Place stories ... life on the farm.

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Sex orgy leads to death.

Running around your yard at night is a loveable furry native called an Antechinus (or Marsupial Mouse). I know I have them, I found one drowned in a cattle trough. One of my neighbours has a family of them living in a lounge chair in the house. August is a busy month for this bread-and- butter of the food chain. All the males will have a short, wild love life and then drop dead. For 2-3 weeks the male antechinus will repeatedly mate with any or all the females he comes across, each session lasting 5-12 hours. Females become severely debilitated and lose hair from their neck and flanks. As a result of stress and hormones, all the males, those pumped up sexual athletes, will be dead by the end of August.
Check around the garden at the end of August for what looks like a dead mouse. Look at the teeth, rodents (rats and mice) have large chisel-like incisors. Antechinus have a full set if needle sharp teeth. Admire the impressive wedding tackle, and put the little bloke to rest.

Glazing over.

I found this aussie mate on the side of Koonorigan Road not long after someone had hit it. One leg was hopelessly broken. Its suffering was apparent. I thought I saw myself lying there with the same injuries. I often ride my motorbike on this very section of road, constantly aware that a collision with a kangaroo would see us both in a similar plight. What should I do next? Tick the correct answer.
Ring the wildlife rescue angels
Check the pouch for babies
Club it to death for a quick resolution

Tiger, Reef, badge
Picture a teenage version of myself with a six-pack you could crack an egg on, boyishly handsome and gullible enough to think that a university degree would make a difference in life. My girlfriend announced to me that she had just donated a pint of blood. Wow, that sounded scary. My testosterone kicked in. The challenge was there, I was a competitive bastard, I had to at least match it. I was a student at the University of NSW, the Blood Bank came occasionally and set up a mobile collection facility in a room for a day. Just a look in would send a chill through you. Imagine a MASH hospital, canvas collapsible stretchers groaning with reclining people undergoing unspeakable procedures. I did the deed for all the wrong reasons and was given a card with the date of my donation written on it. The card had many more rows and many more pages to fill. My future was mapped out.
Jump a decade. There is another woman in my life. She has just had our first baby and I am visiting her in hospital. Downstairs there is a celebration, with food. I am invited. The Blood bank is honoring its regular donors. I am in the first batch and get my '25 donor' badge. Another largish group stroll up and get their '50 donor' badge. The room is getting quiet. A small number are called to collect their '75 donor' badges. The unthinkable happens. One or two people have given 100 donations. They look old to me. They are cheered as heroes. It barely seemed possible to me. You could only donate 4 times a year. There was a place in my head where I kept my ambitions and dreams. Getting a '50 donor' badge was put there, next to finding Lassetters Reef and photographing the Tassie Tiger.
There are a few fringe benefits available to the blood donor. If you make your donation in the afternoon the boss lets you off work and he doesn't expect you to come back that day. Here in Lismore you get a free milkshake and as many Mars Bars and Cherry Ripes as you can eat, after doing the deed. For effect you can always slip into a conversation that you have at least four AIDS tests a year.
Guess what? I got my '100 donor' badge today. It took 36 years. All my blood 8 times over. Surely by now I must have saved at least one life. I tell you what doesn't happen. You don't get an excited phone call from some bloke who tracked you down through the records. He wants to meet you and thank you. You hear of his trauma, the white light at the end of the tunnel. It was your blood that brought him back. Every anniversary you get a gift in the mail. No, nothing like that ever happens.
I pinned the badge on my best suit, a garment that lives in the dark to be taken out once a year in daylight and a few times a year in the moonlight. But I do it for all the wrong reasons. For me it is a little beacon for all the ladies in the room. It tells them, if they need to know, that I don't have AIDS, syphilis or hepatitis.

Forgiven.

A year ago I noticed that my big, beautiful Murray Grey cow was having trouble giving birth. One of the calf's rear legs was poking out (instead of the 2 front legs). Intervention was necessary to save them both. I herded her down to the bails, locked her head in, reached in to that warm muscular place, found the other leg, tied a rope to both and pulled the calf out with a one tonne winch.

The calf never moved. I blew into its nostrils and massaged it. It was licked by its mother for the next 3 hours. The calf was dead. I skinned it, tanned the hide and have it on the floor next to my computer, to remind me of mortality.
Today that same cow has just given birth to her first live calf. I am very pleased for her. Life goes on. We both got over it.

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Sex orgy leads to death. Running around your yard at night is a loveable furry native called an Antechinus (or Marsupial Mouse). I know I have them, I found one drowned in a cattle trough. One of my neighbours has a family of them living in a lounge chair in the house. August is a busy month for this bread-and- butter of the food chain. All the males will have a short, wild love life and then drop dead. For 2-3 weeks the male antechinus will repeatedly mate with any or all the females he comes across, each session lasting 5-12 hours. Females become severely debilitated and lose hair from their neck and flanks. As a result of stress and hormones, all the males, those pumped up sexual athletes, will be dead by the end of August. Check around the garden at the end of August for what looks like a dead mouse. Look at the teeth, rodents (rats and mice) have large chisel-like incisors. Antechinus have a full set if needle sharp teeth. Admire the impressive wedding tackle, and put the little bloke to rest.
Glazing over. I found this aussie mate on the side of Koonorigan Road not long after someone had hit it. One leg was hopelessly broken. Its suffering was apparent. I thought I saw myself lying there with the same injuries. I often ride my motorbike on this very section of road, constantly aware that a collision with a kangaroo would see us both in a similar plight. What should I do next? Tick the correct answer. Ring the wildlife rescue angels Check the pouch for babies Club it to death for a quick resolution
Tiger, Reef, badge Picture a teenage version of myself with a six-pack you could crack an egg on, boyishly handsome and gullible enough to think that a university degree would make a difference in life. My girlfriend announced to me that she had just donated a pint of blood. Wow, that sounded scary. My testosterone kicked in. The challenge was there, I was a competitive bastard, I had to at least match it. I was a student at the University of NSW, the Blood Bank came occasionally and set up a mobile collection facility in a room for a day. Just a look in would send a chill through you. Imagine a MASH hospital, canvas collapsible stretchers groaning with reclining people undergoing unspeakable procedures. I did the deed for all the wrong reasons and was given a card with the date of my donation written on it. The card had many more rows and many more pages to fill. My future was mapped out. Jump a decade. There is another woman in my life. She has just had our first baby and I am visiting her in hospital. Downstairs there is a celebration, with food. I am invited. The Blood bank is honoring its regular donors. I am in the first batch and get my '25 donor' badge. Another largish group stroll up and get their '50 donor' badge. The room is getting quiet. A small number are called to collect their '75 donor' badges. The unthinkable happens. One or two people have given 100 donations. They look old to me. They are cheered as heroes. It barely seemed possible to me. You could only donate 4 times a year. There was a place in my head where I kept my ambitions and dreams. Getting a '50 donor' badge was put there, next to finding Lassetters Reef and photographing the Tassie Tiger. There are a few fringe benefits available to the blood donor. If you make your donation in the afternoon the boss lets you off work and he doesn't expect you to come back that day. Here in Lismore you get a free milkshake and as many Mars Bars and Cherry Ripes as you can eat, after doing the deed. For effect you can always slip into a conversation that you have at least four AIDS tests a year. Guess what? I got my '100 donor' badge today. It took 36 years. All my blood 8 times over. Surely by now I must have saved at least one life. I tell you what doesn't happen. You don't get an excited phone call from some bloke who tracked you down through the records. He wants to meet you and thank you. You hear of his trauma, the white light at the end of the tunnel. It was your blood that brought him back. Every anniversary you get a gift in the mail. No, nothing like that ever happens. I pinned the badge on my best suit, a garment that lives in the dark to be taken out once a year in daylight and a few times a year in the moonlight. But I do it for all the wrong reasons. For me it is a little beacon for all the ladies in the room. It tells them, if they need to know, that I don't have AIDS, syphilis or hepatitis.
Forgiven. A year ago I noticed that my big, beautiful Murray Grey cow was having trouble giving birth. One of the calf's rear legs was poking out (instead of the 2 front legs). Intervention was necessary to save them both. I herded her down to the bails, locked her head in, reached in to that warm muscular place, found the other leg, tied a rope to both and pulled the calf out with a one tonne winch. The calf never moved. I blew into its nostrils and massaged it. It was licked by its mother for the next 3 hours. The calf was dead. I skinned it, tanned the hide and have it on the floor next to my computer, to remind me of mortality. Today that same cow has just given birth to her first live calf. I am very pleased for her. Life goes on. We both got over it.