Below is a collection of selected case histories of some of our "unforgettables" ... certain animals who have touched our hearts, changed our lives, and imprinted cherished memories upon our minds ...

All of the animals listed below were released successfully back into wild. However, inevitably there have been other animals who have come into our care who did not survive, but whom we shall never forget. To read their stories, visit our Tributes page.

Originating from a mob of Eastern Greys inhabiting the Cathedral Range State Park, Charlie's mother was attacked by a dog. To hasten her escape, she ejected him from her nice warm pouch and was not seen again. Old enough to be deeply traumatised by the incident, Charlie suffered severe shock, and spent his first week in care calling piteously and hiding deep in his new artificial pouch. In time, however, tranquillity and lots of love won him around ... and he grew into a tall, tubby tearaway, ever increasing in confidence.

Today, Charlie has grown both taller and wiser. Good old "Mummy" has provided him with his own little mob of five younger roos whom he leads with pride. He no longer gets himself into trouble ... but remains a free spirit, coming and going as he pleases ... and bounding home for a visit every few months.

But she wasn't always like that.

Little Mary Poppins also was raised elsewhere and kept well beyond the normal age of release. She had been treated as a pet, carried around in an oversized hand-bag between three States, and handled by who knows how many pairs of curious hands. Not the best way to produce a well-adjusted Wombat ready for the wild.

Having rescued Maz from the fate of "lap-wom", we faced the challenge of reversing the damage. She couldn't dig, was still on bottles and thought grass was for Kangaroos and couches for Wombats.

Ariadne and her mother were in trouble. Her mum was elderly and emaciated with mange and a high tick load. Ari was a small, sickly baby. In the wild, neither would have made it.

In a strange twist of fate, the poor old girl was killed by a car, and Ariadne was rescued by a passing motorcyclist who brought her to Kingbilli. Also suffering from mange, along with ticks, coccidiosis, worms, enteritis, thrush, multiple bacterial infections in her gut and some nasty grazes from the car accident ... she had no wish to live. I had other plans.

To cut a long story short, for two months, it took five hours of care each day to keep Ariadne going. Even with good old Mary sitting at my side, nuzzling us both for encouragement ... coaxing Ari to feed and treating her various conditions was a marathon ordeal. At times, the future looked very bleak indeed. This poor baby was like some kind of scientific experiment gone wrong - at some point or another she must have absorbed every drug known to man and Marsupials, and been subjected to every test imaginable. But despite the seemingly dismal prognosis ... giving up was not an option.

Afterwards, I think I could have written a book on tricks to make a Wombat drink its bottle. Ari went through phases ... but finally, a cold compress draped across her forehead proved the most successful, although even then, her consumption rate was seldom more than 1ml per minute. Then, one day the tide turned ...

Today, no-one who knew her as a baby would recognise this magnificent individual. Now a mammoth-sized Wombat: she is tall, sleek, heavily muscled and her glossy black coat positively shines in the moonlight. Despite her unfortunate beginning, she is the full adult size of 40kg, over 1m in length and cuts a formidable figure.

Initially when released, she moved in with Mary in her large and spacious Toolshed-side burrow ... but in 2006 Ariadne struck out alone and now possesses her own lovely abode near Wombat Hollow, about 0.5km away from the Homestead. Every few months, she wanders home for a visit, looming out of the darkness just when you least expect it. She detests fuss, and offers little more than a nod of acknowledgement as she passes by ... not much in the way of gratitude, it's true ... but enough for this proud "mother" to know she's not forgotten.

Noodle and Pumpkin are fat, furry proof than fairytales do come true. Noodle (who started out life at Kingbilli as 'Tonka', but somehow progressed to Noodle) came into care as a just-furring pinkie of 650g. This was a very special little Wombat, as when his mother was hit by a car he too suffered a blow to the head, fracturing his jaw and causing minor brain damage.

Initially, the well-meaning folk who rescued him from his dead mother's pouch tried to raise him themselves. However, this proved unsuccessful and when he arrived at Kingbilli, we discovered his jaw had fused crookedly and he'd developed a yeast infection, caused by overfeeding combined with overheating. Cases like this are the reason we encourage folk to pick up the phone the instant they find an injured or orphaned animal, as no matter how kind and careful the rescuer may be, proper training is an essential precursor to wildlife rehabilitation.

Anyway, Noodle's infection was swiftly cured and he soon proved his goofy buck-toothed grin posed no difficulties when drinking his bottles. The damage caused by the blow to the head did cause a few problems - primarily a series of epileptic fits when he was small. Fortunately, he outgrew these and although he took a little longer to learn to walk and play than did most wombats, over time he grew into a very normal, if slightly dopey baby.

move in to a nice, warm, comfy home with regular bottles and treats laid on? WRONG.

She was a nightmare. She bit, spat, scratched, screamed and destroyed EVERYTHING she encountered. She shredded half her bedding and spent Christmas Eve attempting to burrow through the Toddler's House wall (which, I might add, is built of stone).

A match made in heaven??