Salt and Vinegar

The kids were not at school, so it must have been the weekend. But we didn’t get ready to work the cattle, or check the waters, or fix the fences, but instead everyone all piled into one ute: The Boss, the Missus, and most of the kids in the cab, and me and Slick and Badger jumped in the back along with our mate, the Eldest Boy.

We drove to Town and ended up at the show ground, and parked in the shade near the big pavilion. I know the place a bit, from working dog trials and stuff, but this didn’t look like that sort of event.

I should point out, by way of clarification, that I dunno who me Dad was, and Mum’s a red heeler called ‘Snap’, so any questions about ancestry I keep to me-self.

So anyway, the Missus and the kids all head to the pavilion where I could hear all sorts of barking and yapping, and a loud-speaker, and sometimes people clapping. But none of the meant much as The Boss told Slick and Badger to stay in the ute, and he headed over to join some of his mates at the bar. He said nothing to me, so I tagged along with him, and settled down beside a wheelie bin, and he threw me some salt-and-vinegar chips, so I wasn’t going anywhere.

After a while, and various bouts of clapping, and a few more salt-and-vinegar chips, this nice-looking lady cocker spaniel, wearing a blue ribbon, brought over this pleased looking couple carrying a silver cup – funny looking thing, wouldn’t hold much, and would tip over if you tried to drink out of it. But anyhow, they seemed pleased.

I took the opportunity to engage the lady spaniel in conversation, when along comes another couple, with another silver cup, and accompanying a long-legged, hairy-looking mutt, about twice my size, and half as smart, and wearing a gold ribbon. And what does he do, but butt in on my private conversation with Minerva the Spaniel. So I give him the usual discouraging look – you know, just a bit of a grumble, raised neck hairs, and a view of me pig choppers.

But does he take the hint? – No – thinks he’s the Muhammed-Ali of the local dog world, and starts right in, no holds barred. Well, I’ve just about got him sorted, and about to put paid to his paternity aspirations, when the boss tells me to lay off. So I nip a chunk out of me adversary’s ear – as a parting gesture – when The Boss snaps a lead on me collar… Why? I’ve never let him get lost yet, not once!

Anyway, the owner of me, now, slightly-less-hairy looking adversary, is waving his tin cup and raving on about, “Putting down that vicious, uncontrollable beast,” and The Boss is giving me the usual line of un-complimentary terms – we’ve been down this track before – more than once – only this time the scowl on his face doesn’t even reach his eyes, so I’ve got now worries, and by now the Eldest Boy is beside me, with his arm over me, so we’re watching the show as it progresses.

This bloke still carries on yelling about putting down violent, raging, uncontrollable, life-threatening, mongrel-bred, insufferable, evil, egregious, execrable (A few there I hadn’t heard before, but I had to admire the alliteration) Farm Dogs, that should never be in town anyway, and he goes over to his car and pulls out a golf club – a nine iron I reckon – And I feel the Eldest Boy stiffen… and start to get up. So I put a paw on his knee, and lick his ear and calm him down, just to re-assure him The Boss has it all under control, (And I could handle a nine-iron anyway, no worse than a cranky wild boar, or a long-horned scrubber).

So eventually the dust settles, and we all go home in the ute, and it’s after dark, and me and Slick and Badger are in our kennels, and The Boss feeds me last: - would you believe? – Two mutton shanks, and half a packet of salt-and-vinegar chips.

So I’m just giving an appreciative lick to his newly-acquired bruised knuckles. Then I hear this quiet chuckle: “Best in show, mate, best in show.”

A dog’s life? – It’ll do me.