A dog’s tail …
by Paul Campbell
Never mine the wether
“Woodint surpise me Dog if blimmin’ Noah’s Ark went sayling by over the paddicks.”
There he goes agin readas, Boss getting’ wimsical again. I lookt at his gerlfrend Sharlene an’ she rolled her yes an’ said “Don’t wurry Billy, Boss is sayin’ it’s bin rainin’ cats an’ dogs — sorry, it’s bin rainin’ for so long it might be like the flood ina bible, wen’ all tha animals was rescued by Noah who built … .” an’ she trailed off readas, probly cos she saw my eyes go glassy.
Anyway, I got the messij. Boss is tired ofa rain. Dunno about that but I not rilly impressed wiv the thunder eh. Rattled my kennil it did ina night, so I snuck inter the woolshed through an open sheep chute an’ curled up ina fadge.
Anyway, Boss had changed tack about rain an’ was lambastin’ (good werd I leaned from Sharlene) the govinment about water.
“Bluddy cockies always getting stick from this govinment an’ there blimmin’ Greenie mates,” he sed.
“New regalations about water ever time yer turn around. Eh deah,” he tole Sharlene.
”Lookit all the munny we spind each year plantin the stream to stop stuff flowing inter the Kaipra Harbour. Thousinds of dollas. But no, Govinment know Best eh? So they trying to stick a blimmin thousand hechare rubbish dump ina Dome Valley for Aucklind. Right ona catchmint for the Hoteo River where in goes inter the harbour. Goodby whitebait I reckin for a start, an’ then if we git rain like we got ina past weeks, we rilly have some pollution eh. Waste of time us farmers putting munny into stock contol and planting flax an’ stuff, wen they go an’ dump tons and tons of rubbish right on our dorstep.”
Well, readas, a bit of sun just broke outa the clouds then, so Boss an’ me headed out ona lambin beet.
We was over the back ofa proppity, an’ we herd a big kerfuffil. A bloke was shoutin’ bad werds, an a dog was barkin’ an’ one was howlin. Boss gunned the big Red Quod upa hill an’ we lookt inter his mate Steve’s proppity nek door.
Wot a site! Steve was uppa tree!. Lookin’ a bit unsteady ona droopy branch an’ yellin’ fit ter bust.
Underneath was this monsta big bull, with big horns. After Boss an I wint down ona quod and herded the bull back ina paddick, Boss tole Steve, who is a big bloke: “Betcha can’t get up that tree without a bull ter help ya!”
Steve was still lookin a bit pale an’ trembly, so Boss decided ter button it.
“Well,” he wint on, “what about this wether we havin. Getting enuff rain then?”
Yep, that’s the Boss eh. Right little diplomat. Mine you, I bet he’ll be giving old Steve a hard time ina pub on Fridee night. Better story than the wether I reckin.
Cheers readas, Billy