It was a baby wombat. Jesus. Fucking. Christ. “Oh, Travis,” I said. “No, no, no. Do you know what damage they cause?” I asked. “They dig holes. Big holes. The kind of holes that wreck the foundations of houses. And they bite.” “But his momma was dead,” Trav said, all blue eyes and disarming smiles. “And he’s really cute. I named him Nugget.” Oh, no. He’d named him already.
