The Story of Bluey – The Retired Cattle Dog – Bush Poetry

WE pensioned off old Blue the dog
When old age got him down
We sent him for company
To old Grandma in the town

But while Granny was elated
Blue still craved the great out doors
And he 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 sense 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
Proudly into town he went
But his load proved fairly heavy
And old Blues energy soon spent

And the only shade on offer
Was the building with the bell
And he dragged his prize towards
With its flies and feral smell

Then the 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 was the culprit
For all the rotten things on earth

And he roared of fire and brimstone
And redemption for the throng
Up the aisle came satans 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 their hats in silence
For the funeral going past

But old Blue lugged his prize on homewards
Travelling 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 wait the Sunday session
When they opened up the door

When the stench awoke his slumber
Which was highly on the nose
And he thought his pickled body
Had begun to decompose

And he missed the Sunday session
When he ran 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’d chosen the local deli
That was run by Nick the Greek

And 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 a double booked 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 dead decaying 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

And he lay somewhat bewildered
in the gore, flat on his back
when the mongrel pack descended
in a frenzied dog attack

With first thought self- preservation
from the rows of teeth he faced
the sarge fumbled for his pistol
in its 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 its 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 set off 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 it hadn’t lost its 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 adrenalin propelled him
fleeing dogs and guns and things

Now old Gran had influenza
and had lost her sense of smell
with Blues sheep in the garden
that was probably just as well

And she looked out from her front fence
at the town in disarray
at the ambulance, police cars
and the RSPCA as well

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 into in town”

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