Terri Irwin Quotes

Until the day comes when the senseless killing ends, we will all have to fight like wildlife warriors to protect our precious planet.

Then, just as we were to leave on a whirlwind honeymoon in the beautiful Pacific Northwest, a call came from Australia. Steve's friend John Stainton had word that a big croc had been frequenting areas too close to civilization, and someone had been taking potshots at him.
"It's a big one, Stevo, maybe fourteen or fifteen feet," John said over the phone. "I hate to catch you right at this moment, but they're going to kill him unless he gets relocated."
John was one of Australia's award-winning documentary filmmakers. He and Steve had met in the late 1980s, when Steve would help John shoot commercials that required a zoo animal like a lizard or a turtle. But their friendship did not really take off until 1990, when an Australian beer company hired John to film a tricky shot involving a crocodile.
He called Steve. "They want a bloke to toss a coldie to another bloke, but a croc comes out of the water and snatches at it. The guy grabs the beer right in front of the croc's jaws. You think that's doable?"
"Sure, mate, no problem at all," Steve said with his usual confidence. "Only one thing, it has to be my hand in front of the croc."
John agreed. He journeyed up to the zoo to film the commercial. It was the first time he had seen Steve on his own turf, and he was impressed. He was even more impressed when the croc shoot went off flawlessly.
Monty, the saltwater crocodile, lay partially submerged in his pool. An actor fetched a coldie from the esky and

I know what we have to do!" he said, extremely excited.
He pulled me into the living room, sat me down, and took my hands in his. Looking intensely into my eyes, he said, "Babe, we've got to have children."
Wow, I thought, that must have been some fire.
"Ok-aaay," I said.
"You don't understand, you don't understand!" he said, trying to catch me up to his thoughts. "Everything we've been working for, the zoo that we've been building up, all of our efforts to protect wildlife, it will all stop with us!"
As with every good idea that came into his head, Steve wanted to act on it immediately. Just take it in stride, I said to myself. But he was so sincere. We'd talked about having children before, but for some reason it hit him that the time was now.
"We have got to have children," he said. "I know that if we have kids, they will carry on when we're gone."
"Great," I said. "Let's get right on that.

I have seen Tasmanian devils battle over a carcass. I have seen lionesses crowding a kill, dingoes on the trail of a feral piglet, and adult croc thrashing its prey to pieces. But never, in all the animal world, have I witnessed anything to match the casual cruelty of the human being.

Even on the road, we continued our efforts to conceive. Part of our boy-baby effort was the need to try right at the time of ovulation. I packed an ovulation kit with me everywhere. When the strip turned blue, it meant we had a twenty-four- to forty-eight-hour window to get busy.
At first I had Steve convinced that women ovulated twenty or thirty times a month. But I couldn't trick him forever. At some point he realized that that was impossible.

Our life together was filled with contrasts. One week we were croc hunting with Dateline in Cape York. Only a short time after that, Steve and I found ourselves out of our element entirely, at the CableACE Award banquet in Los Angeles.
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. After the awards ceremony, we got roped into an after-party that was not our cup of tea.
Everyone wore tuxedos. Steve wore khaki. Everyone drank, smoked, and made small talk, none of which Steve did at all. We got separated, and I saw him across the room looking quite claustrophobic. I sidled over.
"Why don't we just go back up to our room?" I whispered into his ear. This proved to be a terrific idea. It fit in nicely with our plans for starting a family, and it was quite possibly the best seven minutes of my life!
After our stay in Los Angeles, Steve flew directly back to the zoo, while I went home by way of one my favorite places in the world, Fiji. We were very interested in working there with crested iguanas, a species under threat. I did some filming for the local TV station and checked out a population of the brilliantly patterned lizards on the Fijian island of Yadua Taba.
When I got back to Queensland, I discovered that I was, in fact, expecting. Steve and I were over the moon. I couldn't believe how thrilled he w

There was a big wide world out there. We were just a small wildlife park in Australia. It was absurd to think the two of us could change the world. But our love seemed to make the impossible appear not only possible, but inevitable.
I look back on the talk we had during the ride to the zoo from Cattle Creek as helping to create the basis of our marriage. No matter what problems came along, we were determined to stay together, because side by side we could face anything.

The family that catches crocs together, rocks together. The Irwin family motto.

Bindi and I had been in Oregon for a few days, visiting family, and we planned to catch up with Steve in Las Vegas. But she and I had an ugly incident at the airport when we arrived. A Vegas lowlife approached us, his hat pulled down, big sunglasses on his face, and displaying some of the worst dentistry I've ever seen.
He leered at us, obviously drunk or crazy, and tried to kiss me. I backed off rapidly and looked for Steve. I knew I could rely on him to take care of any creep I encountered.
Then it dawned on me: The creep was Steve. In order to move around the airport without anyone recognizing him, he put on false teeth and changed his usual clothes. I didn't recognize my own husband out of his khakis.
I burst out laughing. Bindi was wide-eyed. "Look, it's your daddy." It took her a while before she was sure.

I knew this was the best therapy for him. Surfing at Boulders was downright dangerous, but Steve reveled in the challenge. He surfed with Wes, his best mate in the world. I sat on a rocky point with my eye glued to the camera so I wouldn't miss a single wave. While Bindi gathered shells and played on the beach under her nanny's watchful eye, I admired Steve with his long arms and broad shoulders, powerfully paddling onto wave after wave.
Not even the Pacific Ocean with its most powerful sets could slow him down. He caught the most amazing barrels I have ever seen, and carved up the waves with such ferocity that I didn't want the camera to miss a single moment.
On the beach in Samoa, while Bindi helped her dad wax his board, I caught a glimpse of joy in eyes that had been so sad.

Devils can be quite comical little animals, intense and wild. The Looney Tunes cartoon character "Taz" is an exaggeration, of course, because devils only spin like Taz if they're kept too confined.

I soon learned that it is always easier for a bureaucrat to say no. They can't get in trouble saying no.

On trial were two men, one in a plaid shirt, and the other with a long, ZZ Top-style beard. They looked intimated by the crowd that had turned out, even though Plaid Shirt stood six foot four. He was the main perpetrator, charged with animal cruelty. He had brought his young son along during the bear killing for which he was on trial.
The main reason the state managed to bring charges is that the hunters had made a videotape of their gruesome acts. The state trooper who confiscated the video couldn't even testify at the time of the trial, he was so emotionally overcome.
Then they showed the video in court, and I understood why. ZZ Top and Plaid Shirt cornered the bear cub. In order to preserve the integrity of the pelt, they attempted to kill the cub by stabbing it in the eyes.
It was absolutely gut-wrenching to watch. The bear struggled for its life, but Plaid Shirt kept thrusting his knife, moving back as the animal twisted frantically away, then moving forward to stab again. The bear cub screamed, and it sounded eerily as though the bear was actually crying "Mama," over and over. Plaid Shirt and ZZ Top sat unfazed in court. The bear screamed, "Mama, mama, mama." From my place in the gallery, I watched as a towering man in a police uniform burst into tears and walked out of the courtroom. At the end of the video, Plaid Shirt brought his nine-year-old son over to stand triumphantly next to the dead bear cub.
"Clearly, you deserve jail," the judge told Pla

One night, as I cooked dinner in our home on the zoo grounds, I brooded over my troubles. I didn't want to spend the evening feeling sorry for myself, so I thought about Steve out in the back, fire-gazing. He was a very lucky man, because for Steve, fire-gazing literally meant getting to build a roaring fire and sitting beside it, to contemplate life.
Suddenly I heard him come thundering up the front stairs. He burst wild-eyed into the kitchen. He's been nailed by a snake, I thought immediately. I didn't know what was going on.
"I know what we have to do!" he said, extremely excited.
He pulled me into the living room, sat me down, and took my hands in his. Looking intensely into my eyes, he said, "Babe, we've got to have children."
Wow, I thought, that must have been some fire.
"Ok-aaay," I said.
"You don't understand, you don't understand!" he said, trying to catch me up to his thoughts. "Everything we've been working for, the zoo that we've been building up, all of our efforts to protect wildlife, it will all stop with us!"
As with every good idea that came into his head, Steve wanted to act on it immediately. Just take it in stride, I said to myself. But he was so sincere. We'd talked about having children before, but for some reason it hit him that the time was now.
"We have got to have children," he said. "I know that if we have kids, they will carry on when we're gone."
"Great," I said. "Let's get right on that."
Steve k

I have great faith that there's a master plan and that even if we don't understand it and even if it's heartbreaking, there's a reason for everything. And I hold on to that.

As I write this, I am still waiting for Steve to walk through the door. His sarong still hangs on the bed. His toothbrush is in the bathroom.
Reality is sinking in more and more. Bindi and I have a lot of heart-to-heart talks. These seem to help her, just like when she was younger and lost a special koala named Wilson. Wilson died of renal failure and is buried in our backyard. I felt thankful that over the years, I had set the foundation of faith with Bindi.
"As hard as it is to understand, there was a reason for all of this," I told her. "One day it will be clear."
Robert is like a pitiful puppy, and he still waits patiently for his daddy to come home from heaven. I hadn't been prepared for how devastated Robert would be. Some nights he sits in the bathtub and cries. "I want my daddy," he says, over and over. It absolutely tears my heart out.

With the news that he would soon be a daddy again, Steve seemed inspired to work even harder. Our zoo continued to get busier, and we had trouble coping with the large numbers. The biggest draw was the crocodiles. Crowds poured in for the croc shows, filling up all the grandstands. The place was packed.
Steve came up with a monumental plan. He was a big fan of the Colosseum-type arenas of the Roman gladiator days. He sketched out his idea for me on a piece of paper.
"Have a go at this, it's a coliseum," he declared, his eyes wide with excitement. He drew an oval, then a series of smaller ovals in back of it. "Then we have crocodile ponds where the crocs could live. Every day a different croc could come out for the show and swim through a canal system"--he sketched rapidly--"then come out in the main area."
"Canals," I said. "Could you get them to come in on cue?"
"Piece of cake!" he said. "And get this! We call it…the Crocoseum!"
His enthusiasm was contagious. Never mind that nothing like this had ever been done before. Steve was determined to take the excitement and hype of the ancient Roman gladiators and combine it with the need to show people just how awesome crocs really were.
But it was a huge project. There was nothing to compare it to, because nothing even remotely similar had ever been attempted anywhere in the world. I priced it out: The budget to build the arena would have to be somewhere north of eight million dollars, a huge expense.

When your hero dies, everything he stood for does not end. Everything he stood for must continue.

The best times in my life were out in the bush with Steve.

That night, lying exhausted in my swag, covered with salt water and river mud, I had a single thought running through my mind over and over. Thank God that Steve was there. Wherever I was in the Australian bush, whatever I was doing, I resolved that Steve had to be with me. I felt that as long as he was there, no matter what accident or incident happened, I knew I would be fine.
It wasn't just that I knew Steve would protect me and that his knowledge of the bush was so complete. I was beginning to sense something we would both come to feel and talk about seriously. When we were together, nothing bad would happen. Apart, we might be vulnerable. It was hard to explain, but it was as if the universe had brought us together and now we were as one. Whatever it was, we both felt it.

John was one of Australia's award-winning documentary filmmakers. He and Steve had met in the late 1980s, when Steve would help John shoot commercials that required a zoo animal like a lizard or a turtle. But their friendship did not really take off until 1990, when an Australian beer company hired John to film a tricky shot involving a crocodile.
He called Steve. "They want a bloke to toss a coldie to another bloke, but a croc comes out of the water and snatches at it. The guy grabs the beer right in front of the croc's jaws. You think that's doable?"
"Sure, mate, no problem at all," Steve said with his usual confidence. "Only one thing, it has to be my hand in front of the croc.

I was an avid reader of Surf Life magazine, and I was surprised to discover a write-up of our Tasmanian visit. It made me proud to read how impressed those guys were with Steve's surfing abilities. One incident that didn't make the article was when Steve came partway to shore while I watched him from the beach. All of a sudden he stripped off his wet suit. It was winter and quite cold.
"What are you doing?" I called out.
He stood in the icy water. "This is how dedicated I am to having a boy baby," he said, with a mischievous grin.
I said, "I think you're just supposed to keep them cool, not actually freeze them off."
He laughed. But I knew this was Steve's way of encouraging me to stick to the boy-baby diet. Did I mention that I could not eat chocolate? The sacrifices we make for love.

He was a meteor. Harriet was more of a mountain. In this world, we need both.

We'd purchased conservation land over a period of many years, and we were attempting to restore the native bush. We began planting eucalypts not long after we bought the property. First we planted dozens, then hundreds, and finally thousands. Steve worked into the night planting trees. If the rain didn't come immediately, he would dutifully water each and every seedling. We had high hopes that one day the land would offer refuge to everything from koalas to phascogales.
"It will take a lifetime to establish these trees," he said. "But one day they will be big, they will have hollows, and there will be a place where animals can live again." Even in its raw, cattle-ravaged state, the land was heaven. The rufous bettongs were out in force every night, and the white-winged choughs flew down to keep an eye on us whenever we worked.
We had pieced together land parcels for a total of six hundred and fifty acres. This was the property Lyn and Bob were taking over in 1999.

All of a sudden he stripped off his wet suit. It was winter and quite cold.
"What are you doing?" I called out.
He stood in the icy water. "This is how dedicated I am to having a boy baby," he said, with a mischievous grin.
I said, "I think you're just supposed to keep them cool, not actually freeze them off."
He laughed.

Great sex is why we're so happily married!

G'day, mate," said the voice on the other end of the line. "It's Stevo calling from Australia. How you going?"
Well, for starters, I was going without breathing for a few moments.

Bindi, Robert, and I would do our best to make sure that Steve's light wasn't hidden under a bushel. It would continue to sine as we worked together to protect all wildlife and all wild places.

Steve continued our serious discussion, and he spoke of his mortality. He was convinced that he would never reach forty. That's why he was in such a hurry all the time, to get as much done as he could. He didn't feel sad about it. He only felt the motivation to make a difference before he was gone.
"I'm not afraid of death," he said. "I'm only afraid of dying. I don't want to get sick and dwindle. I love working hard and playing hard and living hard, and making every moment count.

When I was a kid, they'd say, "What do you want to be when you grow up?" kids would go Wonder Woman, an astronaut. Do you know what I always said? World domination - so we're on our way.

You completely rediscovered & relived everything to do with wildlife.

Over the course of two years, from June 2004 to June 2006, two separate deaths did nothing to ease my overall anxiety. Steve's beloved Staffordshire bull terrier Sui died of cancer in June 2004. He had set up his swag and slept beside her all night, talking to her, recalling old times in the bush catching crocodiles, and comforting her.
Losing Sui brought up memories of losing Chilli a decade and a half earlier. "I am not getting another dog," Steve said. "It is just too painful."
Wes, the most loyal friend anyone could have, was there for Steve while Sui passed from this life to the next. Wes shared in Steve's grief. They had known Sui longer than Steve and I had been together.
Two years after Sui's death, in June 2006, we lost Harriet. At 175, Harriet was the oldest living creature on earth. She had met Charles Darwin and sailed on the Beagle. She was our link to the past at the zoo, and beyond that, our link to the great scientist himself. She was a living museum and an icon of our zoo.
The kids and I were headed to Fraser Island, along the southern coast of Queensland, with Joy, Steve's sister, and her husband, Frank, our zoo manager, when I heard the news. An ultrasound had confirmed that Harriet had suffered a massive heart attack.
Steve called me. "I think you'd better come home."
"I should talk to the kids about this," I said.
Bindi was horrified. "How long is Harriet going to live?" she asked.
"Maybe hours, maybe days, but not

The only way you find what your limits are is by pushing them.

Hearing the footsteps of his mortality made Steve all the more focused on family. We had a beautiful daughter. Now we wanted a boy.
"One of each would be perfect," Steve said. Seeing the way he played with Bindi made me eager to have another child. Bindi and Steve played together endlessly. Steve was like a big kid himself and could always be counted on for stacks of fun.
I had read about how, through nutrition management, it was possible to sway the odds for having either a boy or a girl. I ducked down to Melbourne to meet with a nutritionist. She gave me all the information for "the boy-baby diet."
I had to cut out dairy, which meant no milk, cheese, yogurt, cottage cheese, or cream cheese. In fact, it was best to cut out calcium altogether. Also, I couldn't have nuts, shellfish, or, alas, chocolate. That was the tough one. Maybe having two girls wouldn't be bad after all.
For his part in our effort to skew our chances toward having a boy, Steve had to keep his nether regions as cool as possible. He was gung ho.
"I'm going to wear an onion bag instead of underpants, babe," he said. "Everything is going to stay real well ventilated." But it was true that keeping his bits cool was an important part of the process, so he made the sacrifice and did his best.