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 only 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 here half the year.
And all on the assumption that we’d be so 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 all came to a screeching halt the year they brought the dog!
Yes, the middle seat was taken by this huge Rottweiler 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 bitch and not content with that,
Killed six of Mum’s best 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 prizes at the show,
Looked just like they were going to be the next thing here to go.
But 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 into the Rottweiler, and latched onto his nuts.
Now Woody is a cattle dog who’s been around for years,
And for sportsmanship and honour, he won’t get any cheers,
But he has one saving grace inside a multitude of sins.
By using every low trick in the book – Woody always wins!
From that 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 strewth, it must have hurt.
He swung hard between two saplings and set 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 dumb as bloody you!”
And Dad’s whole face went scarlet. His eyes flashed hard and mean.
He howled, “I’ve seen some bludging mongrels, but you’re the best I’ve
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 as he’s listening on the line.
Our grins keep getting wider. The Old Man begins to cough
Then roars, “I’ve only got two words for you, and the second one
© Jack Drake