COUNTING

[Maureen K Clifford]

COUNTING



We’d mustered in the evening in the cooler part of day,
the stock crate loaded with two hundred head to get away.
They were headed for the saleyards now down at Warwick town,
for the sales were held on Wednesday, and we were scaling down.

It’s easier on stock you see to move them in the night,
when it’s cooler, with less traffic to cause them any fright.
By driving slow and steady and maintaining constant speed
there’s less chance of stock falling, and no need to intercede.

We’d rung the agent early to check where to put the stock
he said just use the long yard, near the chutes and loading dock.
So we opened up the crate and let the sheep down from the truck,
and to late suddenly realized our girls were going to run amuck.

The connecting gate was open, our girls started to prance,
straight to that gate and through it, leading us a merry dance.
They mingled with the other sheep that were for sale as well.
So what were we to do now we both wondered? Bloody Hell.

There was nothing else for it; we had to muster every one
and try to sort them out again before our work was done.
So with gentle persuasion but without a working dog
began a night of frustration and a lot of damn hard slog.

Luckily we knew our sheep, and knew most just by sight.
Ear tags are pretty hard to read when all you’ve got’s moonlight.
Though city folk perhaps do think that all sheep look the same
when you work around them every day, you know each face and name.

By now ‘twas nearly midnight, we were tired and we were stressed
Two hours drive in front of us before our beds and rest,
and if there were security cameras at the yards filming us
in the morning staff would have a laugh to see our drafting fuss.

But the job was done eventually; we got those woollies sorted,
into the yards where each should be, unbowed and quite undaunted.
Nothing was ever said to us about our little glitch.
But let me tell you here and now - sometimes farming's a bitch..

We never made that mistake again and never took for granted
that someone else had closed the gates, we checked now ‘fore we started.
For it’s enough to make a grown man cry, and swear and rant and weep
when you’re faced with sorting out two pens of stroppy mixed up sheep.




Maureen Clifford ©

[Bob Pacey]

A true story I assume Maureen. Would have earned a packet on Funniest Home Videos.


Cheers Bob

[Maureen K Clifford]

That it was Bob and one I will never forget...funny now but oh so not funny at the time.