Today is
not going to be like the other Sundays. He’s heard high pitched and persistent
complaints that indicates the kids are being washed and made dress in their
Sunday best, under close supervision and scrutiny.
Something
is going on up at the homestead and here he is chained up for the day so that
he will be fresh for the muster tomorrow. He will be running his legs off in
the hot sun, swallowing dust galore and with feet sore from bindieyes.
He is the
best all-round sheep and cattle dog in the district. Hard working and
conscientious to a fault, and what’s in it for him? Belted around, abused and
half starved. Take a look at the accommodation will you? A short section of
hollow log for a kennel. Big deal! In the summer it wouldn't throw enough shade
for a mozzie and in the winter the wind and rain howls through it like a
Wurlitzer.
The old
corn sack he sleeps on is either wet or a flea trap. He’d dig a hole under the
log for some shade only he’s over a network of bull ant tunnels. He’d be crazy
to start anything there. Still, to his credit, the ants clean up any left-over
scraps which help keep the flies away. The trouble is the ants don’t wait for
the scraps to be left over. At feeding time the ants are out in force and
completely ignore Bluey’s growls from the other end of the bone.
Bluey is
hot and thirsty, but the water in his old billy is almost on the boil and half
full of bull ants. The ants use it as a swimming pool, floating happily around
on their backs, looking up at the blue sky, just waiting for Bluey to shove his
nose in for a drink. Then they latch on to his nose and use it as a fork-lift.
They get a lift onto terra firma, and by the time Bluey has shaken them off
they have also taken a hunk out of his nose to take home.
Every so
often a movement of the still, hot air wafts a faint odour of roast turkey in
Bluey's direction. There is some thing special on at the homestead. He knows
from the howls of protest from the kids that they have been made to wash and
change their clothes. Obviously there is some VIP coming to dinner and the
excitement is mounting.
Bluey
switches 'round to get a better look at the proceedings. All Bluey's fleas,
formerly in the shade, are now exposed to the sun. They make a mass exodus for
thee shadier side and all is forgotten as Bluey bites, thumps and scratches
until peace is restored. What luck! Somehow in his frantic scratching he has
unhooked the catch on his collar. He's Free!
There is
even greater excitement over at the homestead. The new parson has arrived,
making his first call to all his country parishioners. He hopes the food is
better than the accommodation as he is usherd into the rough bush hut with its
earthern floor, a mixture of antbed and cow dung, and apparently fairly
recently laid, if his nose is not wrong!
And now is
the time for Bluey to make his move. In the general excitement he slips into
the hut and insinuates himself between the Parson's legs - a good strategic
position with less likelihood of being booted outside. It is obvious from the
cordiality accorded the Parson that he is really family. He belongs. In Bluey's
simple mind, humans are just two-legged variations of the dog family, only
there smarter than the average dog. The Boss is the undisputed leader of the
pack, next comes the missus and kids, and apparently high on the list of
grudgingly tolerated outsiders is the Parson.
So, more to
show that he is accepted into the pack than anything else, Bluey lifts a leg
and christens the Parson's pants. Just a short token burst, but Bluey never
finished the project. Next moment he is airborne, on the toe of the boss's
boot, on a collision course with the door post. It took little effort on
Bluey's part to maintain the same rate of speed into the nearest timber.
Bluey feels
there is no percentage in hanging around, so he makes his way down to the
remains of the dead kangaroo which is not all that hard to find, as it has been
there for a long time and has reached the right stage of epicurean perfection.
He deliciously savours its rich full flavour - and then rolls in it.
By the time
Bluey gets back to the house, everybody is settled around the festive board and
wiring into roast turkey and all the trimmings. Bluey picks his moment and
slips in under the table again. He rubs up against the Parson's leg just to let
him know that his new found buddy is down there and would appreciate an odd
scrap or two of turkey. The Parson gives Bluey a nervous pat which might have
been interpreted by a more sensitive dog as "p.. off". Bluey promptly
licks the hand that spurns him and passionately gazes into the Parson's eyes.
What an actor!
At this
moment the full impact of the dead kangaroo aroma that Bluey is wearing hits
everyone at once. The boss was the first to react. His hob-nailed boot lashes a
wild haymaker. This is fielded neatly on the shin by the Parson. Bluey's mad
dash for the door is just ahead of a saucepan load of boiled potatoes.
Using the
woodheap as cover, Bluey scuttles in under the Parson's car. Later, when things
quieten down a bit, Bluey crawls to the Parson's car and curls up on the back
floor and sleeps it off.
The Parson
can't cut his visit short enough, and after the goodbyes climbs aboard his
jalopy and thankfully puts a few speedy miles between himself and that
unforgettable dog, even at the risk of broken springs on that unbelievable
rough road. However, distance does nothing to ease the memory of that
overpowering dead kangaroo. If anything, it seems more pungent.
A muffled
sound behind him caused the Parson to turn briefly to look into the expressive
eyes of Bluey, that said only to plainly, "I've just been sick".
Whether the
road was too rough or the 'roo to rich, or it was a combination of both, Bluey
never waited to explain, for when the car stopped Bluey took off, and for a dog
not feeling the best, he made remarkable time back home.
At last,
making himself as inconspicuous as possible, and giving the house a wide berth,
Bluey is right back where he started from. His jaded eyes took in the familiar
scene - The sawn off hollow log, the water billy, the bull ants, the old chaff
bag and the chain. It's not much, he thought, but it's home.
(Author
unknown)
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