The runner slows down and removes his headphones.

“Pardon?”

“Your bats.  I hear there are bats around here.  In your botanic garden,” I ask.

He looked around the Sydney Botanic Garden and attempted to catch his breath but there was a look of confusion on his face.

“I’m not sure what you mean” he said in a kind, Australian accent.

“Bats!  You know.  Sleep upside down?  Hunt at night?  Turn into vampires if you’re not careful?”

“You mean Flying Foxes?”

“Excuse me?”

“We call them Flying-Foxes.”

“Foxes don’t fly,” I scoff at the Australian runner.

“They’re over there.  If you stand up at the highway at dusk you can get the best pictures.”  He put his headphones back in and turned to run away.  A sound similar to “Stupid Yank” seemed to come from his direction, but it may have just been the wind.

While on a park tour in the Hunter Valley tour I asked our guide if there were any Flying Foxes in the woods where we were walking.

“Flying what?”

“Foxes…ya know.  Hunt at night.  Turn into vamp–”

“You mean bats?”