Bingara Mayo's Son - Page 4 of 4
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In retrospect, apart from this mornings infamous and humiliating magpie toast-stealing incident, the worst day was when we attempted to take him for his first ride in the ute. Now, everybody knows that country utes and blue heelers go together. I'm not quite sure about it, but I believe that in the country, there is a law that you are not allowed to drive a ute at all, unless you have a slavering barker carrying on like a maniac in the tray. So, we didn't give it a thought, did we? It was just that one day we were going for the usual scenic trip to the local tip, so, for a treat, I hurled him in along with the gunge. Instant paranoia set in. We hadn't gone three metres when he leapt out. We left him quivering on the side of the road. This was just too much. Enraged, I rang good old Brendan. "Do you Know?" I shouted, "that bastard can't even ride in the back of the ute? What sort of a dog is this?" Brendan remained unmoved. "You'll have to train him, like," he replied. "Sit in the back of the ute with him. Get him used to it. Besides which, the bloke who bred him said he would be much better once he's had a bit, you know?"
I gave up then. Visions of cuddling the bugger in the back of the ute to stop him panicking, then teaching him how to have a root after we got there, were just too much for me. What the hell. Let him be persecuted, I reasoned. A few weeks back, the breeder who had donated the dog for free, rang to see how his little darling was getting along. I gave the opinion that our lad was harmless, but perhaps, just perhaps, he was as thick as two bricks. There was a thoughtful pause at the end of the line, then the breeders said carefully, "Well, I know what you mean, though I wouldn't quite put it that way. He's going to take a lot of training, like….(a longer pause here) ….he's sort of dormant.
So there he's going to sit, the old dormant dickhead, the last of a long, proud line, stretching back to the Timmins Biters. But it is not only dogs that are failing these days. I mean, it's a whole generation thing! I was at a country gathering the other day, having yet again failed to induce Bingara Mayo's Son the delights of ute travel, when a kid of about fourteen strolled up to me and asked for a smoke. I said I didn't have any tailor -mades, but he could have the makings if he needed one badly enough. He scuffed around for a bit, looked somewhat embarrassed, then said, "I'd like one…. If you could roll it for me."
I was so bloody startled that I did roll one for him. He wasn't quite gormless, though, because he did have his own matches. I mean, what sort of a nation is this turning into? what the hell has happened to the spirit of Anzac? Cattle dogs that can't bury a bone and kids who can't roll a fag! They'd make a good pair, Buddy and that fourteen year old. You can just see them now, can't you? Together, I mean. Buddy would be falling on his side trying to have a piss and the kid would be trying to stick Champion Ruby in his ear. And as for chatting up a pair of likely sheilas….. Forget it!
And finally, what about his poor old dad, the famous Bingara Mayo himself? He's a true blue. He's led a good life, worried a few cattle in his day, bitten a few blokes, tried to bring the fool up right. Where did he go wrong, I ask you?
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Submitted by John Chandler
Secretary, Australian Cattle Dog Social Club of North Queensland.
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