A Quokka Encounter
Ollie the Quokka Ranger Meets Fact and Fiction on Rottnest Island
Thank you again to my thoughtful Subscribers for their awesome wildlife suggestions! Here’s a recent exchange that decided and inspired the featured animal of this post:
Wildlife keeps showing up in my writing.
What animal would you be—and why?
Your pick could be the star in a future story.
“A Quokka.” — Eric
Thank you, Eric! An exciting marsupial pick—we’ll have a hopping good time with the Quokka! 🦘👍
Ollie raised his chin for the selfie. No need to say cheese; his smile was permanent.
The American tourist had crouched down beside him to capture several uploadable images. The Canadian tourist switched places with her friend and enacted similar specifics—head tilts, different smiles (teeth showing intermittently), adjusting the frame for a most suitable background, all with the afternoon sun behind them.
Ollie knew first-time visitors to Boorn Boodja were always obsessed with details they found with their phones. Gnarled tea trees. Peeling bark. Golden-flowered wattle. Low forests of Rottnest Island pine. Life is good when you can travel. Show the world who you are, where you are, when you are, and how you are. Full disclosure. Try to seem perfect wherever you go. The world deserves nothing less than your best.
He’d heard their entire conversation as they approached from what appeared to be another rental jeep.
“So cute!” the American exclaimed at the side of the road within the woodlands. “A real live quokka! I think these cat-sized kangaroos are related to llamas. Thought we might see some out here. Let’s get pictures for our special event.”
“Let’s,” agreed the Canadian. “But we can’t get too close. Might bite. Just might.”
“I’m getting a selfie,” the American said. “You want in?”
“Okay. Sure.”
As they approached, Ollie studied their jerseys—the American wore her nation’s flag, the Canadian hers. Ollie would have worn his own for Australia, but he was on duty. Only the ranger outfit, cut for a quokka and complete with utility harness, would do.
After all, quokkas need to earn a living too.
Their conversation made Ollie imagine these two young women were likely among the best representatives of their countries. That’s a lot of responsibility, wearing your nation’s flag, he thought. People want you to represent them in the best way. Sometimes you’re thanked. Sometimes not. Heh.
After selfie time, Sydney and Brooke stood on either side of Ollie. They joked about lifting him up for piggyback photos—they’d never seen a quokka in uniform before. Who did that? Crazy tourists, probably. They laughed, debated, laughed again, and decided to try.
But who would go first?
A piggybacking quokka. That would have to be a first.
Ollie raised his chin and bulged his eyes. Quokkas are friendly, but still—they’re wild.
“Let’s not and say we did,” Ollie said. “Every wild idea doesn’t need to become a reality. We can use fiction for crazy ideas. You can try making deepfakes. But I don’t care much for made-up stuff. Your selfies do the trick. What brings you to Rottnest?”
The American gasped, then squinted. “Seriously?”
“You can talk?” asked the Canadian.
Ollie nodded. “Talking’s a blessing and a curse. Some of what I say, I’d rather not. Things like: ‘Pick up that litter,’ or ‘That keep out sign isn’t just for decoration.’ I’m a ranger. Rules keep the island clean and people more orderly. Name’s Ollie. I can talk, I’m nice, but I’m on the clock.”
“Can you shake our hands?” the American asked.
Ollie shrugged. “That we can do. And let’s say we did.” He reached out with a firm but gentle grip. “I’m an English-speaking professional. Who better to protect our habitat than those who live here? Other quokkas have other talents. Sports, you might say.”
Both tourists blinked.
“Sometimes truth is stranger than fiction,” Ollie said. “Cliché? Maybe. But you know anthropomorphism, right?”
They nodded.
“That’s good. Tell me what you know,” Ollie prodded.
“Mr. Ed. Yogi Bear. Disney. Looney Tunes. Alf,” said the American.
“Animal Farm. Watership Down. Goldilocks. Little Red Riding Hood,” added the Canadian.
“Fables,” Ollie said. “Animals acting like humans spins a good yarn. Not the other way around. Humans acting like animals? Let’s hope not. But me talking with you? That’s strange. We must be in fiction. Only explanation. Quokkas don’t talk. But I’m talking.”
He scratched his chin. “Maybe I’ve always talked. I seem to know my history. Do you know yours?”
They nodded again.
“Then maybe we truly do represent all that we know,” he said. “We’re in a fable. And we’re communicating in ways real humans can’t—or don’t. I say we make the most of it. If this happens to be flash fiction, the end is coming soon. Who are you?”
“I’m Sydney,” said the American.
“I’m Brooke,” said the Canadian. “We’re old friends trying new things. We thought we’d see Rottnest for a few hours.”
“Then we’re going to Perth,” Sydney added.
“For a field hockey tournament,” said Brooke.
Ollie’s eyes widened. “Field hockey?” He looked again at their jerseys. “Of course. Popular sport in both your countries.” He mumbled something fun into his walkie-talkie and fastened it back onto his belt.
“Absolutely incredible,” Sydney said. “What did you just say?”
Ollie rested his hands on his hips. “Practice patience. Everyone likes a nice surprise.”
“You’re smiling,” Brooke said. “Can you give us a hint?”
“My smile’s not always a fact,” Ollie replied. “It’s sometimes a fiction. You see? I’m not always ‘the happiest animal on Earth.’ My facial muscles and visible teeth make me look like I’m smiling all the time. But I have a range of emotions—just like you.”
“Is that right?” asked Brooke. “Are you ever sad?”
“You live on an Australian island,” Sydney said. “What can you possibly be sad about?”
Ollie wished he could contort his face to show other emotions. Maybe that’s what led to the fictionalization of his being. Not knowing exactly what to think, he relaxed.
“I love my country,” he said. “But every place has hardship. Quokka history includes dingoes, red foxes, cats, feral cats, dogs, and large birds. These predators contributed to the decimation of our population on the mainland.”
He paused.
“We’re listed as vulnerable by the IUCN. Our numbers are still declining.”
Sydney and Brooke’s eyes shimmered.
“But you know who’s saving us?” Ollie loved sharing good truth. “People like you. The Perth Zoo helps safeguard us. Australia protects and manages our habitats. Captive breeding. Translocation. Controlling feral predators. Managing fire regimes. Surveys and monitoring. People like you care about quokkas like me. So—thank you.”
Tears welled.
Ollie thought about other challenges—reduced rainfall, increased drought, extreme temperatures due to climate change, habitat destruction, food source depletion, and lumpy jaw. All these truths were not for tourists to solve. His job was to balance education and optimism—to inspire care. As a fictional ranger, he could do just that.
“Welcome to Rottnest Island!” he declared. “We’re over ten thousand strong here!”
From tunnels through the dense brush, dozens of quokkas emerged, proudly wearing their jerseys to represent Australia. They lined up on either side of Ollie.
“You see?” Ollie said. “You understand?”
Sydney and Brooke looked at each other.
“Field hockey?”
“Yes!” Ollie shouted. “This is fiction. Everything comes together near the end. Field hockey is so popular in Australia, and that’s what brings you here. So we can enjoy good games together while we spend our lives fixing things. We’re fans! Let’s cheer!”
Sydney and Brooke shook hands with every quokka and posted more selfies.
As a luxury tour bus pulled up for the quokkas, Ollie showed his walkie-talkie.
“Remember how I said talking was a curse and a blessing? When I can, I choose to be on the blessing side of things. I figured out that you were here to play in the field hockey tournament everyone’s talking about. I told my friends to come out and cheer for you. But Sydney’s for the U.S., and Brooke’s for Canada. Why do you choose to compete against each other?”
Sydney and Brooke explained how true friends who support each other can challenge one another too. How do you get better at anything? You compete with compassion.
“Everyone likes a nice surprise,” Brooke said with a wink. “It’s a charity game.”
“All proceeds are going to organizations that help quokkas,” Sydney said. “Win or lose…”
“…everyone wins,” Brooke finished.
Ollie and all his quokka friends had tears in their eyes. And their smiles were sincere.
From bus to ferry to bus again, the quokkas arrived in Perth to watch the 8 P.M. AWST match under the LED lights while cheering as a jerseyed community. All together and fully aware, Ollie understood:
Charitable fiction—like tourism—can help us navigate true reality.
Thank you so much for reading my work. I sincerely appreciate all Subscriber suggestions. If Ollie’s story made you smile, consider supporting real quokkas. Visit the Rottnest Foundation to get involved. Until next time, take care and be well!
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That was just delightful John!!! I can see Ollie being here to stay. ‘Charitable Fiction’ is a new term to me, but you displayed it well. Very heartfelt with some good messages without being cloying or preachy. I think this little guy should have a children’s TV show- with lots of good points for any parents watching too!!! Nice!!! 👌
Charitable fiction that gives real-world education? Ollie deserves his own series.