May 11 2008
Don’t forget the dog food
We lived near a town called Tarago. Well, we lived 40 minutes on a dirt road from the town. The town itself was home to about 100 people, about 100 dogs, a bowser, a shop and of course a pub. More about Tarago in another post sometime. The daily routine trip to school is the topic of the day.
(Just did a quick Google for ‘Tarago’… nothing)
By about 5am I was out of my pajama’s off to the dam with 2 buckets. The 500 metre walk up the hill to to fill my horses trough in the cold of the morning was among my least favourite chore of the day but there were close contenders. An added stick in the spokes came in the middle of winter when I had to use my gumboots to crack the ice on the surface before I could dip the bucket.
Once ‘Julie’ had enough water in the cast iron bath tub water trough, we’d have a quick hug and I’d head back down the house where Mum would by now have the smoke billowing out of the chimney of the slow combustion stove. Sometimes it’d be porridge with a ton of cream and brown sugar or more often, being a sheep farm… eggs, chops and toast. There’d be plenty of chores throughout the day to not have to worry about getting fat.
Next, into the Chrysler wagon with the step father to catch a lift from our station ‘Ataweenah’ to the next ‘Virginia’. My step father worked as a pre-trainer of race horses. More about him another time.
So we’d be driving along, breathing a healthy mix of Log Cabin rollie’s and road dust. Both the step father and I would have our eyes peeled. It was daily routine so we didn’t need to say much, a grunt was usually enough. For some reason being the driver or more likely, being him, he automatically had the ‘gun rights’. A brief grunt would see the Chrysler quietly but sternly whip to a holt. The gun would be pulled from under the seat, I’d lean forward, and across my back he’d place the rifle lining up a shot at the dog’s dinner. Usually picking the largest grey roo in the pack. With 7 dogs to feed we were always looking for the cheapest way to feed them. He’d pop off a shot and I soon learnt to make a mental note of the exact location. Off we’d continue to the next sheep station.
I’d wait around Virginia for a while til it was actually time to head off, with the kids from Virgina out to the bus stop or the ‘cattle grid’ as we called it because that’s exactly what it was. Simply a cattle grid at a T-junction on a dirt road in the middle of nowhere.
The very old funny shaped bus would rattle up the road , pick us up and continue on to Braidwood… the big smoke.
After a day at school, we’d head home. The hour long bus trip back to the bus stop, 1/2 hour in the car to Virginia, wait for step dad to finish with the horses, then another 1/2 hour trip home. I must admit I often forgot, I’d be day dreaming about something or other, looking forward to getting home and seeing Mum I guess, until the car came to a stop to jog my memory. So off I’d run into the bush to retrieve the carcass and drag it back to the car. We’d get home, I go change clothes then chop it up into equal portions and do the rounds of the dogs on the hill for their dinner.
I’d fill in time til it got dark to top up the wood pile for both the slow combustion stove and the open fire.
And to think nowadays I complain if I have to wash up!
