Man’s best friend

MURRAY Ball’s New Zealand cartoon strip Footrot Flats has always struck a note with me and it’s no coincidence Jess, our not-so-pure border collie, was named after the Dog’s girlfriend featured in the story.

We have travelled through that marginal coastal country featured in the strip.

With its tidal creeks, land slips and boggy sports grounds, where the locals are rugby mad and whitebait fishing in season is almost a religion, Murphy’s pigs do exist, stroppy goats guard farm driveways and wellington boots are worn all year round.

It’s hard to compare Wal Footroot’s lot in life with ours here in the South West but just this morning I had an Aunt Dolly moment (Wal’s aunty who owns that pampered corgi Prince Charles).

Now my wife is younger and a great deal better looking than Aunt Dolly but on this occasion she was doing a darned good impersonation.

She was standing on the back veranda wearing her dressing gown and Ugg boots, peering over reading glasses perched on the end of her nose, with hands planted firmly on her hips. The object of her attention was Willy Wonka, who was being instructed to do his business and come inside out of the cold.

Willy is a blonde, wrinkle-faced Pug puppy my wife has just purchased for a price equal to his body weight in gold bullion. Coincidentally, Willy was born in New Zealand and like many of his human Kiwi compatriots, travelled over the ditch to take up residency in Australia.

He was flown to Perth from the Australian Capital Territory at great expense and arrived with a pink travel bag containing an album of photos of his nearest and dearest and instructions for the preparation of the required three meals a day necessary for his well-being.

Willy’s never going to make the grade as a farm dog.

How can he possibly get up into the ute? But he is quite a character and we make a great pair snoring in harmony in front of the wood fire.

Jess thinks he’s a basketball with legs and rolls him over and over. Tiger, the farm cat, can’t understand why we have suddenly allowed vermin to roam the house and stalks him from room to room.

Speaking of cats, Tiger would give Wal’s cat, Horse, a run for his money. Horse is top of the pecking order on Wal’s farm and sleeps on broken bottles. Tiger is also in charge around this place. Although she sleeps inside at night and wears a mini cowbell around her neck, there is no doubt from our mob it’s Tiger who rules the roost.

Tiger was originally my daughter’s cat. Tiger’s youth was spent in Scarborough dodging tomcats and traffic and consequently she developed a touch of attitude in the process.

She used to stay on the farm from time to time and as cats do, she just decided to stay and grow and grow and grow on a diet of rabbit and rat.

So now we have on our farm seven kilos of farm yard tabby, a farm dog, a lap dog and an Aunt Dolly impersonator.

All that’s missing is a cranky goat, a worn-out ram and a randy goose and we truly will be living a cartoon life.

Next week: Keeping track of Max

This is the tenth instalment in a series of articles on the experiences of becoming a farmer by Peter Seeney. You can share your experiences with SuperLiving readers by posting a blog on the website. Just click here to go to the blogs section, select the section that corresponds to your story (Travel, Finance, etc.), upload a picture if you'd like to and tell us your tale under the “blogs” tag. Your article will then be posted on the site.