Blue The Cattle Dog Aussie Poem

We pensioned off the old blue dog when old age got him down. We sent him in, for company to Grandma, in the town. But, while Granny was elated, he still craved the great out doors, and would roam the town exploring, while old granny did the chores. So it was this Sunday morning Blue was fossicking about through the paddocks near the township on his normal daily scout. When a canine 'gourmet odour' overpowered his sense of smell. Though his eyesight had diminished, his old sniffer still worked well. And the source of his excitement was reposed down by the creek, where a sheep had met his maker, for the best part of a week. For its woolly corpse was spreading, and the air was far from fresh from this rancid flyblown carcass, with its seething greenish flesh. It was a dogs idea of heaven, and old Blue, he rubbed and rolled, till he ponged just like the sheep did, and with ecstasy extolled. Then an idea formed within him as he gave a gentle tug, and he found the carcass followed like a matted lumpy rug. He would take it home for later! it should last a week or two if he stored it in his kennel, he could keep his prize from view! So he gripped the carcass firmly. Bravely into town he went, but his load proved fairly heavy, and Blue's energy soon spent. And the only shade on offer was the building with the bell, and he dragged his prize towards it with its flies and feral smell. Then dog and sheep both rested in the front porch of the church. Old Blue looked up the gangway at the parson on his perch. He was revving up the faithful to repent to save their worth, and said: "Satan is the culprit for the rotten things on earth." And he roared of fire and brimstone and redemption for the throng! Up the aisle came 'Satan's presence', in this godforsaken pong. And they all cried “Hallelujah” and they fell as one to pray, but by now old Blue was rested and he hadn’t time to stay. He proceeded up the roadway with the woolly corpse in tow, with a shortcut through the Nursing Home the quickest way to go!

Where the matron, in a panic counted heads in mortal fright, with a smell like that they’d surely lost a patient through the night! And the members at the bowls club lowered all their flags half mast, doffed hats in reverend silence, for the 'funeral' going past.

Blue lugged his prize on homewards traveling past the bowling club, till he took a breather under the verandah of the pub. There, old boozing Bill was resting, sleeping off the night before, to await the Sunday session, when they opened up the door. When the stench that woke his slumber was so highly on the nose, that he thought his pickled body had begun to decompose. So he missed the Sunday session, and ran straight home to his wife, to proclaim the shock announcement "he was off the booze for life!" Meanwhile Blue could see Gran’s gateway at the far end of the street, so he started up the pavement with his ripe and tasty treat. But there was movement in the backstreets as the town dogs sniffed in deep. They broke chains and climbed high fences for a piece of Blue’s dead sheep. And Blue felt the road vibrating from the stamp of canine feet, as this pack of thirty mongrels came advancing up the street. But he wasn’t into sharing, so he sought a quick escape, and he spied a nearby building with a door that stood agape. Through this door he sought asylum but his presence caused a shriek, for he chose the local Deli that was run by Nick the Greek. Then Blue shot beneath a table where the sheep and he could hide, but the dog pack was relentless and they followed him inside. Now the table Blue had chosen was indeed a big mistake, with the law enforcement sergeant sipping coffee on his break. And the sergeant sat bolt upright with a dog between his feet and his eyes began to water from the stench of rotting meat. Then the Sarge leapt up in horror but in his haste he slipped and fell, falling down amongst Blue’s mutton with it’s all embracing smell. While he lay somewhat bewildered in the gore, flat on his back, then the mongrel pack descended, in a frenzied dog attack. With thoughts self-protection from the rows of teeth he faced, the Sarge fumbled for his pistol, in it’s holster at his waist. There were muffled bangs and yelping, as random shots rang out, and the whine of bouncing bullets off the brickwork all about. As he blasted in a panic from beneath the blood and gore, a front window and the drink fridge were both added to the score. And the cappuccino maker copped a mortal wound and died. Hissing steam, it levitated, falling frothing on it’s side. And Nick the Greek, the owner, grabbed a shotgun in his fright, blasting into the confusion of the frantic canine fight. At short range it wasn’t pretty. Dogs were plastered on the wall. There was Laminex in splinters, clouds of dog hair covered all. Then the smoke detector whistled with the gun-smoke in the air, which tripped the sprinkler system, and a siren gave a blare. And the echoes still were ringing when beneath the dying heap there emerged old Blue, still dragging at the remnants of his sheep. It’s head was gone, and several legs but still retained it’s smell. In the armistice that followed, Blue decided not to dwell. He leapt the fence at Grandma’s, for his feet had sprouted wings. Pure adrenaline propelled him, fleeing dogs and guns and things. Now, Gran had influenza, and had lost her sense of smell. With Blues sheep out in the garden, that was prob'ly just as well! And she looked out from her front fence at the town in disarray. At the ambulance, police cars and the R.S.P.C.A. Then the fire brigade rushed past her, flashing lights of rosy hue, and she hugged the old dog tightly. He’d protect her, would old Blue! "You just stay here like a good dog!" Grandma told him with a frown, “ ‘cause you’ve no idea the trouble you can get in, in the town!”