Australian village bans pets to protect native wildlife returning home

Bill Smart, 77, never set out to live in what others call "solarpunk." He just wanted to be part of something that worked differently. Twenty years ago, he and others moved to Currumbin Ecovillage on Australia's Gold Coast, built on abandoned dairy farmland. Today, wallabies graze near the homes. Koalas nest in the trees. Platypuses have returned to the waterways. And Smart has made a choice most of us would find difficult: he doesn't own a dog.

"We miss having a dog," he says simply, "but it's the price you pay."

The village's strict no-pets rule exists because cats and dogs are, as Smart describes them, "lethal predators." A single dog or cat can devastate ground-nesting bird populations and small marsupials. In a place explicitly designed as a wildlife corridor for native species, the trade-off is clear. You get neighbors who know your name and a landscape alive with animals you'd otherwise never see. You give up the companionship of a pet.

A Different Way of Living

Currumbin Ecovillage belongs to a broader movement of "intentional communities"—planned neighborhoods collectively managed by their residents. Many grew from the hippie communes that emerged after Australia's 1973 Aquarius festival. Rather than scatter across suburbs where neighbors are strangers and garages seal you off from the street, these communities pool resources to buy large tracts of land and make collective decisions about how to live.

Rob Doolan, a town planner who has worked with over 120 such communities, explains the appeal: "Intentional communities can do things that people in normal suburban situations might not find easy or practical because they're trying to do it on their own." At Currumbin, that means solar panels and rainwater tanks provide power and water. Residents keep pigs, goats, and chickens. Twenty hectares of reforestation has transformed what was once bare pasture into habitat.

But the real shift isn't structural—it's social. Smart teaches woodworking in shared spaces. There's a weekly happy hour at the cafe. New parents have a built-in support network. "It's not about the structures," Smart says. "It's about the people."

Not every resident adheres equally to the original sustainability standards, and newer buildings sometimes fall short. Yet the commitment persists. The village has become proof that living sustainably doesn't require isolation or sacrifice of community. It requires rethinking what we're willing to trade—and what we gain in return.