# The red book of animal stories/Kanny, the Kangaroo

KANNY, THE KANGAROO
A writer in Chambers’ Journal, more than twenty years ago, tells an interesting story about a pet kangaroo that he and his sisters had for a playmate. How she came into the family he does not say. Perhaps some sailor uncle or cousin brought her from Australia; but, at any rate, there she was, and dearly the children loved her.
To begin with, she was so pretty, tall, and slight— she measured quite five feet when standing up—with a small head, large eyes, and soft silky skin. Her tail, which she used both as a whip and as a means of expressing her feelings, was long and powerful, and with her two little hands she helped herself at meals in the most delicate and polite manner. And then, how she could jump! The flight of stairs she cleared at a bound, with an ease no boy ever managed to imitate; and as for the big hall, four skips brought her from one end to the other. The cats, who had been rather pleased with their own leaping performances before Kanny came, treated her coldly, and not very civilly; when she bounded into the room where they were all comfortably seated on the best chairs, they rose as one cat, and put their tails up and their ears down. Kanny did not understand the language of cats —it was only quite lately she had made the acquaintance of any—and stared at them with wonder, and when the cats found it was no use being rude, they became polite, and at last grew quite fond of Kanny, who never tried to take liberties with them, though she was so big. But to ​the end they never could bear to see Kanny help herself first at dinner, and growled and snarled when she put her paws into the dish.
Kanny’s favourite dinner was rabbit bones, and this taste was shared by the cats, but in general they considered that, in the matter of food, she was not to be depended upon. Fancy any sensible creature liking tea,
THE NEW ARRIVAL
when it could get good milk, and sometimes—say on birthdays—cream! What could she see in all those horrid pink and yellow things that the children called ‘bull’s eyes,’ and ‘lollipops’? and surely she must be mad to get so excited over those hard white fruits that were said to be almonds. But Kanny paid no heed to these remarks and scornful glances, and ate thankfully all the sweets that the children gave her. Indeed, almost the ​only time she was ever out of temper was when anyone forgot to put sugar in her tea!
One day, when the children came in from their walk, they went as usual to find Kanny in her own particular apartments—an outhouse, which had been fitted up for her when she first arrived. Instead of bounding to meet them directly she heard their voices, as was her usual habit, Kanny waited for them in her own drawing-room, quite like a lady. As the children ran up to her they suddenly stopped short, for out of Kanny’s pouch two little black eyes, and two little skinny hands were peeping. Oh, how happy the children were with the new baby, and what care they and Kanny took of it. Other people might say it was lean, and ill-made, and ugly, but they knew it was the most beautiful creature in the world. For a few weeks nothing was thought of or talked of but the baby kangaroo; then frost came and cold winds blew and one day the poor little baby was found dead in its cradle.
The children did their best to comfort Kanny, and brought her all the sweet things they could think of, and by-and-by she began to play again. Her favourite prank was to jump on top of the great walls seven feet high, which shut in the fruit garden and shut out the children, and then spring right down among the bushes where her favourite currants and cherries grew. But Kanny’s appetite was a good one, and like all people who are fond of eating, she enjoyed trying experiments. One morning, when she had had as much fruit as she wanted, she leaped on top of the wall which at that end opened out upon a lane, where some workmen were busy making a door into another garden. Her movements were as silent as they were rapid, and when the carpenters suddenly looked up and saw this strange creature standing before them, they flung down their tools and ran away as hard as they could. Nothing ever put out Kanny, so she only began to wonder if they had left anything behind for her ​to drink, for the clay was hot, and in spite of the fruit, she was thirsty. Glancing round, her eye fell on the
KANNY FRIGHTENS THE CARPENTERS
pewter pots, which the men had just filled with beer—for it was their hour for leaving off work—and without hesitation she took a sip. The taste she thought was ​good. Yes—after another sip—it was certainly refreshing; so from one pot she went to another, until she had emptied them all.
All this time the men were cowering under an out-house, far too much frightened to interfere with the kangaroo. And even when she was called off, and taken back to her own outhouse, they did their work in fear and trembling for the rest of the day, lest this terrible stranger should come back again.
But as winter came on, poor Kanny’s games got fewer and fewer. She had attacks of shivering, which generally ended in fainting fits, and between them she would lie on her bed, looking up sadly at her anxious nurses, who sat by her, stroking her head. At length the weather got so cold that they could not keep her warm in the outhouse, so she was carried in and laid on a soft rug before the kitchen fire. She knew they meant to be kind to her, and though she had hardly strength for the move, she tried to raise her head, and rub it against their hands. But the bitter frost had touched her lungs, and she fell back gasping, and in a few minutes was dead.
The children wept bitterly for their beloved play-fellow, whom they themselves buried under a tree; and though time passed and they had other pets, no one ever took in their hearts the place of Kanny.