A dog’s tail …
by Paul Campbell
When it’s rainin’, just not hear
“It’s a wurry eh Dog,” seda Bos. “Tha kouncil has reely put the foot down ‘cos the water supply dryin’ up in town, and that river flow ona boundary ofa farm is lookin’ pretty darn sluggish. And no reel rain in site just yet.”
Bossis gerfrend Sharlene was sitting wiv’ us havin’ smoko, an’ she agreed.
“Me flower garden’s lookin’ pretty wilted deah.
“I bin putting the washin’ up water on the dahlias ‘cos they got a gardin tour comin’ up soon. I hope I can keep them lookin’ reasinible for the visitors.”
“Yep,” seda Boss. “We gonna havta watch the tank water too. I kin bring a bita water froma farm dam, but that’s the thin end ofa wedge.”
Boss saw me lookin; puzzild at stuff about wedges, so Sharlene told me:
“Boss meens once that starts to happen, it’ll soon meen we go dry atta dam,” she sed.
“Another bluddy long summa and not enuff rein Dog,” went ona Boss.
“Sooner them boffins get on with all that water works munny we got from old Winnie and Jonesy, from their big ‘lection fund.”
Sharlene hada chuckil. “Now deah, surely you don’t think Winnie and that Shane tryin’ to win votes from us? Yeah, rite,” seda Boss, an’ give we a big wink, witch meens he rilly did meen that. “We farmers gunna havta change our ways a bit. There’s more drought comin ina future an’ we gotta make plans fer it.”
“Well,” sed Sharlene. “Someone sed we gotta build a pipeline from Southland ta Northland. I think it was the plummer that came ta fix our shower ina homested. He reckind that seeing them pore people down there gotta huge flood and lotsa damage, we should pipe floodwata north ter fix our problim with drought.”
Boss looked at Sharlene wiv a bit of a glint in his eye, witch usually meens he duzzint agree, but not gonna hava argumint about it.
“It’s bin happinin’ all over,” he sed. “Them pore peeple in Ozzie, first they gotta bushfires and then it bluddy buckets down.
“Then ova in Inglind and ina America, tha wether has bin reelly strange.
They reckin it’s called climate change.”
Well, Boss an’ me spint tha rest ofa afternoon lookin’ over the dam, ana water tanks ona woolshed roof wen Sharlene giva yell froma porch.
“Duzzint rain but it paws,” she call out. “That corona thingy still spreadin’ like wildfire too. They reckin meat prices fallin, an’ milk too. And timber exports and lotsa stuff not getting into China.”
“Yep,” seda Boss. “Too many of our export eggs ina one baskit eh. Sooner we hava trade deal with Inglind now they on their own from the european crowd, the betta I reckin.”
Werld trade eh readas? Seems it’s like the weather. An like Boss sumtimes sez, it’s all swings and roundabouts. Not sure what he meens tho. But hey, I kin smell Sharlene cookin’ pork. Cracklin’ fer me tea. Why shud I wurry eh?