Grandfather kept chickens - lots of them. He was also a bit of a rogue; clever really, liked a good joke, a smart idea, or a problem needing to be solved. When us grand kids called around he'd wet himself laughing when he asked us all the schoolboy jokes. All those obvious ones like: why'd the chicken cross the road? If we said, "To get to the other side," he'd say, "Nah, silly, he was running away from the policeman who wanted to arrest him for using fowl language!"
He loved us, and he loved his chooks - probably more than us. We always had a great time feeding them and collecting the eggs. Of course, Grandfather had names for all of them, knew where they were likely to lay their eggs and all their idiosyncrasies. There was 'Gardener' who was always raking the ground in the middle of the yard. 'Chatterbox' never ever seemed to stop clicking in a mournful sort of way. It was natural that the big red rooster would be called 'Show- off' because his chest was constantly puffed up. The Rhode Island Red seemed to say, "Do it this way, Do it this way" so she was the 'Teacher'. And the one called 'Doctor' was always investigating the feathers of other birds. They were truly free-range chickens and we found their eggs all over the place but Grandfather had also provided them with their own nesting boxes, if they chose to use them, which sometimes they did.
When the sad day arrived and the old boy finally took his place in the farmyard in the skies we were summoned to hear his Will read out. There were five of us grandchildren and sure enough he'd left something for each of us. But in true style it was not all straight forward. We had to solve his problem first. Mine read:
Dear Grandson Johnny, mate,
I really think you're great;
Despite your acne spots
I've always loved ya lots.
We've had a lot of good times
An' I know how you love rhymes
An' I bet you're thinking now
'Bout me last and final bow
An' what now has he left me.
There's a problem do ya see
Which you must work out first,
But never fear the worst
It's really not that hard.
Just go out into the yard
Where we often played our tricks
And carefully watch me chicks.
Now you know all their names
And nearly all their games.
So all that you must do is
Watch each one do her biz
In the place that she loves best
Which, of course, is on her nest;
And one soon you will find where
I've hidden just for you there
A really super treasure
Which 'll no doubt give you pleasure:
A token from your Grandad
Just special now for you lad.
And so it was that after a bit of searching finally found what Grandad had left me — his gold watch, hidden in a box under The Doctor
Now, I'll tell you a tale - a tale of a fox - a fox and a chicken really.
Now you probably know that somewhere in Tasmania there's a fox on the loose, or there was, so they say. But maybe there's more than one. Who knows? They shot one last month so I read in the paper. But was it the real one, the one they've been hunting all year?
Well I'll tell yer something. I got a mate, a good mate, name's Jack. He's a farmer like, up Longford way an' he's bin tryin' to find that damn fox for months. He knew he was around. Found his footprints by his chicken run more 'n once. Foxes love chooks, don't they ever, and Jack he knows this. So, first thing he does is set a trap. Nice idea, but it don't work. Foxes haven't been caught in traps since knows when. Too smart by far they are.
So Jack goes t' plan number two. Shooting. Takes his gun and sits awaiting the cunning old foxy. Night after night he's there, just waiting but fox don't show up. So Jack gets ter thinking some more. What can he do? And then he says to himself: foxes like chickens. Well that's obvious ain't it?
"Ah," says Jack, "but what if they smelt and saw a really big one. One much bigger than a little pullet. One he couldn't refuse. Suppose I dressed like a chook - like that politician did in Parliament one time . . . Bruce . . .what's his name?" So all the next week Jack collects hen's feathers and when he's got enough he tars and feathers himself all over. Looked just like a six foot rooster. Talk about laugh. Looked a right sight. "Yes," says Jack, "I'm gonna sit in that hen house all night till he comes. And when he does. Bang! I'll have him."
And that's what he did. It sure worked a treat. One dead fox. Course he didn't tell the papers what I've just told you. But that's how it was. Trust me!
The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees,
The night was a deadly demon ready and waiting to seize,
The road was a dusty trackway over the misty hills,
And the larrikins came driving -
Driving - driving -
The larrikins came driving; a car-load full of dills.
They'd- a battered FJ Holden roaring, a souped-up motor within,
And they'd plenty of alcohol, fairly burning their skin;
And they loudly bawled and swore, and all the seat belts swung;
And they rode without a care,
They really didn't care;
They were out on an endless highway, wild and drunk and young.
Over the stones they rattled and banged on that quiet country road
And they hardly noticed where they went for nothing at all "they knowed"
They hooted and hooned out the window as splinters of light passed by;
Their cans lay littering the roadside,
Like lights along the roadside;
Immortal and strong they were: not really ready to die.
But the miles and the drink and the dark took their toll,
As the speed they were travelling grew; and the car soon started to roll,
Took a nudge on the kerb, screeched, slithered and keeled;
The driver knew he had lost it,
Unconsciously, knew that he'd lost it;
And the five lay dead - in the night - in a field!
I think they've locked him in today,
Worried lest he run away;
His mournful wails rise hauntingly
On noontide air he cannot see.
He's young and strong and loves to run
The outside world is so much fun.
He often comes around our place;
Likes snuggling up or licks your face;
A friendly dog without a worry,
Always sniffing, in a hurry.
I hear his melancholy wail,
Read sadness in a drooping tail,
Know how his love of life is curbed;
My heart inside is quite perturbed.
He loves the world of grass and sky,
The big playground outside. So do I!
In lots of forms and many ways
The world of plastics fills our days:
Man-made substances like PVC
Are never hard to find and see.
Remember all the discs we played,
Old 78's were from it made;
Take thermo-plastic polystyrene
Thick as resin, often seen
In ceiling tiles and children's toys
And even combs - such simple joys!
Phenol formaldehyde, of course,
A type of laminated sauce,
Good for sticking things together;
All good plastics go forever.
Celluloid, became the first;
Our films were by it gently nursed.
Poly tetra fluoro ethy lenes
(Bet you don't know what that means!)
On your frying pan you'll find it,
Non-stick Teflon's quite a hit.
So ends my eulogy on plastic;
We all agree - it's quite fantastic.
My affair was quite short really but every minute we spent together was special. I know my wife had her suspicions. Even so, it made no difference to what happened.
It's sometimes hard to know exactly when an affair starts - a shy look, a responsive smile, the softly spoken word. There's a feeling, often unspoken which conveys a sense of trust, of needing to be together just a little more. When it happens you know it was meant to be - for now anyway - for how long, only the future knows.
I walked out of my house one day and there she was in the next door garden. Even with that first glance something special seemed to happen. Was it just me or was it mutual? Strange how she always seemed to be there every time I appeared. Now I'm not known as a fast worker but somehow I couldn't help myself so I suggested we go for a walk together. Not far, not for long; we didn't want to make too much of it; not yet anyway. People might talk. Her response was immediate - she'd love to.
I thought we might not attract much attention if we went to the beach. Lots of people go there. We probably wouldn't be noticed. I was wrong. Trudy was not like other girls I'd known. She seemed to attract attention and I soon discovered what a friendly personality she had. So we kept stopping to talk.
I wondered what sort of love this was. We were developing a real affection for each other. She was so responsive. She was interested, really interested, well in everything. I think we both knew we were enjoying something very special. But how long could it last?
The next time we managed to get away together we went for a jog. Well it was more of a jog for me; Trudy wanted to go flat out. She's a few years younger than me. So on the way back we just threw a ball around. I think she's in quite good shape really.
It's over now, of course, but you know, I enjoyed every minute of the time I spent with Trudy. I have to say that she was absolutely the most wonderful and obedient dog I've ever known. I was quite upset when her owner returned a couple of weeks later to take her home.
