I suppose you’ve heard my story when the bludgers came to stay
and how Dad and Woody sent the city dwellers on their way.
How an old and mangy, blue dog made their pampered pet a dud
and ruined all his chances of advancement as a stud.
Dad still laughs and smirks about just how the job was done.
Woody scratches fleas contentedly while dozing in the sun.
And we’ve branched into horticulture. We’re developing new breeds.
There’s a young Rottweiler Nut tree down where Woody spat the seeds.
The fruit is small and egg shaped and the flesh is rather dark.
The tree trunk’s thick and solid and carries lots of bark.
We built a fence around it and we tied it up on stakes
but whenever Woody pees on it, it quivers and it shakes.
We were seeking out new markets, expectations running high
and a Government Agronomist sent by the DPI
was skilled in nut production and would tell us what to do
but his arrival was accompanied by a sense of Deja Vu.
A four by four bounced up our drive and stopped outside the door
and everybody got the feeling that we’d all been there before.
A city bloke behind the wheel in clothes so clean and neat
and a bloody great Rottweiler dog beside him on the seat.
With jutting jaw the old man muttered “Here we go again”.
Woody howled and snarled and growled and nearly broke his chain.
The chooks were heading for the trees. Our tail-less possum cowered
as Dad ground out his ultimatum “City dogs are not allowed!”
“Oh come now, my dear fellow. I’ve bred these dogs for years.
She’s gentle as a kitten. You need not have any fears.
And this one is my finest flower – the pick of all my breed”
but the old man was quite adamant. “You keep her on a lead!”.
Then Woody stopped his snarling and his nose began to twitch.
I reckon he’d just worked out that the Rottie was a bitch.
Now with both the canine genders Woody’s had a lot of luck.
It’s all the same to Woody, be it fight or be it …..frolic.
Then Mum said “Tie the dog up and before you see the tree
come on in the kitchen and we’ll have a cup fo tea.”
He said, “I’ll just tie my darling up and give her water first
then I’d love a country smoko for we’ve both worked up a thirst.”
Dad let out the smirk that he’d been trying not to show
and whispered “Andy just duck over there and let old Woody go.
We don’t need Rottweilers ‘round here. Let’s nip this in the bud.
We’ll improve his breeding program with a dash of blue dog blood.”
We had a cuppa then the expert said “We must be getting on”
and smilingly he strolled outside full up with tea and scones.
But his demeanor changed dramatically as he walked outside the gate
for there was Woody and the Rottie in a compromising state.
It was plain to see his pet show dog was firmly in disgrace
and Woody had a mongrel grin plastered on his face.
“You shameless little hussy. You’re heading for the vet.
I’ll send someone else to check your tree for I’m just too upset!”
“Her offspring’s all pre-sold” he wailed. “You’ve fouled my program up.”
Dad said “Woody’s pretty handy so they should be decent pups.
He guards the ute. He’s good on stock and death on feral hogs.”
While young Andy filled a bucket up to separate the dogs.
So as one more messed up city dog went bouncing down the track.
The whole family burst out laughing ‘cause it brought old memories back.
And when asked if Woody always wins, I’d have to say “My oath!
There’s been two Rottweilers on our place and Woody’s stuffed ‘em both!”
© Jack Drake