little tube, some soy milk was the only thing we had.
The next day, the local vet told us that because of it's young age, it would likely not survive because it had not been weaned.
Joey died a day after that.
We brought it to the beach, buried it, had a good smoke and then a long morning surf. It was Christmas day.