This afternoon, after this morning’s rain had passed and the sky was blue again, I heard a soft, unfamiliar shuffle. Just behind me, only meters from where I stood, was one of the world’s oldest species of surviving mammal – and one of the world’s only two monotremes (egg-laying mammals): a short-beaked echidna. It looked pretty healthy and happy, and not long ago it was probably a little puggle (the name for a baby echidna) in its burrow. (An adult male echidna is a boar, and the female is a sow.)
The short-beaked echidna had obviously emerged to take advantage of the soften soil after the rain. It undamaged spikey sandstone-coloured spines had darker tips that glistened in the crisp light and it blended perfectly into its Aussie bush surrounds of greying sandstone and decaying bark. Its snout (usually 7-8cm long) was sandy from foraging in the decomposing leaf litter nearby, and I was surprised it was not at all afraid or intimidated by me.
I crouched on the spot for half an hour to watch the short-beaked echidna explore and dine on ants and termites, its favourite meal. I would have stayed longer, but it limberly climbed over a log its own height and disappeared into the scrub beyond. So agile, even with all those spines!
I’ve only seen a short-beaked echidna in the wild a few times, either as a child or bushwalking as an adult.
The ones I saw were always alone, so I find it amusing that there are not one but three collective nouns for echidnas: a flock, herd and parade. I wonder if this is because, like the platypus, it is a species that is hard to classify?
I found an Aussie take on the world’s top 30 creative collective nouns for animals and sealife at Australian National Geographic
Which is your favourite?