ABPA — The Australian Bush Poets Association Inc.

BEST DOG

© Helen Harvey

Winner, 2023 Bronze Spur Award, Camooweal, Qld.

There’s many a tale that old bushmen have told in the sheds, or on far distant tracks;
around glowing campfires, when talk mostly turns to good horses, or working dog cracks.
As flames dim to coals, you can hear the same tales that arrive about good ones they’ve seen,
but always, it ends in agreement that one stands apart as the best dog there’s been.

They say that a puppy old Ben had espied with some people just travelling by,
was bought on that day, because he had believed in the spark he had seen in its eye.
The man was endowed with the knowledge to train a young pup, with no need for constraints.
The bonds were so strong with the canine and man that he never had use for restraints.

He called the pup Sailor, but would not admit that the Kelpie was close to his heart,
and each day was spent with the puppy, and soon, it was seldom that they were apart.
So, right from the start their connection was strong, and the bond grew in strength with each year.
The man was so subtle with whistles he gave, or commands which were soft, but so clear.

The pup followed Ben and was one sniff away, from wherever he happened to be.
So, years rolled on by and young Sailor had turned out to be the best sheep dog you’d see.
The man with his Kelpie worked most days with stock on the stations, or outer bush tracks,
till soon they were known as an unrivalled pair, and at top of the working team cracks.

One day when the Manager had been away, and had learned that dog trials were in town,
he acted on impulse and entered them in, and had written both of their names down.
So, Saturday came and they sat in the shade, while the other teams worked in their turn,
but Sailor just lay near the tree next to Ben, and as if there was nothing to learn.

The scoring was high with some good work displayed, for one Kelpie had earned ninety-five.
“A tough one to beat,” said old Ben to himself, but a good dog called Floss would arrive
to work like a champion, skillful and smooth, ‘round the course for a ninety-eight score,
as Ben wished in vain, he could somehow reverse his dog’s age, back to when he was four.

A hush had descended and fell on the crowd as the final pair walked in that day.
The man who was stooped with his hair nearly white, and the Kelpie with whiskers of grey;
but had the crowd noticed, then they would have seen the blue eyes, that were clouded with age,
and ears pricked alert, so he heard every word that his master had used to engage.

“I know you will do the best job that you can,” said old Ben, and then walked to the start.
The way that the pair stuck together, so close, had indeed captured everyone’s heart.
Three sheep were together at opposite ends of the grounds, where the man and dog stood.
“Go way back now Sailor.” Their time had begun, as old Ben hoped things went as they should.

The Kelpie was swift as he cast way out wide, then had stopped on Ben’s whistle to wait;
as if by telepathy, guided them straight on a line to his master and mate.
The man walked around with the three sheep behind, while the dog had stayed working the rear,
then, paused at the race that the sheep must go through, and unaided by Ben, standing near.

The leader then baulked, as it looked to escape, but had seen the fierce glint in the eye,
of Sailor, who checked the reaction it showed, so had blocked it before it could try.
He may lose a point at the time, Ben had thought, but dismissed it and praised the dog, then
walked straight to the bridge that the sheep had to cross, as he talked to old Sailor again.

The crossing was faultless, so it would attract a good score for a perfect display.
Now Ben was excited how Sailor had worked, and had felt optimistic that day.
Ahead was the pen, and the last of the tasks, where the Kelpie would need all his will
to yard the three smoothly, without any fuss, as full proof of his working dog skill.

The crowd fell to silence, as Sailor appeared to now work in a class of his own.
He glided so smoothly as Ben gave commands, and his brilliance had surely been shown.
Two sheep had been penned, but the third one ducked out to the edge of the penning yard wing;
as quick as a flash the dog had turned it back, as applause swept around the show ring.

The man closed the gate on the sheep that were penned, but had known in his heart, they had lost.
A slightest mistake at this level would see them pay dearly, and would bring a cost.
The crowd had erupted with whistles and cheers as the man, and his canine walked out.
Ben fondled the ears of old Sailor and said, “you are still the best boy that’s about.”

The scores were announced on the loudspeaker then, with old Sailor just one point behind.
The younger dog Floss had come first on the day, which had made him the champion kind.
“You got ninety-seven, old boy here today,” as his weathered hands smoothed out the lay
of hairs that were greying, and showing the years “but we missed by a point here today.”

The owner of Floss made his way through the crowd to the tree, where the man and dog sat.
They spoke for a while, shared a yarn and a smile, bid goodbye with a tip of each hat.
He made his way back to the crowd, but before he could speak, he had stifled some tears.
“You saw that old Kelpie and how he had worked - well, he’s been blind for nearly two years.”


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