Munney’s Mate.
‘twas in the evening after dark,
when mustering was done,
and bones were eased from iron grip
of saddles in the sun.
Old Munney hunkered, ‘gainst a log
Old Dog stretched by his side.
Their shadows merged, as did the toil
they shared with every ride.
But this day’s work was over now,
eyes eased from vigilance,
And the billy sang its comfort song
And the woodsmoke danced its dance.
Near white as snow was Munney’s head,
with eyes a faded blue.
Old Dog was sort of mottled brown
- bit like a pan of stew.
They’d been together, man and dog
since back in sixty five,
there’s some that said “it was Old Dog
that keeps his mate alive.”
“There’s truth in that” the grumbling said,
“He gave him one more chance.”
And the billy sang its comfort song
And the woodsmoke danced its dance.
That was the time when Munney quit
and swagged down Blackall way.
More sprightly then he covered ground
faster than any stray.
Cloaked by the Cross and hunger drawn
He headed for the town
but fetched up hard by different song
and hair that tumbled down..
She’d eyes as bright as midnight sky
with a promise in their glance.
And the billy sang its comfort song
And the woodsmoke danced its dance.
So down went Munney’s bushel bag,
out came his final pay.
He flung his larstins ‘neath the bed
then nature had her way.
Away went Munney’s good intent.
Away his savings poke.
He’s never known a life this sweet
was for an ordinary bloke.
She swore her love would never die,
said ‘time will just enhance.”
And the billy sang its comfort song
And the woodsmoke danced its dance.
Soon Munney’s funds were running low
But with loins still full of lust.
He’d covered her with token gifts,
they’d drank til’ fit to bust.
There was empties on the washstand,
strewn fag ends on the floor.
till wallet, flat as a carter’s hat
She slung him out the door.
She’d wrung him drier than the prose
in this tuppenny romance.
And the billy sang its comfort song
And the woodsmoke danced its dance.
Now Munney, ‘dagged and left for broke’
swore “never more again”.
and frequented the ‘public’ just
to ease away the pain.
His past was present in his eyes,
He relived every sound,
til’ word went out that Munney was
“not fit to have around “.
They flung him then, in backyard dirt,
in moral remonstrance.
And the billy sang its comfort song
And the woodsmoke danced its dance.
And that’s when Munney found Old Dog
or rather, Dog found him.
And his front leg had been broken
And his chest was cavin’ in.
But he licked the dirt from Munney’s face
And stood guard, til’ the dawn.
Though he whined a bit, cause a broken leg
hurts right down through the bone.
But guard he did, and bared his teeth
in cattle dog allegiance.
And the billy sang its comfort song
And the woodsmoke danced its dance.
When Munney stirred his stiffened back
and raised his screamin’ head.
His brand new mate limped closer still,
all matted where he’d bled.
So Munney’s blight came to an end,
He’d never be alone.
And he lavished comfort on Old Dog
and fixed his broken bone.
Both had their needs to doctor then,
both needed one last chance.
And the billy sang its comfort song
And the woodsmoke danced its dance.
It took a while for Munney’s pain
of love to clear away.
And he took to talking to Old Dog,
if he had things to say.
And his talking sorta ‘healed’ them both
when trav’lin down the track.
And Munney’s mind was grateful for
No Sheila screeching back.
Soft iron bonds were formed for both
in tacit consonance.
And the billy sang its comfort song
And the woodsmoke danced its dance.
So back they went to drovin’ stock
It’s what they did the best.
And for a while, just for break,
drove Tyson’s cattle west.
But even Munney’s meagre needs
Found Western station’s lack
of things remotely bearable
the bane of life outback.
So, back they came ‘across the top’.
across that great expanse.
And the billy sang its comfort song
And the woodsmoke danced its dance.
Well, seasons flew and Munney’s time
was mostly wet or dust,
and both would drain the soul of men
when couple with his lust.
But neither Munney, or Old Dog
now wanted for a mate,
besides they’d tasted city life
and shuddered at their fate.
They felt ‘at home’ in the outback,
where work was all freelance.
And the billy sang its comfort song
And the woodsmoke danced its dance.
Now both stretched out, on trampled earth,
In the ring of fire’s light.
Old Dog’s head rests on Munney’s hand,
he’ll keep it there all night.
But this cold night was different,
unlike the others past.
This was the night that Munney died;
Twas also Old Dog’s last.
They died as they had laboured,
a strange outback romance.
And the billy gave cold comfort now
And the woodsmoke did not dance.
Reg Kear © 1995. Oz.
