Greetings All,
Thank you for joining me on My Blog 2. If you have read Blog 1, I hope you enjoyed it.
LIFT UP THINE EARS – a short story
She was a stranger who didn’t fit in with the others. She looked different. Her behaviour was very different.
The bloodline of working sheep dogs on our mountain property has continued unbroken for forty years. Infusions of Border collie and German coolie into the basic kelpie strain have resulted in the random appearance in their descendants of shaggy coats, interesting spots and patches, and a variety of colours.
Our dogs are medium-sized, fast and enduring; good loud barkers who will also sneak in the occasional illicit nip. They work both sheep and cattle willingly and tirelessly, but would not do any fancy stuff like running over sheeps’ backs, even for a barrel-load of meaty-bites. When they put their front paws against you and gaze in to your eyes, you feel as if you are sinking into deep brown pools of love and trust.
Because they have known each other all their lives they will not work apart; and because they have each been dandled on our knees from early puppyhood they have little respect for their owners. Consequently an order to one to fetch a mob of sheep from the opposite hillside always sees the entire pack rushing off, with a few cheerful scraps on the way, all rabbit burrows inspected and any kangaroos seen off the premises. The mob of sheep, after being haphazardly split into several smaller lots heading in different directions, is finally presented in an atmosphere of triumphant delinquency.
Bill didn’t mind this until he watched his first yard dog trial, a competitive sport fast growing in popularity in the country.
Here sleek black and tan kelpies of impeccable breeding and aristocratic mien worked with incredible slickness and efficiency. Obedient to their masters’ every word, whistle or gesture, they performed feats of sheep control far beyond the capacity of our homely lot.
So began a faint stirring of discontent and – dare I admit it, shame towards our dear home-bred doggies. Never, Bill felt, could he stand by the corner of the drafting race as those fellows did, and expect to direct shaggy, patchy old Jessie, or funny-coloured Bruiser to sneak along on their bellies hypnotising sheep, or scuttle over their backs in the race. Leg grabbing and wool classing was more their style.
Thus Bill fell a willing victim to one of the state’s top breeders, who sold him a bitch pup of long pedigree. He named her Sal.
Sal grew to an extraordinary length. Not width, just length. She needed twice as much food as any other dog to maintain this frantic growth, which seemed to leave her with little energy for any activity other than jumping up and down on the chain when she saw her dinner approaching.
Her head grew long, the yellow eyes remaining small and close-set, giving the impression that she was cross-eyed. Her large pointed ears refused to prick, remaining flopped in towards each other in semblance of a strange, crumpled little hat perched on top of the narrow head.
Bill began chaining Sal into the back of the utility when he drove out into the paddocks in the hope that she would develop some interest in leaving the house yard.
One morning Bill drove out to inspect some calving heifers, Sal’s pointed head and confused eyes protruding from the tray of the utlity.
The paddock was a sloping one. The dew was heavy, the clover high, and the utility’s wheels lost all traction. The vehicle began slipping sideways down the hill, driver side up. Bill threw his door open and jumped out, leaving the ute to its fate.
Down the hill it rushed, rapidly gaining speed until with a great bang it crashed into a tree and was forcibly stopped. Only when Bill had clambered gingerly down the slope to rejoin it did he remember Sal. She sat in the tray as before, unhurt and baffle- eyed.
The large pointed ears now stood stiffly erect on that empty aristocratic head.
(This story also appeared in Town and Country Farmer magazine.)
A DOG'S TRIAL - Poem
He counted on his canine crew
For mustering in hilly country rough:
They ran in one rambunctious pack –
Not one would think of holding back!
They were noisy, they were keen, and they were tough.
Took Bruiser to a yard dog trial;
His favourite was sure to win the prize!
Old Bruiser chased the sheep around,
Bore the fattest to the ground
And ate it – right before the judges’ eyes!
‘That there sheep would not be dead
If you had a dog with breeding that was true!”
So a pup with pedigree was found;
She cost old Bill his final pound –
And he bore her home to join the faithful crew.
A long and lanky black’n’tan,
She was timid, shy, and tended to hold back:
She never seemed to want to roam,
Never venturing far from home,
And never, ever running with the pack.
Said, “Sal, if you just stay at home,
I fear that I have done my fifty pound!
If only you would show some sign –
Bark, instead of cringe and whine – ”
But he felt that some solution could be found.
When next Bill called his dogs to muster
They gathered in a noisy cluster –
All but one; Sal stood back alone:
But Bill had made the very thing –
Two collars joined by a swivel ring,
That was going to take slack Sal away from home.
“On now pack!” Bill Blucher cried,
And willing Bruiser leapt forward wiith the rest.
But Sal hung back with all her might:
Every yard was a desperate fight
As two opposing forces pulled their best.
No bar to dogs of peasant blood!
The pack swarmed over and scarcely broke its stride.
But Sal and Bruiser took much longer;
Was Bruiser or the current stronger?
They were near drowned ‘ere they reached the other side.
Up Bill, his horse and the pack all went;
Poor Bruiser now was very near to choking!
For he pulled that bitch right up the hill
Though she fought to keep her legs stock-still,
And the very claws upon her feet were smoking!
It was time for his animals to rest,
So he drew his reins and loudly shouted “Sit!”
They sat. Sal’s questing eye now saw
A sight she had never seen before,
And a light within that sluggish brain was lit.
She knew what she was bred to be –
(While Bruiser lay with head on paws asleep)
She started with a mighty bound
To gather up the prize she’d found –
A dozen woolly white merino sheep.
And down a steep embankment they all went:
When Bruise’ awoke, poor startled bloke,
They were halfway down that terrible descent.
On head and hip and paw and side and back,
And as Sal flew his terror grew;
Oh, how he missed his friends, the gentle Pack!
Sal flattened out to wheel them once again,
And Bruise’, though maimed, his feet regained;
As one they sped across the rolling plain.
From an old dismantled fence had left a post:
As if not tied, each took a side;
And who can tell who felt the impact most!
And Sal is now the leader of the pack,
While behind the shed, with lowered head,
Old Bruiser is the one who’s staying back!
