As in previous posts we’ve chatted about my father’s land up at Dargo. We’ll we’d met our neighbour, Mr T who was “just next door”, (read a 5 mile walk along the road or 3 miles through the paddocks)
Now we came to a barter agreement very quickly, we had a natural spring on our property, which became a lovely little creek that never dried up. We also had access to the State Forrest, because there was no need to run a fence along that part of the property.
Well Mr T had horses, and it was ideal for them, heaps of land for them to run around on, a fresh continuous water supply & lots & lots of grass.
My gain for the deal was, Mr T would find me a “good” horse, negotiate a “brilliant” price. He’d look after it, shoe it, medication & teach me “horsemanship.
In return, his horses would be have free run on our property, at no cost. We, (the junior Furrys & I), would keep a watchful eye on the horses & if we saw anything out of the ordinary, we’d tell Mr T & he’d come out & check it out.
Explain to us what it was, whether it was a concern or not, and if it was what needed to be done to remedy the situation and the ill effects if it went untreated.
It should be noted, at the time Mr T was about 70, chain-smoked hand rolled cigarettes, had been on the land all his life. He was as fit as a mountain goat and would consistently walk up hills leaving 4 struggling Furryies, who were at least 50 plus years his junior, in his wake gasping for air.
He taught us all sorts of horsemanship over the years with him. He was the first to spend time with furry teaching him how to read animal tracks & what signs to look for when tracking. He was of the old school & not very different to Poppa L.
Anyway, the boys had implemented the SOP’s for the first full day up at Dargo. That was, to check the water in the tanks, pump up water from the creek if required, ensure there was sufficient wood, and then check on the horses. We normally just jumped on the bikes & rode up into the State Forrest.
This particular day, we found a horse blanket, so it was decided that we needed to return it to Mr T ASAP, as winter was fast approaching, and we didn’t want any horses to catch a cold.
So back down to the cabin we go, tell the furry parents where we’re going & ride our bikes down to the front gate with our dog ,Patchette in hot pursuit.
See we found Patchette wandering the streets near home, and the youngest “dragged” her home & with the dog standing there with bleeding paws announced, “Can we keep her, she followed me home!”
Mum said ok & what should we call her, we all said patch, because she had patches & mum decided it wasn’t lady enough for a female, hence the French slant of Patchette.
I think my mum might have got one too many hits to the head with the race track while racing 750cc Mach III Kawasaki’s in the 70’s.
So anywho, we parked our bikes, crossed the road & looked around the paddock for Tiny. We were always a little concerned when Tiny was “in town”.
Tiny was just your average Brahma Bull, tipping the scales at some 20 tonnes, (you think I’m exaggerating don’t ya? Aussie humour requires something called Tiny to be FUCKEN HUGE!). He was so large he had his own postcode.
So, Tiny was nowhere to be seen so off through the paddocks we go. We’re all wandering, chatting, laughing. The dog found a fresh cowpat & rolled around in it.
There was heaps of hoo-har about it all. In the lapse in the conversation & all the laughter a faint rumbling sound was heard. All the boys looked skyward, as it was quite a regular occurrence to get high altitude military aircraft flying over our property.
Even the dog was looking skywards, (stuffed if I know why) as we scanned the heavens looking for the plane & its telltale vapour trails.
Nothing, strange, & the sky was clear, so could it be thunder? Steadily the “thunder” got loader, & quizzically all looked at each other when Furry #3 eyes suddenly looked like something from a Ren & Stimpy cartoon, in as much, they almost leapt out of his head.
Next, he clearly pronounced “FUCK” at the top of his voice & turning we saw Tiny now cresting the top of a small rise, in top gear, bearing down on us.
It resembled something similar to a cartoon, all of a sudden, ZAP, all five of us were gone, in different direction, and heading for the safety of the nearest fence line, and all that remained was our outlines in dust.
There was no strategy to my decision, just to run. I also had the horse blanket under my arm, which I held firmly, (probably in sheer terror), now felt like it had the aerodynamics of a parachute on a drag car.
Well all the Furryies made it to the safety of a) an electric fence & b) an actual fence line with barbed wire, all except me. I’d inadvertently chosen the longest path to run, about 2 miles.
I could hear Tiny getting closer, I could FEEL Tiny getting closer, (I reckon I could feel his hot breath on my arse), and I could hear my little brothers screaming he was getting closer, even the dog was barking! (I think it may have been her method of giving me the last rites).
All I could hear was the thunderous sound of Tiny getting so loud I thought I’d explode, and the fence line seemed frozen in the distance. Running my absolute guts out I cleared the electric fence and one desperate leap, landing one foot on a fence corner straining post and leaping ½ way up the embankment before hearing the WHOOOMP of Tiny hitting the huge post I’d just cleared.
Tiny quickly retreated, after some huffing & hoofing the ground & glaring at me, because he was getting zapped by the electric fence.
I laid there, heart almost leaping out of my chest, and the first of the furry brothers started to arrive. One said, “I thought you were fucked!” all I could do was nod in agreement.
The other, “Shit you can jump”, again, just a nod. Furry #2, (the deaf one) signed, “That was cool” & got the middle finger extended in reply.
After gathering myself & the remnants of my dignity we tramped off to Mr T’s house & returned via the road. It was decided a 5 mile walk required less energy that a 3-mile run of fear.
I also had a very strong respect & like of electric fences, in fact at that point, I liked electric fences very much.
The love for electric fences changed about 2 weeks later. I’ve mentioned that Father Furry wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed (not exceptionally clever) and sometimes thought Manual Labour was a Mexican Tennis star (was a bit lazy).
We were out spotlight & shooting a variety of feral animals (pigs) on our property one Saturday night when Furry needed to “take a leak”.
So off the back of the Ute, and facing a tree, furry lets rip. Well father furry had ran out of insulated, glow in the dark stakes that are normally used when operating a electric fence & simply nailed the insulators for the electric fence onto the tree.
Well furry whizzed on the electric fence & that was it. Unable to stop the flow, received a 12 volt kick, kick, kick to the “boy bits” until I collapsed on the ground, sure that every drop of liquid had been completely drained from my body, (that included blood, brain fluid, tears, everything).
No real damage other than passing blood for the next week. So, you see why my father & I had issues, many, many issues.
Anyway, I’m off, have a great weekend & DON’T PISS ON AN ELECTRIC FENCE! IT’S NO FUN, TRUST ME!
Love
Uncle Furry.
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