The Squatters Dog

My father was a "squatter" and owned a sheep and cattle property in western Queensland, Australia.
This poem is dedicated to his dog, Shep. He was like this.
In western New South Wales stands a sculptured memorial to Australia's blue-grey cattle dog.

A cattle dog near the tractor lay
for many a night and many a day.
He knew not where his master had strayed,
it was all he knew but to wait.
He could see from the house in the dark of night
from his master's room not a ray of light,
not a curse or spit broke the evening's quiet,
or the tap of his pipe on the fire.

At night there was noise from the lowing herd
and of day there was song from the red green birds.
With its stuttering clatter the generator whirred
but no whistle from his master came.
It was love that was shared 'tween his master and he,
that he'd brought no water was hard to believe,
but the dog stayed there from respect not fear.
And ignored loud calls of his name.

On the noon of the sixth then some drays he saw,
large black shapes and it seemed there were four
and men from the house seemed to trudge through the door
with a large red box never seen.

They returned that day from the trip to town
but the dog was gone, it was nowhere around,
seems he'd known the truth and had followed the van.
Such is the bond between dog and man.
Then the story was told by a man who saw
a blue grey dog with its paws red raw
from the thirty mile run behind the dray
as he limped along to where his master lay.

On the seventh day when his mistress arrived
old Blue was still there he was barely alive.
Alone and bewildered and with tears in his eyes
the dog still lay by his master's side.
With a gentle word an understanding stroke
she carried old Blue. Not a word she spoke.
For his mistress and he both their hearts had broke
and they slowly rode back to the farm.

Now a mate so loyal deserves the best
so the cattle dog near his master rests.
And many a man from the farms out west,
hardened by the fires and the droughts and the pests,
turn their heads from the view of their evening guests
as they sadly relate the tale.

Copyright. Greg Barlow. March 1995.