Post by Paul on Dec 23, 2004 10:20:00 GMT 9.5
CALLINGTON DOGS
Ol' Nigger's Indiscretion.
I lived the first eighteen years of my life in the little old copper-mining town of Callington, which is situated 54 km south-east of Adelaide.
In the 1940s, my elder brother Dick, who lived with his wife on a property at Kanmantoo, decided to take his wife on holiday. It was arranged for me to push-bike the 5km to Kanmantoo each day to feed and water his stock and of course his faithful sheepdog. I was just eleven years old at the time.
Dick gave me very strict instructions regarding his beloved dog, explaining to me that she was of a pedigree breed and that he didn't want her associating with other dogs in his absence. He didn't elaborate any further.
On one of my daily trips to Kanmantoo, my old dog "Nigger", decided to go with me, gently running beside my bike. He was a an old black "bitser", a kelpie cross, that went everywhere with me, except to school. For the main part though, we were inseparable. On arrival at my brother's homestead, Nigger showed a marked interest in the little sheepdog who was tethered to her kennel by way of a long light chain.
After feeding and watering some of the stock I returned to the area where the bitch was tethered and there I discovered old Nigger being a very naughty boy indeed! He seemed to be doggedly intent on doing what his natural instincts told him to do, as he put his previous years of celibacy far behind him. There appeared little I could do either to stop him or assist him, so I dutifully carried on with assignments.
When I returned to the scene some 10 or 15 minutes later, I was confronted with a situation that I had never witnessed before and one about which I was totally ignorant. Both dogs were locked together back-to-back and they were shunting together back and forth like a couple of railway locomotives, utterly out of control.
What a problem! I was flabbergasted, would poor old Nigger have to spend the rest of his days like this?
Being ever ready to lend a hand when needed, I gingerly moved in and grabbed old Nigger by the Collar and the scruff of the neck, then I began pulling with all my might.
With the bitch still chained to her kennel and me yanking on Nigger's collar, the whining and yelping that ensued attracted the attention of old Charlie Lewis who was in a nearby paddock. I was startled when old Charlie's voice boomed out, "Just leave 'em alone me boy - they'll sort themselves out in their own good time." Somewhat embarrassed, (and much to Niggers eye watering relief) I released my hold of the collar and walked away.
Old Charlie Lewis was right, they sorted themselves out and old Nigger was soon by my side to commence the journey home. He trotted at the side of my "treadly", just a little worse for wear and all was well - or was it?
Just over a couple of months later, my brother came and asked if I had seen any stray dogs around his property while he had been away. It seems that his prized sheep dog ha presented him with a litter of mongrel pups and there was the question as to who the father might be. I wracked my brain but I couldn't throw any light on his problem at all, I mean, who could dob in his best mate for doing what nature intended?
Thirty years later, I plucked up sufficient courage and told my brother the full story, we both had a darn good laugh over it. Confession was good for the soul, even if it was thirty years late and my old mate Nigger had long since passed the reach of reprisals.
Love will find a way.
One of the most colourful characters who lived in my old home town was a big friendly bloke called Larry. Larry always owned a dog or two of various breeds and in the early 1960s managed to obtain a young crossbred bitch.
When the bitch came into season, Larry was a bit perplexed and more than a little concerned at the many would-be suitors that hung around his home. Having no fences around his home and driven almost to distraction attempting to protect the virtue of his little dog, Larry had a bright idea. He decided to lock the bitch in the boot of his car overnight. At least that would keep his dog out of harms way, well, for one night at least.
Larry made one vital mistake in his master plan, he left one of the windows of his old 1950 Ford sedan half-open. That was all the invitation a neighbour's Whippet, who was well known for his virility and tenacity, required.
Larry's car was parked in front of his home, in the still of the night the wily Whippet jumped and scrambled through the half-open window of the car, then across into the back seat. All that now stood between him and the object of his lust was the upright section of the seat and he wasn't going to let that stop him for long.
Leather, fibre, Hessian and springs began to fly in all directions as the determined hound sought a way to his true love, and eventually he won through, mission accomplished.
When Larry got up the next morning and opened the boot of his old "single-spinner" Ford, he was amazed to see a young Whippet dive out and make the dash home to freedom.
A very guilty looking little bitch huddled in the boot, together with the remains of the back seat strewn around the interior, soon told Larry the full story.
The damage had been done, in many more ways than one. The same Whippet featured in another story at about the same time.
"Fowl Play"
The dog was a born scavenger and was prone to make frequent visits to rubbish bins where he searched for scraps or anything else he could get his teeth into.
Laura, the dog's owner, was looking out the window one morning when the dog returned home with a freshly roasted chicken in his mouth. Finding a quiet spot in the back garden, he then commenced to devour his prize. Laura of course wondered, as to where her dog had obtained such a wonderful meal.
Two days later Laura was having a conversation with a neighbour and was horrified when her friend remarked something like, "You know, things are getting really bad in this town... the other day I cooked a chook and put it outside to cool, when I went back to get it later it was gone... someone had pinched it."
Laura tried to look innocent and never said a word on how lavishly her mutt had dined on the missing chook.
Paddy's Operation.
My brother Dick, spent much of his life trapping rabbits in the Mount Barker/Scotch Creek regions west of Callington, and consequently he always owned a dog or two.
It was one day in 1939 and much further afield at a place known as Highland Valley (west of the town of Woodchester) where Dick was digging out rabbits with the aid of his two fox terriers - a male named Paddy and a little female who shall remain un-named.
Now Paddy was generally a good little dog, always full of vim and vigour, but he did have one particular weakness - he tended to lose interest in any work that was to be done and he'd wander off whenever he got wind of any female in the vicinity who might be receptive to his advances.
Paddy's weakness became a real problem on this particular day and he was no help at all in the rabbit digging venture. In fact he was a confounded nuisance. He was forever tearing off, chasing after and pestering the little bitch, much to the frustration of my brother Dick. Now Dick was never one to dilly-dally if something needed attention and so he decided to do something about this problem right there and then. Like any good surgeon, he decided to operate!
He grabbed little Paddy, picked him up and placed him between his thighs in a position where he knew he could carry out the appropriate surgery. He then took his razor-sharp pocket knife from his trouser pocket and swiftly made a small incision across Paddy's left testicle, then removing the gland he flung it into the grass nearby.
This was too much for Paddy, he wasn't hanging around to have his "manhood" destroyed in this crude and unceremonious manner and he decided to take some swift evasive action. - belated though it may be.
Without any warning, he sank his teeth into the self-appointed "surgeon's" buttock and applied all the pressure his little jaws could muster. Dick's reaction was spontaneous and immediate, of course, under the circumstances perfectly natural: he released his grip on the little "foxie" and dropped him to the ground where he scurried off in a cloud of dust - operation aborted and only half completed.
That was it for brother Dick. He accepted defeat and adopted the attitude, "Once bitten - twice shy!" and he never attempted the operation again.
Meanwhile little Paddy went on his not-so-merry way, his ego a little daunted but his virility completely undiminished. However, for the rest of his days, whenever all of the dogs began howling-choir like at sunset, poor little Paddy was never quite sure as to whether he should be singing soprano or bass!
©Ray Jaensch. Albert Park, SA.
Ol' Nigger's Indiscretion.
I lived the first eighteen years of my life in the little old copper-mining town of Callington, which is situated 54 km south-east of Adelaide.
In the 1940s, my elder brother Dick, who lived with his wife on a property at Kanmantoo, decided to take his wife on holiday. It was arranged for me to push-bike the 5km to Kanmantoo each day to feed and water his stock and of course his faithful sheepdog. I was just eleven years old at the time.
Dick gave me very strict instructions regarding his beloved dog, explaining to me that she was of a pedigree breed and that he didn't want her associating with other dogs in his absence. He didn't elaborate any further.
On one of my daily trips to Kanmantoo, my old dog "Nigger", decided to go with me, gently running beside my bike. He was a an old black "bitser", a kelpie cross, that went everywhere with me, except to school. For the main part though, we were inseparable. On arrival at my brother's homestead, Nigger showed a marked interest in the little sheepdog who was tethered to her kennel by way of a long light chain.
After feeding and watering some of the stock I returned to the area where the bitch was tethered and there I discovered old Nigger being a very naughty boy indeed! He seemed to be doggedly intent on doing what his natural instincts told him to do, as he put his previous years of celibacy far behind him. There appeared little I could do either to stop him or assist him, so I dutifully carried on with assignments.
When I returned to the scene some 10 or 15 minutes later, I was confronted with a situation that I had never witnessed before and one about which I was totally ignorant. Both dogs were locked together back-to-back and they were shunting together back and forth like a couple of railway locomotives, utterly out of control.
What a problem! I was flabbergasted, would poor old Nigger have to spend the rest of his days like this?
Being ever ready to lend a hand when needed, I gingerly moved in and grabbed old Nigger by the Collar and the scruff of the neck, then I began pulling with all my might.
With the bitch still chained to her kennel and me yanking on Nigger's collar, the whining and yelping that ensued attracted the attention of old Charlie Lewis who was in a nearby paddock. I was startled when old Charlie's voice boomed out, "Just leave 'em alone me boy - they'll sort themselves out in their own good time." Somewhat embarrassed, (and much to Niggers eye watering relief) I released my hold of the collar and walked away.
Old Charlie Lewis was right, they sorted themselves out and old Nigger was soon by my side to commence the journey home. He trotted at the side of my "treadly", just a little worse for wear and all was well - or was it?
Just over a couple of months later, my brother came and asked if I had seen any stray dogs around his property while he had been away. It seems that his prized sheep dog ha presented him with a litter of mongrel pups and there was the question as to who the father might be. I wracked my brain but I couldn't throw any light on his problem at all, I mean, who could dob in his best mate for doing what nature intended?
Thirty years later, I plucked up sufficient courage and told my brother the full story, we both had a darn good laugh over it. Confession was good for the soul, even if it was thirty years late and my old mate Nigger had long since passed the reach of reprisals.
Love will find a way.
One of the most colourful characters who lived in my old home town was a big friendly bloke called Larry. Larry always owned a dog or two of various breeds and in the early 1960s managed to obtain a young crossbred bitch.
When the bitch came into season, Larry was a bit perplexed and more than a little concerned at the many would-be suitors that hung around his home. Having no fences around his home and driven almost to distraction attempting to protect the virtue of his little dog, Larry had a bright idea. He decided to lock the bitch in the boot of his car overnight. At least that would keep his dog out of harms way, well, for one night at least.
Larry made one vital mistake in his master plan, he left one of the windows of his old 1950 Ford sedan half-open. That was all the invitation a neighbour's Whippet, who was well known for his virility and tenacity, required.
Larry's car was parked in front of his home, in the still of the night the wily Whippet jumped and scrambled through the half-open window of the car, then across into the back seat. All that now stood between him and the object of his lust was the upright section of the seat and he wasn't going to let that stop him for long.
Leather, fibre, Hessian and springs began to fly in all directions as the determined hound sought a way to his true love, and eventually he won through, mission accomplished.
When Larry got up the next morning and opened the boot of his old "single-spinner" Ford, he was amazed to see a young Whippet dive out and make the dash home to freedom.
A very guilty looking little bitch huddled in the boot, together with the remains of the back seat strewn around the interior, soon told Larry the full story.
The damage had been done, in many more ways than one. The same Whippet featured in another story at about the same time.
"Fowl Play"
The dog was a born scavenger and was prone to make frequent visits to rubbish bins where he searched for scraps or anything else he could get his teeth into.
Laura, the dog's owner, was looking out the window one morning when the dog returned home with a freshly roasted chicken in his mouth. Finding a quiet spot in the back garden, he then commenced to devour his prize. Laura of course wondered, as to where her dog had obtained such a wonderful meal.
Two days later Laura was having a conversation with a neighbour and was horrified when her friend remarked something like, "You know, things are getting really bad in this town... the other day I cooked a chook and put it outside to cool, when I went back to get it later it was gone... someone had pinched it."
Laura tried to look innocent and never said a word on how lavishly her mutt had dined on the missing chook.
Paddy's Operation.
My brother Dick, spent much of his life trapping rabbits in the Mount Barker/Scotch Creek regions west of Callington, and consequently he always owned a dog or two.
It was one day in 1939 and much further afield at a place known as Highland Valley (west of the town of Woodchester) where Dick was digging out rabbits with the aid of his two fox terriers - a male named Paddy and a little female who shall remain un-named.
Now Paddy was generally a good little dog, always full of vim and vigour, but he did have one particular weakness - he tended to lose interest in any work that was to be done and he'd wander off whenever he got wind of any female in the vicinity who might be receptive to his advances.
Paddy's weakness became a real problem on this particular day and he was no help at all in the rabbit digging venture. In fact he was a confounded nuisance. He was forever tearing off, chasing after and pestering the little bitch, much to the frustration of my brother Dick. Now Dick was never one to dilly-dally if something needed attention and so he decided to do something about this problem right there and then. Like any good surgeon, he decided to operate!
He grabbed little Paddy, picked him up and placed him between his thighs in a position where he knew he could carry out the appropriate surgery. He then took his razor-sharp pocket knife from his trouser pocket and swiftly made a small incision across Paddy's left testicle, then removing the gland he flung it into the grass nearby.
This was too much for Paddy, he wasn't hanging around to have his "manhood" destroyed in this crude and unceremonious manner and he decided to take some swift evasive action. - belated though it may be.
Without any warning, he sank his teeth into the self-appointed "surgeon's" buttock and applied all the pressure his little jaws could muster. Dick's reaction was spontaneous and immediate, of course, under the circumstances perfectly natural: he released his grip on the little "foxie" and dropped him to the ground where he scurried off in a cloud of dust - operation aborted and only half completed.
That was it for brother Dick. He accepted defeat and adopted the attitude, "Once bitten - twice shy!" and he never attempted the operation again.
Meanwhile little Paddy went on his not-so-merry way, his ego a little daunted but his virility completely undiminished. However, for the rest of his days, whenever all of the dogs began howling-choir like at sunset, poor little Paddy was never quite sure as to whether he should be singing soprano or bass!
©Ray Jaensch. Albert Park, SA.
