Ginger's Debt

[thestoryteller]

GINGER'S DEBT

Now ev'ry bushman has one or at least that's what I'm told.
A canine friend whose man's best mate and worth his weight in gold.
They're known by many names you see, I'll mention but a few.
Pan licker or old bag of bones and often called just Blue.

Old Uncle Jim he owned dogs too, his favourite though was Ginge;
feared nothing 'round about the place and never one to cringe.
His coat was red, his breed you ask. A bitzer I suppose.
A bit of this and bit of that as no one really knows.

Old Jim he thought a lot of Ginge and used him all the time
to muster cattle in the bush to keep them all in line.
Then when he wasn't doing that he'd guard the homestead gate
and if you didn’t cooee out you'd soon discern your fate.

When must'ring cattle in the bush you'd always find the lead
would charge ahead of all the rest and always at full speed.
Old Ginge was used to slow them down, but being kind of young
he had this nasty habit, see, of chewing off their tongue.

The poor old cows then starved to death, they couldn't eat their feed
and in the course of time they died from Ginger's callous deed.
In time the number he had killed had risen far too high,
though Jim would never do a thing and couldn't figure why.

"It's best," I said to him one day "to hit Ginge on the head.
He's killed so many cattle mate he's surely better dead"
"I can't do that," said Uncle Jim, "as records show this hound
now owes me far too much me lad, he's got to stick around."

On calling out that way one day Ginge wasn't by the gate
and Jim told me old Ginge had died, Ten Eighty took his mate.
It crossed my mind if things were square, but I'm about to bet
old Ginger sneaked away in death and never paid his debt.

© Merv Webster

From the book Tales of Uncle Jim