Just like Steve did, Bindi's got that strange communication with

Host:
The sun was rising over the edge of the Australian outback, spilling molten gold over the red earth and the eucalyptus trees. The air was warm, the kind of gentle heat that carries both life and memory. In the distance, a kookaburra’s call broke the silence — clear, echoing, wild.

A small campfire crackled in front of an old field truck, its smoke rising thin and blue against the early sky. Jack sat beside it, boots dusted, hands cupped around a tin mug of coffee. Jeeny stood a few feet away, camera slung over her shoulder, watching a pair of kangaroos grazing near the edge of the clearing.

Pinned to the door of the truck, written on a scrap of notepaper fluttering in the breeze, was a quote — faded but firm:

“Just like Steve did, Bindi’s got that strange communication with wildlife. It’s beautiful to watch, and it instills an empathy with all of us about just how important the animal kingdom is.” — Terri Irwin.

Jeeny: smiling faintly, her eyes following the kangaroos “You can see what she means, can’t you? That wordless connection. No fear. No dominance. Just… mutual recognition.”

Jack: half-smiling, staring into his coffee “Or maybe the animals just know she won’t hurt them. They’re not mind readers — they’re survivors. That’s instinct, not communication.”

Jeeny: “No, it’s more than that. You can feel it. When someone like Bindi walks into the bush, the air changes. The animals notice. She doesn’t intrude — she joins.”

Jack: “Sounds poetic. But empathy doesn’t feed crocodiles, Jeeny.”

Jeeny: turning toward him “It does something better — it reminds us we’re not the only species that matters.”

Host:
The wind picked up, rustling through the dry grass, carrying with it the scent of earth and rain from faraway clouds. The fire popped softly, throwing sparks into the light.

Jack: “I don’t know, Jeeny. Empathy’s easy to talk about when you’re surrounded by beauty. But out there, in the real world — factories, cities, deadlines — who’s got time to ‘connect’ with nature?”

Jeeny: “That’s exactly why we lose it, Jack. Because we think empathy is luxury, not responsibility.”

Jack: shrugs “People have bills to pay.”

Jeeny: “And the planet pays the bill for all of us. That’s the irony.”

Jack: pauses, looking toward the horizon “You make it sound like we’re the villains.”

Jeeny: “Not villains. Just… disconnected. Terri Irwin wasn’t talking about magic, Jack. She was talking about remembering our place — not above, but among.”

Host:
A bird — a cockatoo — swooped overhead, its wings flashing white in the sunlight, its cry sharp and thrilling. Jack’s eyes followed it instinctively, the movement breaking his usual composure.

Jack: quietly “You ever wonder why people like Steve Irwin mattered so much? I mean, he wasn’t just wrangling crocodiles — he was… passionate, reckless even. But people listened.”

Jeeny: nodding “Because he didn’t just show us the wild — he made us feel responsible for it. He treated every creature as if it had a soul worth saving. That kind of reverence is contagious.”

Jack: half-smiles “Reverence. That’s a word you don’t hear much anymore.”

Jeeny: “Because reverence requires humility — and humility’s rare in a world that thinks it owns everything.”

Jack: “You’re saying we’ve forgotten how to be small.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. And the animals never forgot.”

Host:
The light shifted as the sun climbed higher. The ground shimmered, the air beginning to hum with insects, life awakening in every hidden crevice. Jack took another slow sip of coffee, his expression changing — less cynical now, more contemplative.

Jack: “You know, when I was a kid, my father used to take me camping. Once, we found a baby possum that had fallen out of a tree. I wanted to keep it. He made me put it back, said, ‘It’s not yours, Jack. The world isn’t yours.’”

Jeeny: softly “He was right.”

Jack: nods “Yeah. I just didn’t understand it until now.”

Jeeny: “Maybe that’s what empathy really is — not pity, not saving things, but knowing when to step back.”

Jack: “You think that’s what Terri Irwin means — ‘communication’ with wildlife?”

Jeeny: “Yes. It’s not speech — it’s presence. When you meet another being — animal or human — without trying to change them. That’s communication at its purest.”

Jack: “You make it sound spiritual.”

Jeeny: smiles faintly “It is. Nature’s the oldest religion we ever had.”

Host:
The sky was blazing now — gold streaks giving way to white heat. A group of wild parrots burst out of a gum tree, their flight chaotic and graceful all at once. The camera of Jeeny’s mind, it seemed, caught everything — the color, the noise, the rhythm.

Jack: “So, empathy with animals teaches empathy with people?”

Jeeny: “Absolutely. If you can see divinity in a bird or a lizard or a wounded fox, you start seeing it everywhere. The boundaries blur.”

Jack: murmurs “Maybe that’s why people cry at nature documentaries.”

Jeeny: laughs softly “Exactly. They’re not crying for the whale — they’re crying for the part of themselves that still remembers how to care.”

Jack: nodding slowly “And we keep forgetting.”

Jeeny: “Yes. But empathy is a renewable resource — it grows back every time we pay attention.”

Host:
The fire had burned low now, its embers glowing like small hearts. The kangaroos had moved on, their shapes fading into the scrub. The world seemed to exhale, as if the morning itself had finished speaking.

Jack: “You know what’s strange? We talk about saving the planet as if the planet needs us. But maybe it’s the other way around. Maybe we’re the ones who need saving — from our detachment.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. That’s what empathy does — it reminds us we belong. Not as masters, but as participants. When Terri talked about Bindi’s gift, she was describing something ancient — the ability to listen to life.”

Jack: “And most of us are too loud to hear it.”

Jeeny: smiling softly “Yes. But quiet is a skill, Jack. And it starts with wonder.”

Host:
They both fell silent. The sunlight shimmered through the dust, turning the air into gold. A lone wallaby stood on a ridge in the distance, watching them curiously. It was a still moment — no noise, no performance — just the meeting of eyes across species, brief and eternal.

Jeeny: whispering “See that? That’s what she meant — the spirit coming through. The wild still recognizing the human heart.”

Jack: smiling faintly “Or maybe the other way around.”

Host:
The camera would pull back then — the vast, unending Australian landscape stretching in every direction, the sound of wind moving through the trees, a whisper of the wild world still alive and watching.

In the center of it, Jack and Jeeny, two small figures — listening, learning, humbled.

And as the light deepened, Terri Irwin’s words lingered in the air like prayer:

“It instills an empathy with all of us about just how important the animal kingdom is.”

Because sometimes, the truest communication doesn’t come from speaking —
but from the simple, reverent act of listening to life itself.