DOGGEREL

Three Guinea Jinny

My Father went to buy her
her cost a quiet reminder
of the decade that
defined her.
We called her “Three Guinea Jinny”

She was a terror and a terrier
Adventures?  More the merrier!
Shoe chewer
and bone burier.
She was “Three Guinea Jinny”

She was black and white
with a beady eye
a smacking patch
and a cheeky smile.
We loved her -
our “Three guinea Jinny”

She ate the tyres off Dinky cars
rode like a queen in my dolly’s pram
ate a whole packet of rubber bands
chased her tail till she couldn’t stand
our “Three Guinea Jinny”

On the beach
she ran like lightening
the photos were quite frightening
an image with a fuzz of fur
just her head with her legs ablur
“Three Guinea Jinny”.

She was naughty but a good dog too
with a rebel spirit and a heart so true
She was worth a million
but I’m telling you
she was just “Three Guinea Jinny”.

THE BALLAD OF SMUDGE

Back in the fifties in country Victoria
Two kids on an acreage longed for a pup.
They wanted a dog who would run through the bush
A dog who would guard them until they grew up.

They wanted a dog with a big personality,
A dog with spirit, a dog with élan
But the dog that came home from the pound to their family
Was a dog with no muscle, a dog made of spam.

The kids called him Hero, a name to live up to
They gave him a collar – black leather with studs
He’d a place in their hearts and on their verandah
But was soft round the edges so they renamed him Smudge.

He increased in size but his courage was lacking
He hid from the slightest rustle or bark
He was fluffy and feminine, a gay dog entirely
Scared of the wildlife, small rodents, the dark

His two youthful owners despaired of his cowardice
Wanted him braver, his soul filled with fire
So they set him a test to determine his courage
Was he the dog they had always desired?

One night when the canine came in for his dinner
They laced his beef Chum with a slug of neat gin
He passed out quite quickly, they carried him slumbering
To a nearby sheep paddock and smuggled him in

Now Smudgy had never shown any capacity
For mustering cattle or sorting out sheep
He had no head for herding, no knowledge of rounding
And all things with horns made him cringe, crawl and creep

The sheep in the paddock saw Smudge and smiled smugly
They sensed he was never about to take charge
So they formed a circle and closed in around him
He was neither assertive, threatening or large

Awaking just then from his alcohol dreaming
Smudgy saw only some vague woolly shapes
He thought they were surely his mum, dad and brother
So he struggled to meet them, a grin on his face.

Embracing those sheep wasn’t good for his image
He was over-emotional, weak and obsessed.
But the sheep baaed and whispered “Oh God boys he fancies us!”
They turned on their heels and they all headed west.

Smudgy’s young owners cheered their mate Smudgy
Who was seemingly herding those sheep with great skill
And now had them running blindly in panic
Towards the sheep race at the top of the hill.

The moral of this story I’m sure you will ponder
But don’t damn a dog who is slightly absurd
Even if he’s soft-hearted, too gentle and cowardly
He may still be able to make himself herd.