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" This was a media beat-up at its very worst. All those officials reacting to what the media labeled “The Baby Bob Incident” failed to understand the Irwin family. This is what we did--teach our children about wildlife, from a very early age. It wasn’t unnatural and it wasn’t a stunt. It was, on the contrary, an old and valued family tradition, and one that I embraced wholeheartedly.
It was who we were. To have the press fasten on the practice as irresponsible made us feel that our very ability as parents was being attacked. It didn’t make any sense.
This is why Steve never publicly apologized. For him to say “I’m sorry” would mean that he was sorry that Bob and Lyn raised him the way they did, and that was simply impossible. The best he could do was to sincerely apologize if he had worried anyone. The reality was that he would have been remiss as a parent if he didn’t teach his kids how to coexist with wildlife. After all, his kids didn’t just have busy roads and hot stoves to contend with. They literally had to learn how to live with crocodiles and venomous snakes in their backyard.
Through it all, the plight of the Tibetan nuns was completely and totally ignored. The world media had not a word to spare about a dry well that hundreds of people depended on. For months, any time Steve encountered the press, Tibetan nuns were about the furthest thing from the reporter’s mind. The questions would always be the same: “Hey, Stevo, what about the Baby Bob Incident?”
“If I could relive Friday, mate, I’d go surfing,” Steve said on a hugely publicized national television appearance in the United States. “I can’t go back to Friday, but you know what, mate? Don’t think for one second I would ever endanger my children, mate, because they’re the most important thing in my life, just like I was with my mum and dad.”
Steve and I struggled to get back to a point where we felt normal again. Sponsors spoke about terminating contracts. Members of our own documentary crew sought to distance themselves from us, and our relationship with Discovery was on shaky ground.
But gradually we were able to tune out the static and hear what people were saying. Not the press, but the people. We read the e-mails that had been pouring in, as well as faxes, letters, and phone messages. Real people helped to get us back on track. Their kids were growing up with them on cattle ranches and could already drive tractors, or lived on horse farms and helped handle skittish stallions. Other children were learning to be gymnasts, a sport which was physically rigorous and held out the chance of injury. The parents had sent us messages of support.
“Don’t feel bad, Steve,” wrote one eleven-year-old from Sydney. “It’s not the wildlife that’s dangerous.” A mother wrote us, “I have a new little baby, and if you want to take him in on the croc show it is okay with me.”
So many parents employed the same phrase: “I’d trust my kids with Steve any day. "
― Terri Irwin , Steve & Me
162
" During a cricket match one afternoon, Steve was called up to bat on the second drop, but he was out for a duck. He became bored during the subsequent stretch of inactivity and investigated a nearby creek. Beneath an abandoned sheet of corrugated iron, Steve encountered a red-belied black snake. Red-bellies are venomous. Steve knew this, but he thought that his father would prize a red-bellied black snake to add to the family’s menagerie. So a very young Steve tailed the red-belly.
Steve instinctively dodged each of the snake’s strikes, but he was now stuck for something to put the snake in, and it was becoming more aggressive by the second. “Finally one of me mates brought over our bus driver’s esky,” he said. “I dumped out all his sandwiches and managed to get him in. He was one cranky snake!”
To the cheers and wonderment of his cricket teammates, Steve caught another half-dozen red-bellies that afternoon. The bus driver didn’t realize that there were snakes on the bus, but when he found out, he made a point of telling Steve’s dad.
Bob was less than pleased. Steve, expecting to be praised, got a harsh reprimand instead. “Dad sunk a boot up my bum,” was how Steve explained the aftermath of the snakes-in-the-esky incident. Bob railed against Steve’s thoughtfulness for endangering his mates and the bus driver by bringing live venomous snakes into their midst. "
― Terri Irwin , Steve & Me
163
" Because of the constant media surveillance, I could not venture out to see the countless tributes that mourners laid down in front of the zoo. But all the items were collected and stored safely, and we now display a lovely memorial selection.
The public response to Steve’s death would have overwhelmed him most of all--the kind thoughts, prayers, sympathy, and tears. I wasn’t facing this grief on my own. So many people from around the world were trying to come to terms with it as well. The process seemed particularly difficult for children who had not had the opportunity to experience the circle of life as Bindi had. I felt it was important to get a message out to them. When your hero dies, everything he stood for does not end. Everything he stood for must continue.
There was never a doubt in my mind that I’d keep working toward stopping the destruction of our environment and wildlife that was spiraling out of control. There were so many triumphs that Steve had already worked so hard for.
I sat down with Wes. “First, we’re going to work on everything Steve wanted to achieve,” I said. “Then we’ll move on to everything that we were collectively working toward. And finally, I want to continue with my own goals, in terms of our conservation work.”
We strategized about the expansion of the zoo. I didn’t want to just maintain the zoo as it was, I wanted to follow Steve’s plans for the future. I felt that I was still having this wonderful, cheeky, competitive relationship with Steve.
Wes and I took the stacks of plans, blueprints, and manila folders from Steve’s desk. I assembled them and laid them out on a conference table.
“This was Steve’s plan for Australia Zoo over the next ten years,” I said. “I want to do it in five.”
We would secure more land. I remember the first two acres we ever bought to enlarge the zoo, how Steve and I sat with our arms around each other, looking at the property next door and dreaming. Now we were negotiating for an additional five hundred acres of forestry land. This tract would join the existing zoo property with the five hundred acres of our conservation property, bringing our total to fifteen hundred acres at Australia Zoo.
This winter we christened Steve’s Whale One, a whale-watching excursion boat that will realize another of his long-held dreams. He always wanted to expand the experience of the zoo to include whales. Steve’s Whale One is a way for people to see firsthand some of the most amazing creatures on earth. The humpbacks in Australian waters approach whale-watching boats with curiosity and openness. It is a delightful experience, and one that I am confident will work to help inspire people and end the inhumane practice of whaling. "
― Terri Irwin , Steve & Me
164
" Then our documentaries started to air on Australian television. The first one, on the Cattle Creek croc rescue, caused a minor stir. There was more interest in the zoo, and more excitement about Steve as a personality. We hurried to do more films with John Stainton. As those hit the airwaves, it felt like a slow-motion thunderclap. Croc Hunter fever began to take hold.
The shows did well in Sydney, even better in Melbourne, and absolutely fabulous in Brisbane, where they beat out a long-running number one show, the first program to do so. I believe we struck a chord among Australians because Steve wasn’t a manufactured TV personality. He actually did head out into the bush to catch crocodiles. He ran a zoo. He wore khakis. Among all the people of the world, Australians have a fine sense of the genuine. Steve was the real deal. "
― Terri Irwin , Steve & Me
165
" As we passed through the tiny community of Thargaminda, I took the rare opportunity to indulge in a hot shower at the police station, while Steve checked on road conditions. Some of the local children noticed us in town, and we were invited to make an appearance at their school. We met all fifty-one students.
“You are so lucky to have such beautiful snakes out here,” Steve said. He explained how to live safely with the venomous snakes in the region, and even demonstrated first aid for snakebites. The kids were hanging on his every word.
Coming back from the school, Steve suddenly slammed on the brakes, skidding over the dirt. He cursed himself. “I was going too fast,” he said. “I think I ran over a bearded dragon.”
He got out of the truck, completely crestfallen, until he discovered that the lizard was alive and well, sitting poised in the middle of the road.
Steve got the lizard off the road and then lay down on the dirt with it to get it on film. “What a little ripper,” he said. “Look how he pops out his beard as a defense mechanism. He’s got all those spiny scales down his back to keep predators from eating him.”
Steve was face-to-face with the lizard, which was all puffed up, trying to look intimidating. He was just inches away as he spoke with passion about the little desert dweller. The lizard, though, had other ideas. He decided he was a little bit tougher than Stevo. In an instant, the lizard had launched himself straight up in the air and latched onto Steve’s face.
Steve jumped back, but not before he’d been solidly bitten on the nose.
“You bit me on the nose, you little brat!”
I burst out laughing. Steve took the opportunity to reiterate an important lesson. Whenever an animal nails you, it’s not the animal’s fault. It’s your fault.
“I was sitting nose-to-nose with the little bloke,” he said. “Of course he was going to bite me.” He held no contempt for the lizard. Meanwhile, the crew and I were still recovering. We laughed so hard tears streamed down our faces. The lizard seemed to smile himself as he ran off and skittered up a log. "
― Terri Irwin , Steve & Me
166
" Time and time again, Charlie hurled himself straight at Steve, a half ton of reptile flesh exploding up out of the water a few feet away from me. I tried to hang on precariously and keep the boat counterbalanced. I didn’t want Steve to lose his footing and topple in. Charlie was one angry crocodile. He would have loved nothing more than to get his teeth into Steve.
As Charlie used his powerful tail to propel himself out of the water, he arched his neck and opened his jaws wide, whipping his head back and forth, snapping and gnashing. Steve carefully threw the top-jaw rope, but he didn’t actually want to snag Charlie. Then he would have had to get the rope off without stressing the croc, and that would have been tricky.
The cameras rolled. Charlie lunged. I cowered. Steve continued to deftly toss the rope. Then, all of a sudden, Charlie swung at the rope instead of Steve, and the rope went right over Charlie’s top jaw. A perfect toss, provided that had been what Steve was trying to do. But it wasn’t. We had a roped croc on our hands that we really didn’t want.
Steve immediately let the rope go slack. Charlie had it snagged in his teeth. Because of Steve’s quick thinking and prompt maneuvering, the rope came clear. We breathed a collective sigh of relief.
Steve looked up at the cameras. “I think you’ve got it.”
John agreed. “I think we do, mate. "
― Terri Irwin , Steve & Me
167
" We got back on the road, heading west. I remember my thoughts as we ventured into the Simpson Desert. There’s nothing out here. The landscape was flat and lifeless. Except for the occasional jump-up--a small mesa that rose twenty or thirty feet above the desert floor-it just looked like dirt, sticks, and dead trees. The Simpson Desert is one of the hottest places on earth.
But Steve brought the desert to life, pointing out lizards, echidnas, and all kinds of wildlife. He made it into a fantastic journey.
In the middle of this vast landscape were the two of us, the only people for miles. Steve had become adept at eluding the film crew from time to time so we could be alone. There was a local cattle station about an hour-and-a-half drive from where we were filming, a small homestead in the middle of nowhere. The owners invited the whole crew over for a home-cooked meal. Steve and I stayed in the bush, and Bob and Lyn headed to one of their favorite camping spots. After having dinner, the crew couldn’t locate us. They searched in the desert for a while before deciding to sleep in the car. What was an uncomfortable night for them turned out to be a brilliant night for us!
Steve made it romantic without being traditional. His idea of a beautiful evening was building a roaring campfire, watching a spectacular sunset, and cooking a curry dinner for me in a camp oven. Then we headed out spotlighting, looking for wildlife for hours on end. It was fantastic, like the ultimate Easter egg hunt. I never knew what we’d find.
When Steve did discover something that night--the tracks of a huge goanna, or a tiny gecko hiding under a bush--he reveled in his discovery. His excitement was contagious, and I couldn’t help but become excited too.
The best times in my life were out in the bush with Steve. "
― Terri Irwin , Steve & Me
170
" Steve took people at their own merits. He was not overwhelmed or overly impressed by anybody for their star quality. It didn’t matter if it was the publican in Windorah or a movie star in Los Angeles. He reacted to people as individuals.
“I liked Eddie,” he said, when I asked him how the shoot went. “He’s a talented man, very professional, and easy to work with.”
But after spending a few days in Eddie Murphy’s world, Steve pondered how the man coped with being constantly in the limelight. It was unending for Murphy. People wanted a piece of him all the time--a photograph, an autograph, a few words. Steve wondered how someone could lead a life like that. With more and more viewers in the States tuning in to Animal Planet, he was about to find out.
I think that’s why Steve felt so grounded living in Australia. The population of the country is twenty million, spread over an area the size of the United States. There are still plenty of places in the vast Australian wilderness where he could get away from it all, places where he could drive for days without seeing another person. Although Steve understood the importance of working and filming in America, he always swore he would never leave his home in Australia. "
― Terri Irwin , Steve & Me
171
" Watching Steve around the camp was witnessing a man at one with his environment. Steve had spent all his life perfecting his bush skills, first learning them at his father’s side when he was a boy. He hero-worshiped Bob and finally became like his dad and then some.
Steve took all the knowledge he’d acquired over the years and added his own experience. Nothing seemed to daunt him, from green ants, mozzies, sand flies, and leeches, to constant wet weather. On Cape York we faced the obvious wildlife hazards, including feral pigs, venomous snakes, and huge crocodiles. I never saw Steve afraid of anything, except the chance of harm coming to someone he loved.
He learned how to take care of himself over the years he spent alone in the bush. But as his life took a sharp turn, into the unknown territory of celebrity-naturalist, he suddenly found himself with a whole film crew to watch out for.
Filming wildlife documentaries couldn’t have happened without John Stainton, our producer. Steve always referred to John as the genius behind the camera, and that was true. The music orchestration, the editing, the knowledge of what would make good television and what wouldn’t--these were all areas of John’s clear expertise.
But on the ground, under the water, or in the bush, while we were actually filming, it was 100 percent Steve. He took care of the crew and eventually his family as well, while filming in some of the most remote, inaccessible, and dangerous areas on earth.
Steve kept the cameraman alive by telling him exactly when to shoot and when to run. He orchestrated what to film and where to film, and then located the wildlife. Steve’s first rule, which he repeated to the crew over and over, was a simple one: Film everything, no matter what happens.
“If something goes wrong,” he told the crew, “you are not going to be of any use to me lugging a camera and waving your other arm around trying to help. Just keep rolling. Whatever the sticky situation is, I will get out of it.”
Just keep rolling. Steve’s mantra. "
― Terri Irwin , Steve & Me
172
" Bindi the Jungle Girl aired on July 18, 2007, on ABC (Channel 2) in Australia, and we were so proud. Bindi’s determination to carry on her father’s legacy was a testament to everything Steve believed in. He had perfectly combined his love for his family with his love for conservation and leaving the world a better place. Now this love was perfectly passed down to his kids.
The official beginning of Bindi’s career was a fantastic day. All the time and effort, and joy and sorrow of the past year culminated in this wonderful series. Now everyone was invited to see Bindi’s journey, first filming with her dad, and then stepping up and filming with Robert and me. It was also a chance to experience one more time why Steve was so special and unique, to embrace him, to appreciate him, and to celebrate his life. "
― Terri Irwin , Steve & Me
173
" Ironically enough, when we returned to the zoo, the Dr. Dolittle cameo almost came true. We had to transfer a big female crocodile named Toolakea to another enclosure. Steve geared up for the move as he always did.
“Don’t think about catching Toolakea,” he instructed his crew, me included, before we ever got near to the enclosure. “If you’re concentrating on catching her, she’ll know it. We’ll never get a top-jaw rope on. Crocs know when they’re being hunted.”
For millions of years, wild animals have evolved to use every sense to tune into the world around them. Steve understood that their survival depended on it. So as I approached the enclosure, I thought of mowing the lawn, or doing the croc show, or picking hibiscus flowers to feed the lizards. Anything but catching Toolakea.
It went like clockwork. Steve top-jaw-roped Toolakea, and we all jumped her. He decided that since she was only a little more than nine feet long, we would be able to just lift her over the fence and carry her to her other enclosure.
Steve never built his enclosures with gates. He knew that sooner or later, someone could make a mistake and not latch a gate properly. We had to be masters at fence jumping. He picked up Toolakea around her shoulders with her neck held firmly against his upper arm. This would protect his face if she started struggling. The rest of us backed him up and helped to lift Toolakea over the fence.
All of a sudden she exploded, twisting and writhing in everyone’s arms.
“Down, down, down,” Steve shouted. That was our signal to pin the crocodile again before picking her up. Not everyone reacted quickly enough. As Steve moved to the ground, the people on the tail were still standing up. That afforded Toolakea the opportunity to twist her head around and grab hold of Steve’s thigh.
The big female croc sank her teeth deep into his flesh. I never realized it until later. Steve didn’t flinch. He settled the crocodile on the ground, keeping her eyes covered to quiet her down. We lifted her again. This time she cleared the fence easily. I noticed the blood trickling down Steve’s leg.
We got to the other enclosure before I asked what had happened, and he showed me. There were a dozen tears in the fabric of his khaki shorts. A half dozen of Toolakea’s teeth had gotten through to his flesh, putting a number of puncture holes in his upper thigh.
As usual, Steve didn’t bother with the wound. He cleaned it out and carried on, but even after his leg had healed, he couldn’t feel the temperature accurately on his leg. Once, about a month after the incident, I got a drink out of the fridge and rested it on his thigh.
“I can feel something there,” he said.
“Hot or cold?” I quizzed.
“I don’t know,” he said.
The croc-torn khaki shorts he wore that day made an amazing souvenir for a lucky sponsor of the zoo. People who donated a certain amount of money to our conservation efforts received a bonus in return: one of Steve’s uniforms and a photograph of him in it. Steve was very proud to include his khakis with teeth holes in them as the gift for a generous supporter. "
― Terri Irwin , Steve & Me
175
" After Bindi’s show launched, it seemed so appropriate that another project we had been working on for many months came to fruition. We found an area of 320,000 acres in Cape York Peninsula, bordered on one side by the Dulcie River and on the other side by the Wenlock River--some of the best crocodile country in the world. It was one of the top spots in Australia, and the most critically important habitat in the state of Queensland. Prime Minister John Howard, along with the Queensland government, dedicated $6.3 million to obtaining this land, in memory of Steve.
On July 22, 2007, the Steve Irwin Wildlife Reserve became official. This piece of land means so much to the Irwin family, and I know what it would have meant to Steve. Ultimately, it meant the protection of his crocodiles, the animals he loved so much. "
― Terri Irwin , Steve & Me
176
" That small flock of mergansers was so special to me because we didn’t have any pets. They knew me, they would come up to me when I called, and they would nuzzle me with their tiny beaks. I wanted to keep them forever. But I had to learn an important lesson about wildlife. My dad used my room as an example.
“Look around,” he said. In my bedroom was everything that I loved--my nice soft bed, my favorite toys, and great big sunny windows. I loved my room.
“I want you to imagine something,” said my dad. “Imagine if you could never leave this room. We’d bring in all your favorite food, and maybe you could have a TV and radio in here, but you still couldn’t ever leave. Would you be happy?”
I knew what he was getting at. “Maybe for a little while,” I replied.
“For a little while,” he repeated.
We introduced the ducks back in the wild. Afterward, I thought about how it all made sense to me. No matter how nice the place is where you live, you need to experience life and the world. "
― Terri Irwin , Steve & Me
177
" Steve and Bob worked together for several nights, moving one freshie after another out of a section of river that was about to be dammed. On their last night, while Bob wrangled one croc in the boat, Steve caught the red-eye shine of another with his spotlight.
He alerted his father. “Get up in front,” Bob said. “Hold him with your spotty.”
That’s when Steve realized that this capture was going to be different. He was in the front of the boat--which meant that he would be the one leaping on top of the croc in the water.
“Bob and I both thought it was a small one,” Steve recalled.
“But it wasn’t,” I said.
“It was bigger than I was,” Steve said, shaking his head in disbelief at the memory.
Bob made him wait until the last possible moment to jump. Steve kept his light shining into the croc’s eyes.
“Okay, I got him,” Bob said. He turned his own torch on and shined the croc. That was Steve’s signal to drop his own spotty and get ready to jump.
“Wait, wait, wait,” Bob cautioned, and the dinghy moved closer. Bob could barely contain his son, who was bursting with excitement. “Now!”
Steve leaped. As soon as he did, he realized that he had misjudged the croc’s size. It wasn’t a three-footer. It was more like four or five feet long, easily matching his weight.
The croc dove. No matter what, I’m not letting go, Steve thought. There was no way he was going to let his dad down. Just as Steve was about to run out of air, he felt his father’s strong arm reach down to bring both Steve and the croc into the boat.
Steve told me that when he looked at Bob’s face, he could see both worry and pride. Worry because Steve had actually been out of sight in the murky water for a long moment--and pride because he made a perfect capture, his first time out.
“Dad started grinning from ear to ear,” Steve recalled. “I had jumped my first croc. Even though I was only nine, it was one of the biggest moments of my life. "
― Terri Irwin , Steve & Me
179
" We had been looking at some land adjoining the zoo and decided to purchase it in order to expand. There was a small house on the new property, nothing too grand, just a modest home built of brick, with three bedrooms and one bathroom. We liked the seclusion of the place most of all. The builder had tucked it in behind a macadamia orchard, but it was still right next door to the zoo. We could be part of the zoo yet apart from it at the same time. Perfect.
“Make this house exactly the way you want it,” Steve told me. “This is going to be our home.”
He dedicated himself to getting us moved in. I knew this would be our last stop. We wouldn’t be moving again. We laid new carpet and linoleum and installed reverse-cycle air-conditioning and heat. Ah, the luxury of having a climate-controlled house. I installed stained-glass windows in the bathroom with wildlife-themed panes, featuring a jabiru, a crocodile, and a big goanna. We also used wildlife tiles throughout, of dingoes, whales, and kangaroos. We made the house our own.
We worked on the exterior grounds as well. Steve transplanted palm trees from his parents’ place on the Queensland coast and erected fences for privacy. He designed a circular driveway. As he laid the concrete, he put his own footprints and handprints in the wet cement. Then he ran into the house to fetch Bindi and me.
“Come on,” he said. “Let’s all do it.” We grabbed Sui, too, and put her paw prints in, and then did Bindi, who was just eight months old. It took a couple of tries, but we got her handprints and her footprints as well, and then my own. We stood back and admired the time capsule we had created.
That afternoon the rains came. The Sunshine Coast is usually bright and dry, but when it rains, the heavens open. We worried about all the concrete we had worked on getting pitted and ruined.
“Get something,” Steve shouted, scrambling to gather up his tools. I ran into the house. I couldn’t find a plastic drop cloth quickly enough, so I grabbed one of my best sheets off the bed. As I watched the linen turn muddy and gray in the rain, I consoled myself. In the future I won’t care that I ruined the sheet, I thought. I’ll just be thankful that I preserved our footprints and handprints.
“It’s our cave,” Steve said of our new home. We never entertained. The zoo was our social place. Living so close by, we could have easily gotten overwhelmed, so we made it a practice never to have people over. It wasn’t unfriendliness, it was simple self-preservation. Our brick residence was for our family: Steve and me, Bindi, Sui, and Shasta. "
― Terri Irwin , Steve & Me
180
" We trapped several smaller females, all around the nine-foot mark. That’s when Steve stepped back and let the all-girl team take over: all the women in camp, zoo workers mainly, myself, and others. We would jump on the croc, help secure the tracking device, and let her go.
At one point Steve trapped a female that he could see was small and quiet. He turned to Bindi. “How would you like to jump the head?”
Bindi’s eyes lit up. This was what she had been waiting for. Once Steve removed the croc from the trap and secured its jaws, the next step was for the point person to jump the croc’s head. Everybody else on the team followed immediately afterward, pinning the crocodile’s body.
“Don’t worry,” I said to Bindi. “I’ll back you up.” Or maybe I was really talking to Steve. He was nervous as he slipped the croc out of its mesh trap. He hovered over the whole operation, knowing that if anything went amiss, he was right there to help.
“Ready, and now!” he said. Bindi flung herself on the head of the crocodile. I came in right over her back. The rest of the girls jumped on immediately, and we had our croc secured.
“Let’s take a photo with the whole family,” Professor Franklin said. Bindi sat proudly at the crocodile’s head, her hand casually draped over its eyes. Steve was in the middle, holding up the croc’s front legs. Next in line was me. Finally, Robert had the tail. This shot ended up being our 2006 family Christmas card.
I look at it now and it makes me laugh out loud. The family that catches crocs together, rocks together. The Irwin family motto.
Steve, Bindi, and I are all smiling. But then there is Robert’s oh-so-serious face. He has a top-jaw rope wrapped around his body, with knots throughout. He took his job seriously. He had the rope and was ready as the backup. He was on that croc’s tail. It was all about catching crocs safely, mate. No mucking around here.
As we idled back in to camp, Robert said, “Can I please drive the boat?”
“Crikey, mate, you are two years old,” Steve said. “I’ll let you drive the boat next year.”
But then, quite suddenly and without a word, Steve scooped Robert up and sat him up next to the outboard. He put the tiller in his hand.
“Here’s what you do, mate,” Steve said, and he began to explain how to drive the boat. He seemed in a hurry to impart as much wisdom to his son as possible.
Robert spent the trip jumping croc tails, driving the boat, and tying knots. Steve created a croc made of sticks and set it on a sandbar. He pulled the boat up next to it, and he, Robert, and Bindi went through all the motions of jumping the stick-croc.
“I’m going to say two words,” Robert shouted, imitating his father. “’Go,’ and ‘Now.’ First team off on ‘Go,’ second team off on ‘Now.’” Then he’d yell “Go, now” at the top of his lungs. He and Steve jumped up as if the stick-croc was about to swing around and tear their arms off.
“Another croc successfully caught, mate,” Steve said proudly. Robert beamed with pride too.
When he got back to Croc One, Robert wrangled his big plush crocodile toy. I listened, incredulous, as my not-yet-three-year-old son muttered the commands of a seasoned croc catcher. He had all the lingo down, verbatim.
“Get me a twelve-millimeter rope,” Robert commanded. “I need a second one. Get that top-jaw rope under that tooth, yep, the eye tooth, get it secured. We’ll need a third top-jaw rope for this one. Who’s got a six-millimeter rope? Hand me my Leatherman. Cut that rope here. Get that satellite tracker on.”
The stuffed animal thoroughly secured, Robert made as if to brush off his little hands. “Professor Franklin,” he announced in his best grown-up voice, “it’s your croc. "
― Terri Irwin , Steve & Me
