During my early, formative years in Lake Cargelligo, I did my best to assimilate into Aussie Bush life. I saw this decision as necessary since being labeled 'A Pommy Bastard' was now wearing a bit thin. Most times as I walked down the main street of the Lake, the standard greeting would be,
"G'day ya pommy bastard." or "G'day ya fuckin' bastard, how are ya, getting any?" or "Yorky, ya bastard, what are you up to mate?"
It just so happened that mi mother and father were never actually married, which in the North of England, in the late 40s' and 50s' was deeply frowned upon. This little detail caused me quite a bit of misery once the kids at school found out. Children can be very cruel.
I believed that part of my going to Australia would involve leaving mi past behind. You can imagine my surprise when people started greeting me with "Yorky ya bastard, how are ya mate?"
Mi first thought was, 'Oh no! How do they know? I never put 'bastard' on the application forms I had to fill out to emigrate?'
A part of my other assimilation efforts were drinkin', roo and rabbit shooting. I felt that in order to become a 'fair dinkum' Aussie, in the early 60s', I needed to participate in these activities. All of my new-found mates subscribed to the same set of actions. I have not included 'Sheilas' at this time as there was a sad lack of them, hence the old Aussie Bush joke, "Did ya ever fuck a sheep Yorky? Nah mate, it's too hard to pull their head around to kiss 'em."
On day, while laying on mi bed at Giltraps, I was reading the Land Newspaper and noticed some one was selling a Greyhound. The advert read, GREYHOUND FOR SALE, Will carry back in spotlight!
Right there and then, I saw fantasies of me and mi mates out chasing roos' with mi new greyhound. After contacting the bloke in the paper, I sent him a Post Office check for the dog and waited for its' arrival at the Lake Railway Station.
A few days later, I was contacted by a 'Townie' who worked for the Railway, letting me know I had received a delivery and to come and pick it up. Arriving at the station, in mi old A55, I hopped out and made mi way to the Pick Up area where a railway worker was having a smoke.
"G'day mate, ya got a delivery for me."
"Sure have cobber, it's in the room here, out of the sun. I gave it some water as it looked thirsty."
"Good on ya mate. I appreciate that."
"No worries sport. Yorky isn't it?", he asked.
"Yeh."
"Bruce is my name. Good to meet ya."
"Same here Bruce."
Mi new Roo dog had arrived in a tall, narrow wooden crate about the same shape as the dog. Looking in the crate, I saw that the dog was black and white and stood about 26" high. Bruce asked me what the dog was for. I told him it's mi new Roo and Rabbit dog. After he helped me load the crate onto the back seat of the old burner, I drove back to Giltraps and parked around the back.
I had arranged with Giltrap to use one of his old, outside rooms for a short time till I found somewhere more permanent. Giltrap used to own a couple of racing Greyhounds himself. When he was resting them, he would bring them home from Melbourne and use the rooms as dog kennels.
I noticed the dog already had a collar on him. I opened the front wire door of the crate and tied a piece of rope around the ring of the collar. I gave the rope a bit of a tug and the dog jumped out of the crate onto the dirt ground. I walked him around in a circle to check his gait out and see how he moved. He walked around quite well, no limps or anything. I did notice he had a toe missing on his right front paw. After checking out his foot and the scar tissue, I decided he must have damaged it chasing roos or rabbits in the Bush. Most roo dogs have battle scars from chasing roos. Some dogs even get their guts kicked out in the process of killing them. When a wound is really bad, the dog gets shot to put it out of its' misery. If the wound isn't too bad it gets sewn up and when it's healed up well, the dog gets to go out on another day or night time hunting. Good roo dogs love to go out chasing roos, it's in their blood.
It didn't take long before Cath Giltrap heard on the Bush telegraph that I had a roo dog. When she saw me coming out of mi room the next day she said to me,
"I hope you don't have that roo dog in my good room, do ya' Yorky?"
"No Cath. It's around the back of the Hotel in one of Georges' old dog sheds."
"Oh good, cause I don't allow dogs in the rooms. I've got enough problems with drunks throwing up on me carpets. I don't need dogs pissin' on them as well."
Satisfied there was no roo dog in mi room, she made her way to the kitchen to help Mrs. Gibson and the other cooks who were preparing the evening meal.
Over the next few days, as I exercised the Greyhound, a couple of mi mates who saw me with the dog had to have their bit of fun.
"Jesus! where did ya' git the tripe-hound Yorky?"
"The Land newspaper, mate."
"Streuth, it doesn't look like it could catch a bloody cold mate."
"It looks like an old, broken down track dog to me Yorky."
"She'll be right.", I said. "This dog is going to be a lot of fun, chasing roos and rabbits."
"Good luck with that!" one of them said as they made their way into the barroom.
I had the roo dog for about 4 day days now. I decided to drive out to a cockys' place where mi good mate Jimmy Hargreaves was tractor driving. The cockys' property was about 25 miles out in the Mali country. 'There are bound to be a lot of roos out that way', I thought, as I filled he car up with Petrol and almost as much oil. After loading up the greyhound in the back seat, I took off out of town, onto the dirt road, bound for the cockys' place.
The old A55 rattled like hell on the dirt track roads. It was always an adventure and a toss-up as to whether or not it would arrive in one piece. The roo dog was sat on the back seat looking out of the window with a blank stare in its' eyes. At long last, we arrived at the cockys' place. One of the Jackeroos pointed me in the general direction of the Paddock where Jimmy was driving. When I arrived at the scrub paddock, I could see the red dust from the tractor. Ten minutes later Jimmy pulled up, turned off the tractor and walked over to where I was parked.
"Yorky, ya bastard. What the fuck are you doing all the way out here?"
"I came to see ya mate and also, I wanted to give mi new roo dog a bit of a run on a couple of roos."
"I didn't know ya had a roo dog Yorky."
"I didn't mate. I bought it out of the Land paper. Take a look. I've had it for 5 days now and I need to see how good it will go on roos."
When I opened the back door of the car, the greyhound jumped out. He looked happy to be out of mi old banger. After taking a piss on an old dead tree, he walked around smelling the freshly plowed land.
"What d'ya reckon Jim? Ya think it looks alright?"
"It's got a fuckin' toe missin' mate. Has it caught roos before?"
''I'm not sure about roos' but the bloke said it would carry back in the spotlight."
"I hate to put the kibosh on it mate but it looks like a broken down track dog to me."
"Is there anywhere we can run it on a few roos' out here mate?", I asked.
"Roos mate? There's more roos out here than ya can poke a stick at!"
"Have ya got a name for it?"
"Nah, not yet. I'm waiting to see how good it is first."
"Tie it up in the back of mi ute mate. We'll take my vehicle. I know of a open paddock where there's plenty of roos. If he's any good, you'll soon see."
Driving down the dirt track we approached an old iron gate. Jimmy took his foot off the excelerator and tried to push the automatic tranny into reverse. This slowed down his Ute till it came to rest a few feet from the gate.
"Why are ya trying to force the tranny into reverse mate? All that grinding will fuck it up!"
"I don't have any brakes on this old girl. That's the only way to stop her."
"Jesus mate, and I thought my old A55 was in bad shape!"
We were now in a big, open paddock with not too much trees and scrub, so roos would be easy to spot. Driving around the paddock slowly, we soon spotted four roos, not too far off in the distance. The Ute slowed down to a stop and Jimmy said, "Let's hop out and let the dog loose."
Once the greyhound was on the ground, I pointed its' head in the general direction of the roos. As soon as the roos started to hop, the greyhound launched off in their direction. Upon seeing the dog, the roos took off at full speed. The roo dog was now doing the same speed as the roos, in hot pursuit. It lasted for a couple of hundred yards and then started to slow down. A minute later, the dog came to a halt, turned around and came trotting back to the Ute.
"That's not a good omen.", said Jimmy. "It must be broken-hearted from never catching that race-track hare."
"Yeh mate. It doesn't look too promising. Let's drive around a bit more. We'll put it on a few more roos."
To be fair to the greyhound, we gave the dog a few more chances to see if it would improve. On one of the runs, the roos hopped over a fence and the greyhound ran straight into it and got itself tangled up in the wires. After a few more trials it was decided that I had been conned and for sure I had bought a broken-down track dog.
"Sorry to tell ya Yorky mate but that dog has never been in the Bush in its bloody life. It doesn't even know what a fence is and when the roos started to gain on it, the guts dropped out of it."
Reluctantly, I had to admit Jimmy was right in his assessment of my new roo dog. The dog was now laid down under a tree looking rooted! Most good roo dogs will run and hunt all day. I've seen some dogs almost run themselves to death trying to run down a roo.
"Well Yorky mate, the fact is you have bought ya self another mans' problem. What are ya gonna' do now?"
"Shoot the bastard and take it as a lesson."
"What d'ya mean, 'shoot the bastard'? Ya can't do that!"
"Would you like the dog Jimmy? I'll even give it to ya."
"No fucking way mate, it's useless as a roo dog."
"Look Jimmy, you don't want the dog and it's no good to me now 'cause it can't catch shit. No one in the Lake is going to want a broken-down track dog and If I try to palm it off on a cocky, I'll get into deep shit once he learns it's no good for roos. Do you have a better solution?"
"Not really mate. Can't ua send it back?"
"What, and pay the rail fare back to Victoria? Ya joking mate."
Seeing as no more options came to light, I tied the dog to a tree stump and got mi rifle from Jimmys' Ute.
"Last chance Jimmy, ya want the dog or not?"
"Nah mate, just git it over with and let's go. It's goin' to get dark soon and I've got no lights on mi old Ute. There's a short somewhere."
After putting a bullet in the rifle, I cocked it and walked over to where the Greyhound was now standing. Making sure there would be no chance of missing, I shot the dog in the head. It fell straight down and never made a sound. I took off the collar and rope and threw them in the back of the Ute.
"Yah just gonna' leave it under the tree Yorky?"
"What would ya like me to do Jimmy, cremate it?"
"I suppose not mate."
"Look Jimmy, the foxes and the goannas will clean it up in no time."
As we were driving back to mi old car, Jimmy said to me, "How could ya just shoot the dog like that mate? Didn't it bother you?"
"Of course it did mate. It wasn't the dogs' fault, It was my stupid mistake for buying a roo dog, sight unseen."
"Suppose ya right,Yorky mate. I don't think I could have done that."
"Hey Jimmy, since I've been in the Bush, I've had to do a lot of shitty things that I would never have had to do in another situation. Things I could never have imagined a couple of years ago. What does a cocky do when he wants a feed mate? He has to cut a sheeps' throat, skin it and gut it before he can eat. What about the town dogs who go out at night wandering around the cocky's sheep paddocks? Whether they're chasing sheep or not, they're shot on sight and hung on the fence!"
"Yeh, yeh Yorky, ya right mate. Even though I was born in the Bush, I get a bit sentimental sometimes."
After we got back to where Jimmy was working, he said,
"Well Yorky mate, I'd better get this old tractor going again. The cockys' not paying me to go chasing roos."
"Thanks for the company mate.", I yelled out the window as I started mi old oil burner and headed back to the Lake, minus 8 quid, one broken down greyhound and with a valuable lesson.
