Bombs Away

BOMBS AWAY!

          Six O’clock, Monday morning, found me sitting on the steps of the Hotel waiting to be picked up by the contractor. I was looking at an hours drive as we were doing a suburban shed for a couple of weeks.    

     While I was waiting, I did a quick check on mi gear. Tool box with combs, cutters etc. Esky box with enough tucker to get me through the day, water bag and last but not least, a sweat towel which was guaranteed to be used. 

     Everything in my life revolved around the hotel. I lived there, found my work there and got dropped off there at the end of the day. 

     The first car of the morning pulled up and out got Johnny Prisk, the ‘penner-upper’ along with two red kelpies. His missus handed him his tucker box, then gave me a wave as she pulled away from the curb.

“G’day Yorky Mate. How are ya?”

“Not bad Prisky. How are you mate?

“Pretty good Yorky. I  had an early night last night.”

“Does that mean ya got ya leg over mate?”, I asked him.

“Not bloody likely. I’ve been married for 15 years. The last time I got mi leg over, I woke up with the guilts! I thought I’d committed incest.”

This little joke gave us both a good laugh.

“Grab ya gear Yorky. Here comes the contractor.

“Yorky, Prisky, how are ya?” said the contractor as he got out of his newly leased sedan. 

“Stick the dogs in the boot Prisky. We’ve got three more blokes to pick up.”

“What! I’m not putting ‘em in the boot! It’s an hours drive out to this Cockys’ place.”

“Well ya not puttin’ ‘em in mi new car! I’ve only had it a couple of days.”

“Then fuck it! I’m not startin”. I’ll go back home to my place. I’ve got enough work on my property to keep me goin’ for a week at least.”, said Prisky.

     After arguing back and forth for five minutes, it was decided the dogs would travel in the car, on the floor, in the back.

     Once all the blokes were on board, we headed out of town and onto the dirt road.

“Yorky! Ya pommy bastard.”, said Dudley, who was one of mi good mates. “Did ya git on the piss last night?”

“I had a few but I wasn’t legless.”

“What about you mate? W’ere ya drinkin’ at the Golf Club?, I asked.

“Yeah, but I left early. I was pissed-off. I done a hundred bucks on the game. I gotta’ stop that gamblin’ caper. I always seem to lose!”

“Yeah, it’s a mugs game Dudley.”

“I heard, over the weekend that you shore 237 lambs at Sansons’ property last week.”

“That’s right mate.”

“They must have been good shearing’ eh?”

“Course they were Dudley. We can’t all be gun shearers like you mate!”

“Git fucked Yorky!”

“By the way Yorky, someone told me you were tryin’ to root my sister at that party on Saturday night.”

“That’s bullshit Dudley, I only had a couple of dances with her.”

“Well if ya do get onto her Yorky, make sure ya use a condom. I don’t want a Pome bastard for a brother-in-law! It’s enough that I’ve got to shear with one.”

“Fuck you Dudley, I’m the best shearin’ mate you’ve had.”

“Sit down, ya bastard!” , said Paul, one of the other shearers. “What are these fuckin’ dogs traveling in the car for? Why aren’t they in the boot?”

“Fuck you!”, said Prisky. “My dogs aren’t ridin’ in the boot for an hour on a dirt road!”

“All right, settle down you blokes.” Said Jack, the contractor. “You’re at each others throat already and we’re not even halfway there yet!”

     A few more miles down the road, another shearer called Herb said to me, “Hey Yorky, did you just drop ya guts?”

“NO! I fuckin’ didn’t. I thought it was you!”, I said.

“It’s those fuckin’ dogs.”, said Dudley. “And the bastards are right under my feet.”

A minute later, one of the dogs dropped one of the most vile farts I’ve ever smelled.

“Fuck me dead!”, said Herb. “Stop the fuckin’ car and let me out or I’m gonna’ chunder on the floor!”

“SHIT!” , said Jack the contractor. “Mi new car’s gonna’ smell like a dog pen!”

The car came to an abrupt halt, all four doors opened and a shearing team exited the car a lot faster than they got in. All the blokes stood on the side of the road in a cloud of dust, spitting and coughing.

Big Paul actually lost a couple of middies from the night before. All the while this little drama was playing out, Priskys’ dogs had climbed up on the back seat to see what all the commotion was about.

“What the fuck have you been feedin’ these mongrel-bred bastard dogs?”, Said Jack.”

“They’re pure-bred Kelpies mate, not mongrels!”, said Prisky. “And if you must know they’ve been livin’ on roo meat for the past week.”

“No fuckin’ wonder!”, said Big Paul. “You owe me a couple of middies when we get back to town Prisky and furthermore there’s no way I’m traveling in this car while those fuckin’ dogs are in the back!”

“That’ll do!”, said Jack. “Like it or not Prisky, the fuckin’ dogs are goin’ in the boot and that’s that! Tomorrow, you can drive ya own car out and Ill pay for the petrol. It’s either that or walk home mate!”

     Reluctantly, the dogs were relegated to the boot and Prisky had now, well and truly, got the shits. 

     It took another five minutes or so, with the doors and windows open, before it was humanly safe to get back in the car and be on our way.

     At last, we arrived at the shed. After we’d signed on and drawn lots I ended up on number four stand which was close to the door but I had a good drag to the stand. 

     Once the bell went we were off! 

     After I’d shorn 9 or 10 weathers, I reckon if I kept up this pace all day I would probably end up with around 130 which wouldn’t be too bad a tally for wrinkly weathers covered in wool. 

     Everything was goin’ well until the second half of the first run when the cocky walked into the shed. He came straight over to my stand and fuckin bombed me

“Ya need to clean ‘em up around the head better mate.”, he said and then took off again.

     Once I’d finished the weather I was on I shoved it down the shute and looked out the window at the sheep in mi counting-out pen. They looked pretty good to me and I’m my own worst critic. At the end of the run I went up to the contractor and had a word with him.

“Hey Jack, when you count my pen out, check ‘em out for me will ya”?

“No worries Yorky mate. Why? Is there a problem?”

“Yeah, that fuckin’ bastard cocky bombed me for not cleanin’ ‘em up around the head! Can you fuckin’ believe it?”, I told him.

“No worries mate. I’ll check ‘em out out for ya.”

     During smoke the contractor said to me, “I checked out ya sheep Yorky. They’re good enough for me mate.”

     At the beginning of the next run I’d only shorn one sheep and the fuckin’ cocky was at my stand again, telling me there were too many ridges around the neck.

“They’re fuckin’ wrinkles!”, I said. “My sheep are just as well-shorn as anyone elses!”

     Soon as he’d left the shed, I walked over to Dudleys stand and asked him if he’d swap stands for about 10 sheep. After I explained what was happening Dudley said, “No worries Yorky!”     We had just swapped stands back when the cocky came over to stand and bombed me again. I was coming down the last side so I pulled out of gear, disconnected the hand-piece and said to the cocky, “So my sheep are not shorn well enough for you, is that right?”

“That’s right! they’re not clean enough.”

“No worries sport. Take a look at mi mate Dudleys’ sheep. Tell me if his sheep are cleaner than mine?”

As we walked over to Dudleys stand, he had just let his first one go. 

“Right mate, what about those sheep? Are they good enough for ya?, I asked him.

The cocky surveyed Dudleys’ pen of shorn weathers for a half minute or so and said, “Yep! they’re good enough for me. That how I wanna’ see your sheep shorn!”

“You mongrel-bred fuckin’ cunt! Those are my sheep! I shore those! Dudley and miself swapped stands. Only one of those well-shorn bastards are his! The other fuckin’ 9 are mine!”

“Bullshit!”, said the cocky. “You can’t shear that many that clean!”

     Now I was really fuckin’ angry and Dudley said, “He’s right mate. Yorky shore those sheep. We swapped stands for 10 sheep.”

He turned to me and said, “I don’t care who shore ‘em! I want you off my property!”

By this time the conversation had gotten well and truly out of hand. Just then the contractor appeared and said, “What the fuck is goin’ on?”

“This mongrel fuckin’ cunt has bombed me three times so me and Dudley changed stands for 10 sheep and this bastard is still sayin’ the sheep in my pen are not clean enough when in fact, these are my sheep here!”

“What’s the problem Phil?” Jack asked the cocky.

“I don’t like his shearing. They’re not clean enough!”

Jack looked out the window into the pen and said, “Well, there’s Yorkys’ sheep and they look really well-shorn fo  me mate.”

“I don’t care!”, said the cocky. “I want him off my property!”

That was it! I’d had enough of this bastards’  bullshit so I grabbed him by the front of his shirt and slammed him against the shed wall. I’d still got mi handpiece in mi hand so I put it about an inch from his windpipe and said, 

“Go on you mongrel cunt, open ya mouth again and I’ll ram this fuckin’ handpiece straight through ya adams’ apple, ya fuckin’ pufta!”

“Whoa!”, said the contractor. “Steady on there Yorky mate, don’t do it! He’s not worth it!”

“Shove ya mongrel bred weathers up ya fuckin’ dung funnel ya gutless cunt and don’t let me see ya in the shearers pub or I’ll knock ya arse over head, ya gutless bastard!”, I said.

     Once mi gear was packed up, the contractor came over and said, “Jeezuz Yorky, I thought for sure you were really gonna’ kill him.”

“Not really mate, but I bet ya he’s got to change his strides! No bastard disrespects me like that, especially when he said Dudleys’ sheep we well shorn and I actually shore ‘em. So, how do I get back to town now Jack?”

“Take my car Yorky. We’ll all pile into one car and don’t hit any roos with it. It cost me a fortune to lease.”

“Ya got a pen for me tomorrow mate?, I asked him.

“Yeah, no worries there mate. I’ll swap one of mi other blokes around.”

“What’s wrong with the bastard Jack? Why’d he pick on me?”

“He just took an instant dislike to ya. It’s got nothing to do with ya shearing mate. That just an excuse.”

     That night in the bar it was beers all round and everyone had a good laugh.

“Jeesuz Yorky mate,”, said Dudley as he handed  me a middy. “I thought for sure that fuckin’ cocky was a gonna’.”

“Me too mate,” I said and downed mi beer in a couple of gulps. “Come on Dudley, ya fuckin’ Aussie bastard. Drink up or a pome shearer will be drinkin’ ya under the bar.

“No fuckin’ way will a pome drink me under the bar!”, said Dudley. “And don’t forget what I told you this mornin’…Stay away from my sister!”

This is an introduction to the Mercurial World of Guru Om. He will fascinate your mind and bring you to understandings that you may have never even imagined.