The Long Road Home, page 31
‘Rick, breakfast,’ he heard Blair call.
‘Come on, that’s us, mate,’ he said, giving Eric’s ears a final ruffle before leaving the room.
‘Ah, there you are,’ Blair said, looking up from the stove.
‘Sorry if I’m late.’
‘You’re not. And I was actually talking to Eric,’ Blair said with a laugh. ‘My fault, I should have been clearer.’
‘I hope you don’t mind, but he as good as knocked on my door. He was quite insistent.’
‘No worries. He’s taken a shine to you. You’re a sensitive chap, aren’t you, mate?’ he said. Both dogs were now sitting politely side by side next to their feed bowls at the far end of the kitchen bench.
‘And he slept on the bed for part of the night. Sorry,’ Rick said, cringing.
‘No need to be sorry. I don’t mind at all. If you can put up with them – at least they’re reasonably clean at the moment. We’ll see how they are tonight after being with the sheep.’
‘I like that you treat them as part of the family.’
‘Well, that’s what they are,’ Blair said, bending down and pouring dry food into the bowls.
‘That’s nice. We weren’t allowed to have farm dogs in the house – apparently if they were pampered too much they’d forget their place and wouldn’t work.’
‘I have the opposite view. I reckon they’ll work harder if they feel loved and respected, but I have no proof. I’m just a softy, I guess. Don’t see why they can’t be treated well after all they do.’
‘Are they good with the sheep?’
‘Yep, they’re both pretty gifted – but in different ways. Eric’s strength is out in the paddock – probably because he can cover a lot of ground with his long legs. And Ruby comes into her own in the yards – she can be really pushy and yappy when she needs to be, not nasty, but assertive. I think it’s the clichéd red-headed feistiness. They make a great team. You’ll see. Right, bacon and eggs and coffee before it gets cold,’ Blair said, bringing two plates out of the oven and placing them on the table and then delivering two mugs of coffee.
‘Sorry, I should have helped.’
‘Stop apologising. It’s no worries, mate. And I’m putting you to work, remember, when you could have said no. The least I can do is give you a decent feed.’
‘I’m happy to help.’
‘Did you sleep okay?’ Blair asked when they were eating.
‘Yes, thanks. It’s a very comfortable bed.’
‘It is. So, not too much churning going on upstairs in the brain, then?’
‘Well, I wouldn’t say that,’ Rick said with a laugh. ‘There’s a lot of processing going on up there, that’s for sure.’
As he matched Blair bite for bite, Rick found himself wondering how it was going to be working sheep with him. Much different, he wouldn’t mind betting. It had always been a stressful experience with Joseph in charge. Rick shuddered as a shard of memory shot through him of his uncle screaming and kicking out at the dogs and them cowering and running off to hide beneath the ute.
* * *
‘Okay, I’m not sure how you do it, so forgive me if I sound like I’m being patronising. I’m just used to doing it on my own and my way. I’m going to open the gates into the yards so Eric knows where to bring them,’ Blair said once they were in the ute and backing out of the shed. Rick felt weird to be sitting there doing nothing – usually Joseph sat back and gave orders while Rick did all the work. And despite being on the farm for many years, he had never been left to his own devices.
As he sat with the sun streaming in the window, watching Blair opening and closing gates and organising the yards, he thought about how, thanks to Anthea, he’d begun to see there was nothing wrong with being quiet and sensitive. And since Anthea, he’d discovered where this nature of his had come from. He really was beginning to like who he was.
‘Rightio, off we go,’ Blair said poetically, and grinning, when he was back in the vehicle and putting it into gear.
‘You’re enjoying this?’ Rick couldn’t help himself asking, unable to keep his amazement to himself.
‘Sure. Why not? The sheep need drenching, it’s part of the program, part of the business. May as well accept that and get on. No point getting all stressed about it – that just puts everyone on edge and makes it take twice as long,’ Blair said with a shrug.
Oh how I wish Joseph Peterson were here to hear this.
They drove, largely in silence, out on to a track, along it for a few minutes and then into a heavily wooded paddock. Blair drove into the paddock, did a large loop, then exited and backed up and parked parallel with, but back from, the gate they’d just used and facing the direction of the yards.
‘Huh?’ Rick said, when Blair turned the vehicle off and went to open his door to get out. He looked across Blair and out the window at the sheep dotted around the paddock.
‘I take it you don’t do it this way?’ Blair said, pausing with his door half open.
‘I don’t know. I guess not, though I’m not sure what you’re up to,’ Rick said with a puzzled laugh.
‘Watch and learn, my friend. Watch and learn,’ he said.
Rick looked out the back window where Blair gave both dogs a lot of attention before unclipping Eric.
‘Good boy, Eric. Off you go – go get ’em,’ Rick heard Blair say, and then saw him wave his arm in the direction of the paddock. In a split second, Eric had leapt from the ute, over the fence, turned right, and raced off around the perimeter of the paddock. He turned back to the back window where he saw Ruby looking after Eric, straining on her chain for a few moments and giving a couple of barks before settling down.
‘Now what?’ Rick said, frowning, when Blair got back in and made no move to start the vehicle.
‘We wait.’
‘We wait? And do nothing?’
‘Yep.’
‘Wow. Okay, then,’ Rick said, with big eyes, and sat back with his arms folded. But he kept looking past Blair to the paddock where Eric had been sent. The sheep were still scattered around, slowly grazing and all heading the same way – faces into the breeze – like sheep did. That was no different from their behaviour in his neck of the woods. Rick checked his watch. He was interested to see how long this took – as a comparison, too.
He looked back to the paddock. The grazing sheep were still undisturbed. He scanned the perimeter where Eric had gone. Over there it was heavily wooded. He couldn’t tell from this far away if the trees were part of the paddock or fenced off. But then he saw several small white blobs moving out from under the timber. Soon a stream of white stretched out into the paddock, moving towards the middle. The grazing sheep stopped and looked. And then they turned and started coming in Rick and Blair’s direction, too. Gradually, in just a few minutes, all the small and larger mobs and individual sheep that had been dotted around and hiding under the trees had become one big wave moving towards them.
‘Wow,’ Rick said, gazing with wonder at Blair. He looked proud and Rick thought he had every right to be.
‘Yep. It’s as easy as that.’
Rick nodded, feeling a little lost for words.
‘And then what?’ he finally managed.
‘Because we went to the yards and drove the exact path, both dogs know where they need to go. Once we get them a bit closer, Ruby will do her bit and give Eric a break. As I said, they’re a great team.’
‘Are you a dog trainer, too?’ Is there nothing this bloke can’t do?
‘Nope. They’re mostly self-trained. It’s in their genes apparently.’
Rick wondered what the three sleek dogs back at the Peterson property were capable of if left to do their own thing. ‘And you can trust him to bring them all out – every last one?’
‘Yep. Hasn’t let me down in five years. In the early days I used to go in and check once Ruby took over. If he finds one back in there that can’t walk for whatever reason, or any other problem, he’ll stay put until I go and see. Or if I’m distracted and not looking, he’ll get sick of waiting and come and get me. It’s a bit embarrassing having your dog tell you off for being slack, I can tell you,’ Blair said, laughing.
‘Unbelievable.’
‘Might seem that way. I think most animals are a lot smarter than we give them credit for. You can’t make them do anything, just ask them to, really. That’s my philosophy, anyway,’ Blair said with a shrug. ‘It seems to work. And it worked for Dad and his dad before that.’
‘Back where I’m from working with sheep was always a shitfest. Stressful. Lots of yelling and slamming of gates, throwing things.’
‘I’ve heard that from a lot of blokes. I just love sheep – they’re really not as stupid as people like to think. Take it slow, is my motto. And have some respect. And keep them quiet. Too many people rush it and stir them up. Then they just scatter. Like most things in life – slow and steady is the key.’
‘Yeah, we always seemed to be in a rush,’ Rick mused. He felt a tug of yearning – to go back and do things differently, do things right. He pushed it back down. There were other ways he could challenge and prove himself. He felt disappointed in Joseph all over again. Stupid old bastard.
‘Are you involved with live export – like, to the Middle East?’ Rick ventured.
‘Hell no. I’d never send my stock on a death ship to meet that sort of fate. The whole practice is barbaric. There is absolutely no need for it and the sooner they stop it, the better, in my opinion. Sorry, I’m a bit vocal about it.’
‘Don’t be. I completely agree. I was just sussing out where you stood. We weren’t into it either, thank Christ – but I think that was more about distance and the cost of getting them to a port than any altruistic views on Joseph’s part.’
‘I’ve even gone to the protest rallies.’
‘I’ve seen it all over social media, but I was never in the right place at the right time.’
‘Fair enough. I don’t share about it online because it’s such an emotive topic. A lot of farmers are into it, obviously, and while I want to help the cause to shut it down, I do my best to avoid aggro all round. So much online starts off as a healthy debate but then gets completely derailed by people throwing their own, different, agendas into the mix or simply not knowing the facts of what they’re talking about.’
‘There are a lot of stupid, gullible people out there, that’s for sure. The trouble is they jump on the bandwagon without informing themselves. That’s what pisses me off,’ Rick said.
‘That mob that tried to insinuate that shearing was the same as skinning a sheep alive just about did my head in,’ Blair said, shaking his head. ‘I eased up my time online significantly because of it. Right, here we are,’ he added, as sheep began streaming out the gate, turning right and heading down the track towards the yards. When there were no more, Blair got out. Rick could hear him call Eric to the back and tell him to get up. Through the window he watched while Blair gave the heaving, panting dog plenty of attention and then clipped him to his chain and unclipped Ruby. He gave the red kelpie a good pat before waving his arm in the direction of the sheep. Back in the ute, Blair turned on the ignition and began to ease the vehicle forwards slowly. Ruby was trotting along behind the sheep, keeping well back and letting them pick their way.
Rick smiled when the dog paused and looked back, as if to check they were coming. To him she was saying, hurry up. But when he saw Blair wave his hand out of the open ute window and then Ruby carried on, he knew she was checking for instructions. Rick shook his head in amazement and respect.
As they inched along, they heard a ping from Blair’s phone tucked in the console. He checked it. ‘Oh. Brett and Lauren are going to come on Friday night too. I told you about them, didn’t I?’
‘Yep. Sounds good.’
‘You’ll like them. They’re awesome people.’
As they closed the gate behind the last of the sheep at the yards, Rick noted it had taken under an hour to bring in a mob of around two thousand sheep. All without any stress or shouting. So far. He was impressed.
‘Do they both work the yards?’ Rick asked as they got out of the ute and Blair unclipped Eric.
‘Yeah, but Eric doesn’t like to push too hard – as a pup he got a fright from a cranky ram who tried to have a go at him. Thankfully, like I said, Ruby can get pretty assertive if she needs to.’
‘Okay. So, what can I do to help?’
‘Are you any good with a drenching gun?’
‘Of course.’
‘Great. We can run two races, then, and get it done in half the time.’
‘Brilliant. But will they work for me?’ he asked, nodding towards the dogs who were sprawled out in the shade of a tree panting, waiting, wet from taking a dip in the trough on their way past.
‘Yep, should do. They know what’s what. They’ve done this before. Just say, “bring ’em up”, in an authoritative tone and they should fill your race for you. Then say, “good dogs, that’s enough”, and they should hang back. Unfortunately, they can’t open and shut gates, so we’ll have to walk back and do that ourselves.’
‘Oh damn,’ Rick said, grinning.
‘Yeah, I’m working on how I can sort it, believe me. But, hey, we need a bit of exercise, so I guess it’s only fair.’
Rick and Blair and the dogs were soon working as a well-oiled machine, with the only sounds being the bleating and shuffling of the sheep, the odd bark of the dogs, instructions from Rick and Blair, and the occasional word from Blair asking Rick if he was doing okay and his reply that he was. Rick was enjoying the calm repetitive toil of bending down, placing the long, thin metal gun-shaped apparatus carefully between the lips and into the mouth of the closest sheep, squeezing the trigger, then pulling it out, just as carefully, and then moving back to the next one in the line.
Rick was surprised when they stopped for lunch and said so. He was hungry, but he was used to ignoring it and pushing on.
‘The dogs need a break, and so do we,’ Blair said. ‘No point pushing ourselves and them. That’s when tempers can start to get frayed. Grandad taught me that taking a decent break can make you much more productive.’
They opened the gates and let the remaining sheep have plenty of space, which included a trough. Rick was further impressed. Peterson sheep had often spent all day in the yards panting, their flanks heaving and tucked up from lack of water. He’d once questioned Joseph about it and been yelled at – told to not be disrespectful. Rick cringed at the memory and thought of the stress all the sheep over the years had endured.
‘It’s coming in warm. We’ll see after lunch, but we might leave them – give them some feed – and carry on in the morning. There’s enough shade and shelter.’
‘You wouldn’t want to just get them dealt with and let back out?’ Rick ventured carefully.
‘No – because they’re so quiet, being kept in doesn’t seem to be causing them additional stress. It’s another of the perks of having quiet stock.’
‘Yeah. I see that. We always had to get it done in one hit, if possible – start early work late.’
‘Whatever works,’ Blair said, diplomatically, and shrugged.
‘I reckon your way is the right way,’ Rick said.
‘I’m just all about the path of least resistance. I don’t see the point in making it stressful if you can get around it. It’s business, but it doesn’t have to be hard. Life is to be enjoyed and, if it’s not, for a lot of the time, change what you do. That’s what I reckon, anyway.’
‘Sounds good to me,’ Rick said, as they made their way back to the house, the dogs trotting in front. ‘A part of me wants to be a farmer again – do it better, properly, this time around,’ he said, as they took off their boots outside and put them on the step.
‘You can do whatever you like with yourself, and your money. It’s yours, but for what it’s worth, I reckon just living your life and being content in what you do is enough revenge, if that’s what you’re looking for. You’ll be forever chasing your tail and unhappy if you try to compete or score points with or prove anything to anyone – especially dead people. Do what you want for yourself, inside here,’ he said, poking himself in the chest. ‘Being happy – which is the same thing as success, in my book – is the best revenge you can have.’
He looked at Blair, nodding, and his new mate looked steadily back. ‘Yeah, I think you’re right,’ said Rick.
* * *
Rick and Blair finished the sheep Thursday afternoon, having stretched the job over two and a half days. They were muscle sore and weary from the activity and monotony of the task, but not frazzled or cranky. This was a first for Rick, and a very enlightening experience. He was really beginning to see how much better a different, calmer, approach from Joseph’s bull-at-a-gate one could be. The frustrating thing was that it was too late to tell the people who had raised him. He marvelled at how different everything might have been – how different he might have been with a gentle approach. He told Blair of this inner turmoil while they were tidying everything up. Blair had said he thought perhaps there was a reason they weren’t there to tell. Rick had frowned back, his confusion exacerbated by the weariness that had seeped right through him.
‘Maybe they didn’t have to learn it, Rick – maybe you did,’ Blair explained.
‘But …’ Rick had begun to protest, but then realised Blair was right. And as Blair had said before, perhaps he was learning these things now because he was ready to – in a receptive frame of mind with his soul open.
‘You can’t help those who don’t want to help themselves,’ Blair had added.
Rick had nodded several times. No matter how much it made sense, the resentment remained. ‘It’s just so bloody frustrating,’ he said, not meaning to utter the words aloud.
‘Yep. That’s why we have artists and art.’
‘Sorry? What?’ They’d been driving back to the house after closing the gate on the last of the sheep in their fresh paddock and Rick thought he was clearly more exhausted than he actually felt because this comment of Blair’s had him completely stumped.
