Quotes from Terri Irwin

It was after this trip to our conservation property in the Brigalow Belt that I discovered I was pregnant. I tried to let Steve know by sitting down at the table and tucking into a bowl of ice cream and pickles. "What are you doing?" asked a totally confused Steve. I explained, and we were both totally overjoyed, keeping our fingers crossed for a boy to go along with our darling daughter.

What do you do if you get nailed by this poison?" The bushmen smiled broadly. "We die," they said.

Steve was right. Bringing people into close proximity to wildlife was all you had to do.

This wasn't just a film trip, it was also our honeymoon. Steve would sometimes escape the camera crew and take us up a tributary to be alone. We watched the fireflies come out. I'd never seen fireflies in Oregon. The magical little insects glowed everywhere, in the bushes and in the air. The darker it got, the brighter their blue lights burned on and off. I had arrived in a fairyland.

The emotional roller coaster of rescue work never seemed to end. I named my facility "Cougar Country" to highlight my focus, but I found myself called to help many different animals--in veterinarians' offices, in the field, in classrooms and courtrooms. Somehow I kept it all together, and ran Westates Flagman, too. My day had forty-eight hours. It helped that I had no social life.

I learned so much from Steve. He helped me reevaluate my own purpose, my own life. What would happen if I didn't make it to forty? What legacy would I leave?

Completely naïve about Australia's importation and quarantine regulations, I nevertheless thought that surely there might be some opportunities down under for people doing educational work with wildlife, who might be able to take a cougar. Visiting Australia again, I thought, might not be a bad idea. How could I have known then that my decision would result, only a short time later, in a chance meeting with the man who would change my life?

The Queensland Museum verified that it was an undescribed species that would be called Irwin's turtle-- Elseya irwini, forever named after Steve.

As we sat together on a mid-river boulder, the shadows crossed the water and the sun sank lower. We looked into each other's eyes and talked about all the things we loved. I realized then that there was no turning back: I had fallen in love with Steve.

Steve got up before me and left to check the trap. The fire was already going when I crawled out of my swag. I relived the events of the night before over my cup of tea. I heard the boat motor and saw that Steve was coming back, so I got up and ran down to the riverbank to meet him. "We got one," he said, breathless. "A croc went in that trap after all, mate." "I guess maybe my splashing around attracted it," I said with a grin. He laughed.

Make sure they don't have any newspaper in with them," Steve said. "They'll hide under it, won't get any sun, and get too cold." Getting too hot was also a potential problem. Out in the bush, a lizard could sit on a rock virtually all day in the sun and be "fine as frog's hair," as Steve would say. The same lizard in an enclosure could not last in ten minutes in the sun. They needed to be able to thermoregulate themselves.

I felt pleasantly tired, but Steve seemed more energized the longer we stayed in the bush. I would see it again and again over the years. This was where Steve belonged, and where he seemed most alive.

As John arranged to bring Steve home, the media pressure steadily increased. I told Wes I wanted to go meet the plane, but that I wouldn't take the kids. This was my time to be with my soul mate, and I needed to do it on my own.

My first hurdle came before we even left. Steve's little dog Sui was coming with us, and she realized that I would be taking her place next to Steve in the front of the truck. "Move over, Sui," I said. She turned and glared at me, for all the world like a jealous woman. I couldn't help but laugh. She was such a cute thing, and she looked at Steve with such rapture, joy, and love, that I had to forgive her for hating me.

The plane landed, and I had a moment to sit with Steve on my own. It was a bit of an effort to clamber up into the back of the plane. A simple wooden casket rested inside, still secured. I knew that who Steve was, his spirit and his soul, were no longer there, but it was strange how I couldn't cry. I sat down and leaned my head against the wooden box that held his body and felt such strange peace. In some way, we were together again.

Because he was filming a movie and not shooting a documentary, John had a more complex setup than usual, utilizing three thirty-five-millimeter cameras. Each one would film in staggered succession, so that the film magazine changes would never happen all at once. There would never be a time when film was not rolling. We couldn't very well ask a crocodile to wait while a fresh mag was loaded into a camera.

We were both covered in little flecks of wood, leaves, and bark. Steve's hair was unkempt, a couple of his shirt buttons were missing, and his shorts were torn. I thought he was the best-looking man I had ever seen in my life.

We toured the park, seeing parrots, wombats, and tiger snakes. "Koalas and primates," Dick said. "We'll get some koalas and primates and then we'll be set." I thought back to how many times Steve and I had said something similar. "Just one more species and then our zoo will be done." I was coming to realize that Australia Zoo would never be done. There were too many species in the world that needed our help.

We listened as he and his wife told us their wildlife stories. I wasn't sure why, but they seemed to really hate emus. I think it was because a panicked, running emu could put a hole right through the fence.

What'll it be?" Steve asked me, just days after our wedding. "Do we go on the honeymoon we've got planned, or do you want to go catch crocs?" My head was still spinning from the ceremony, the celebration, and the fact that I could now use the two words "my husband" and have them mean something real. The four months between February 2, 1992--the day Steve asked me to marry him--and our wedding day on June 4 had been a blur.

Steve's mother threw us an engagement party for Queensland friends and family, and I encountered a very common theme: "We never thought Steve would get married." Everyone said it--relatives, old friends, and schoolmates. I'd smile and nod, but my inner response was, Well, we've got that in common. And something else: Wait until I get home and tell everybody I am moving to Australia.

It was more than a wedding, it was saying good-bye to everyone I'd ever known. I invited everybody, even people who may not have been intimate friends. I even invited my dentist. The whole network of wildlife rehabilitators came too--four hundred people in all.

Steve was up for an award as host of the documentary Ten Deadliest Snakes in the World. He lost out to the legendary Walter Cronkite. Any time you lose to Walter Cronkite, you can't complain too much.

The cameras rolled. Charlie lunged. I cowered.