Koala

Perched high in a Gum tree, he obliviously snores away the heat of the day. Perfectly balanced in a fork of a large Eucalypt, there is nothing to fear from his vantage point. Already asleep for three hours, it will surprise no one if he is still there in another eight or nine hours time.

As a nature lover, it is shameful for me to admit that koalas do nothing for me. My experiences with them have always been largely unpleasant. They smell. Their tempers are almost always bad. And they don’t do a lot of good for their environment.

Not that it’s all their fault. Programmed to live off low nutrient food, the oil from the Eucalyptus leaves seeps through their skin. I can always tell when I’m around them, even when they’re hidden from view, because of that distinct aroma.

Stubborn in disposition, attempting to dissuade one from its path (for its own safety) is often met with complaining growls and defensive swipes from its large-clawed limbs. I have been a victim of these strong, solid masses of grey fur, many times.

But they are Australian, and for all their flaws, they help bring in millions of tourist dollars. I cannot argue that I’ve contributed as much to our wide, brown continent.