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By Jack Drake, Stanthorpe,Qld.�1998.
Per kind permission Jack Drake.
If you've ever lived upon a farm,
You'll know the feeling well -
How easy it can be to get
The visitors from hell.
Y'know those mongrels from the city
That invite themselves to stay,
Because they want a holiday,
Where they don't have to pay.
Now, I might be pretty cynical
And I was just a kid,
But I'd seen it happen every year -
It's what they always did.
Bring some ice-cream and a box of fruit
And half a slab of beer,
And act like it's a favour
If they stay there half the year.
And all on the assumption that
We'd be glad to see
The half-brother of our Uncle Harry's
Wife's third cousin, Bea.
They never do a tap of work,
They clean up all our grog,
But it came to a screeching halt,
The year they brought the dog!
Yes, the middle seat was taken
By this huge Rottweiller thing,
On his neck a studded collar
Without a hitching ring.
The old man stared in silence, then said,
"You'll have to tie him up."
They said,"He's had obedience training,
And he's just the sweetest pup."
The dog bailed out the window,
They said ,"Oh, you little tyke."
One word from this mug,
And he did exactly as he liked.
And like a black and tan tornado,
With a brainless, snarling face,
He caused an orgy of destruction,
'Round our peaceful country place.
He flogged our poor old kelpie b***h,
And not content with that,
Killed six of Mum's bext laying chooks,
And murdered Grandma's cat.
He chewed our poor pet possum's tail,
And chased it up a tree.
While this dork flicked pages in his book
On "Dog Psychology".
And while the city bloke was trying
To find answers out of books,
The Rottweiler, teeth gnashing,
Headed straight for Andy's chooks.
Yes, young Andy's special bantams,
Who'd won ribbons at the show,
Looked just like they were going to be
The next thing here to go.
But young Andy was a cunning lad
With everything to gain,
He raced over to the kennels
And let Woody off the chain.
And so, to vindicate the honour
Of our simple country mutts,
Woody flew in to the Rottweiler
And latched onto his...nether regions.
From the useless flaming boofhead,
There arose an awful howl.
They took off down the paddock
At a thousand miles an hour
With Woody hanging grimly,
His feet skidding in the dirt,
While my legs crossed all on their own,
'Cause struth, it must have hurt.
He swung hard between two saplings,
And set off his own dog trap
When Woody, sliding sideways,
Just failed to make the gap.
The bellows of the rottweiler
Became a high pitched squeak,
He lost all interest in the flight
And sat down in the creek.
Then this poor mug from the city,
He started acting tough,
Till dad roared in his face,"You bum!
I've had a bloody 'nough!
Old Woody did the right thing
The proper thing to do!
Anyone who'd breed that mongrel,
Would be as dumb as bloody you!"
And Dad's whole face went scarlet
His eyes flashed hard and mean.
He howled,"I've seen some some bludging mongrels,
But you're the best I've seen!
So pack your traps and snatch it
You rotten mongrel sod.
Or I'll make a wether out of you
Like Woody did your dog!"
With the air of people greatly wronged
They loaded their pet up
And bounced off down the driveway
With that castrated pup.
But no more will we be troubled
By those pushy city folk
Who inflict themselves upon you
Till it's gone beyond a joke.
And sometimes when the phone rings
Getting on towards Christmas time
Dad's jaw begins to tighten
And he's listening on the line
Our grins keep getting wider
As old Dad begins to cough,
Then roars,"I've got only two words for you
And the second one is...OFF!"
 Sweet Smartcat · Sun Sep 27, 2009 @ 12:04pm · 0 Comments |
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