by Tony Parsons
The red roan pony was replaced by a Welsh pony gelding called Chips when David was six years old. He was a grey with lovely manners but with a pony’s tricks. David soon had him under his spell. The pony used to follow its small owner up the path to the homestead where he would wait patiently until given bread or sugar. Once, David even rode Chips into the house – but he never made that mistake again.
The most important development in David’s animal training happened when Tim Sparkes, the old horsebreaker mate of his father’s, came to the district. Andy had reduced his own horsebreaking and recommended Tim take over these clients. When work was over for the day, Tim would head up to High Peaks for a drink and a yarn with Andy. He sometimes even stayed for a day or two between jobs. Tim was a horseman through and through, and could not help but be impressed with young David. He had never seen a child of his age so proficient with dogs and horses. In no time at all he had David performing even more sophisticated tricks with his pony. And from that time on Tim kept his eye open for David’s next horse – a bigger horse.
It was Tim, too, who gave David his first lessons in self-defence. At school, David had gone for a bigger boy who had kicked a dog seeking titbits from sympathetic children – only some had not been so sympathetic. Tim noticed David’s black eye and, when told that David had lost the fight, he set about training him in self-defence. Tim was no slouch. He had spent a season with Jimmy Sharman’s troupe and knew his way round a boxing ring all right. It was grounding that would stand David in good stead.
The MacLeod name was famous throughout Australia, but this fame mostly concerned another branch of the family. There had been a famous partnership of kelpie breeders by the name of King and McLeod. The King brothers had been two of the original breeders of the kelpie. Indeed, King’s Kelpie was universally regarded as the bitch from which the breed took its name. They later merged with McLeod to breed some of the greatest sheepdogs ever seen in Australia. The legendary Coil, who won the Sydney trials in 1898 with two faultless scores of 100 in each round, was passed from John Quinn’s ownership to King and McLeod. The name ‘King and McLeod’ was held in such high repute that the owners kept on selling dogs for many years after their best days had passed.
Andrew MacLeod was not an immediate member of that McLeod family, though he was descended from the same clan in western Scotland, but his success with kelpies more or less ensured him of association with the McLeod of King and McLeod. Andrew began to trial dogs with the progeny of the first two kelpies presented to him by his mother’s old manager, Paddy Covers. The proceeds of some of these trials, as with the campdraft events, helped Andy to pay off some of his debts. He was also able to sell quite a few pups and started dogs for good prices.
When Andrew took over High Peaks, he was so preoccupied with getting the property in order and reducing its debt burden that he was seldom able to travel very far to compete in the bigger sheepdog trials and campdrafts. His attendance at trials was virtually limited to the local ones, with a very occasional foray farther afield. Deep down, however, he had one great ambition, and that was to win the National Trials with one of his kelpies. These trials had only ever once been won by a kelpie, but that dog had won it five times.
Although Andy no longer journeyed away to trial dogs, he was not forgotten among breeding circles. Dog men, mostly kelpie enthusiasts, came from all over the country to meet and talk with him. Some stayed the night and talked dogs until the small hours, while others worked their dogs for Andy to pass judgement on. All of this was pure heaven to young David. The wisdom that flowed from Andy and his visitors penetrated David’s young brain and was stored there for future reference. He carried this knowledge like an extra sense, with information stacking up, always available when he required it.
David soon learned the importance of ‘eye’ in a dog and the power this exerted over sheep. Some dogs had too much eye. They were called ‘hard-eyed’ or ‘sticky-eyed’. Their ‘eye’ tied them up so much that they were either ineffective in moving sheep or they took too much time to do it. Dogs who had no eye were fairly useless in some situations, like when it came to mustering stragglers in the high country. Yet dogs with the right amount of eye could handle wild, fast-breaking sheep.
David also learned the value of natural casting dogs. His father always rammed home the importance of cast; he would not breed from a dog who was not a naturally good caster. David learned of the folly of teaching a dog to cast ‘blind’ when there were no sheep for it to locate. Andy never cast a dog blind unless he knew there were sheep over the hill.
David understood why his father preferred kelpies to border collies where many handlers did not. It was, his father averred, because of the way a top kelpie worked its sheep. The legendary old kelpies like Coil, Wallace, Biddy Blue and Blue King had wonderful anticipation and could judge when sheep were going to move. They were always ready in position before the sheep were. These dogs had the power to drive and hold, often only needing to move a few inches to cover and move sheep, so they didn’t swing sheep all over the place. It was this attribute that Andy prized so highly in the best kelpies, and it was a characteristic of the best of the MacLeod dogs.
Andy did not worry too greatly about the colour of his dogs; this was secondary to the way they worked. King was a blue and tan, Ben was a solid blue, Bess and Lottie were blue and tan, Queen was jet black with just a tiny spot of white on her chest, and Dawn was a red and tan, or two-tone. Young David soon learned that although there had been some very great blue dogs like Coil and Wallace, some blues were poor-coated dogs and as they got older they were liable to suffer from kidney trouble. This was because they had little or no hair over the loins. Such dogs also had problems in the heat, because with so little coat, their skins heated up too much.
Occasionally, there was a pale, light-coloured or creamy pup. These dogs resembled dingoes and many bushmen claimed there was in fact dingo blood in the kelpie. Andy told David that the dingo story was just nonsense: people might have used the dingo, but it had never helped ‘make’ the kelpie. Angus Campbell had told him there were cream or lemon-coloured collies in Scotland and that they were the source of the light-coloured kelpies, not the dingo. David learned, most importantly, that the light-coloured dogs ‘drew’ sheep to them. This could be a good or a bad thing, depending on the sheep being worked. If sheep were a bit wild and ‘stirry’, the light-coloured dogs sometimes calmed them down, but if sheep were bold and aggressive, they would often take on a light-coloured dog more than they would a darker one.
All of these things were absorbed by David so that before he went to high school he knew as much about sheepdogs and the handling of them as most sheepdog handlers three times his age.
Then there was the rearing of the pups. This was a time of pure joy for young David. He would sit on the wood heap with his father while the latest litter of pups played with their mother. Together they would look for the boldest pup, the shyest pup (shyness not being a positive trait) and the smartest pup, but most importantly, the pup they might keep to carry on the line.
Queen was David’s favourite bitch. She was big and black and shiny and always produced top pups. They were the best coloured of the MacLeod dogs and were marginally better natured. David was nine years old when his father presented him with his first very own kelpie. They had picked him out of Queen’s litter as the one who stood right out from his mates. He was a big black and tan who David came to call Glen. He now owned two ponies and a dog – well, a pup – and life was wonderful.
Glen was bred down from many of the great kelpies past. He was bred to cast and to hold wild sheep, and that is just what he did. Before Glen was twelve months of age, David could rely on him to muster the highest parts of the property and to retrieve all but the most cunning sheep. Glen was not yet in King’s class, and might never be, but he was still a class dog and a very good one for his age. David was given plenty of advice by all and sundry about the best way to handle his first dog, but when he won the Novice e
vent at the local sheepdog trial – he was the youngest person by several years ever to achieve such a win – there was general agreement that young David was a chip off the old block. After all, who had ever heard of a ten-year-old boy winning a sheepdog trial?
In this event David worked against Angus Campbell, who entered two dogs and didn’t make the final with either. Andy won the Open Trial, so father and son had joint reason to be happy. Everyone who knew Angus Campbell reckoned he would slip away before the presentation of prizes, but Angus was not too proud to come across and shake hands with Andy and David. Yet the defeat rankled. It was surely something to be beaten by Andy MacLeod, who could win anywhere, but to be beaten by his young son was pretty shattering for a fellow like Angus.
David took the win in his stride and listened carefully while his father pointed out where he had lost points. (Glen had scored 89 points from the possible 100.)
‘If you work at a big trial, the gun handlers will beat you if you lose that many points. You must keep your dog on a tighter course and not let him veer sheep to the left. And Glen still comes on to them a bit quick. Keep him back more,’ Andy said.
David nodded. He knew Glen wasn’t perfect, but he would get him right. And he did. Glen became so good that Andy said he was ready to win an Open Trial. He also thought they might try a litter or two by him. The MacLeod sires were getting on in years because Andy had had to sell the good young ones to help with their debt. They now had to look to keeping some top-class younger dogs. Glen was especially attractive as a potential sire because he carried two strains of the Blue King blood that was now virtually unattainable anywhere else. So Glen was mated with the red and tan bitch, Dawn.
Then tragedy struck. Three weeks later a big brown snake bit Glen as he was working sheep between two massive rocks in the high country. David knew there was little chance of saving him; he’d seen others die the same way. Tears coursed down his face as he savagely smashed his whip across the snake. It was a long ride back to the homestead and Glen was already in a bad way by the time he got there. Andy and David took him in to the vet but there was no anti-venom at that time and Glen died a couple of hours later.
David was completely shattered. Glen had been his very first dog, his first trial winner, and he had been a beauty. Anne had always been able to nurse her son through bad periods, but this time David was inconsolable. He lay on his bed with his face pressed into the pillow and refused to come out for meals.
The following day David saddled his pony and rode to the top of Yellow Rock. Well, almost to the top of Yellow Rock. It was impossible to ride to the very top; the last section had to be climbed by foot. This was the highest point of the range, next to Mount Oxley, and from its vantage point he could look down over a huge stretch of country. He could see both Half Moon and Jimmy’s Creeks stretching like silvery snakes towards Merriwa, while high above him a brown falcon soared in majestic flight.
David could understand why his father had worked so hard to retain High Peaks. It was not really for the money, for the promise that once clear of debt the property would provide a good living. There was no great fortune to be made from the wool industry – which had slumped in 1970 and barely recovered – nor from the small herd of cattle they ran on the bottom country. What made High Peaks so special was that it was theirs and theirs alone. They knew every rock and tree on the property. David was sure he could never be happy away from there. Where else could a sheepdog so convincingly demonstrate its mastery over sheep as on the range country? And where else was there country so exhilarating to ride over?
And so David sat and mourned the loss of Glen, trying to adjust to the fact that he was gone. Finally, hunger drove him down off Yellow Rock. David was a boy with a very good appetite, and he had already missed two meals. He also knew that his mother would be particularly anxious about his return. Yellow Rock was a very dangerous place for the unwary rider. It was where his grandfather had died, as his mother never ceased to remind him.
It was late afternoon when he finally rode back into the horse yard at the homestead. He unsaddled his pony and hosed him down before walking slowly across to the house. His father was sitting on the front steps.
‘Feeling pretty bad about Glen, eh, Davie?’ he asked.
‘Pretty bad, Dad.’
‘Been up to Yellow Rock, I suppose?’
‘Yes.’
‘I think it’s time you and I had a talk.’
‘What about, Dad?’
‘There’s one thing you’re going to have to come to grips with, Davie. While there’s live dogs, there’s going to be dead dogs. Things happen to dogs. You can look after them real well and things can still go wrong. Nobody can prevent that because you can’t wrap a working dog up in cotton wool.
‘Look, I know Glen was your first dog and you did a great job with him. But Glen won’t be the last dog you’ll lose. I’ve lost a lot, and some of them were better dogs than Glen. Never give your heart to a dog. Not completely. You understand me? If you like a dog too much, you’ll be heartbroken every time you lose one. You hear me?’
‘I hear you, but it doesn’t make me feel any better.’
‘Son, when you’re an animal person you’ve got to understand that there are always going to be highs and lows in your life. Dogs don’t live all that long and some have shorter lives than others. If you can’t handle the fact that you’re going to lose some, you’d be better to forget about them. The same goes for horses. The one you like best is the one that stakes itself or gets ripped up in barbed wire. You have to be big enough to forget the losses and keep going. The important thing is to have enough good breeding stock on hand so you can carry on.’
‘Yes, Dad, you’ve told me that before.’
‘Then remember it. Now, I’ll tell you what we’ll do. When Dawn whelps you can have the pick of her male pups. He won’t be the same as Glen but he will be his son. How’s that?’
‘That’s great, Dad. I’d really like a Glen pup,’ David said with something like his usual enthusiasm.
‘Good. Feeling like something to eat?’
‘I reckon I am.’
‘Your mother has kept your lunch. One other thing – if you ever ride off again without telling us where you’re going, I’ll wallop the daylights out of you. Is that understood?’
‘Real clear, Dad,’ he replied, heading up the steps in slightly better spirits. He was going to get a new dog. He had already decided that he would call him Lad. Short names were best for sheepdogs. As soon as the pups’ eyes were opened, he would start watching them. When they were about three weeks old his father would fire several shots close by so they would learn not to be whip-shy. His father hated whip-shy dogs.
It had looked like being a very bleak Christmas without Glen, but at least now there was a pup to look forward to.
Chapter Seven
It was high summer and the Christmas holidays. Up on High Peaks, Andrew and David MacLeod rode the hills looking for flyblown sheep. There had been a succession of storms and the muggy conditions were proving ideal for blowflies.
At the foot of the high country, Catriona Campbell was putting her new pony through its paces. It had been a Christmas present from her father, schooled by a top horseman and costing a great deal of money. Not that money meant much to Angus Campbell where his daughter was concerned. Catriona had been born three years after her brother, Stuart, and she was the apple of Angus’s eye. Catriona was a few months younger than David, but in some ways a hundred years older in the head.
By the time she was ten years of age, Catriona, daughter of the district’s leading grazier, was a very assured young lady. She was also remarkably pretty; the prettiest girl for miles around. Her hair was golden and naturally wavy and her eyes were soft and brown, just like her mother’s. Yet they could flash fire and often did. Catriona was the kind of girl who drew every eye. Fortunately, both Angus and Jane Campbell were sensible people who did not spoil her too much. Angus spent a lot of money on
her horses and riding equipment, but for all that, Catriona had to toe the line.
One of the few boys who was not affected by Catriona’s looks was David MacLeod. He, it seemed, always had more important things to do. The two children had begun school the same day. It was a small school at the foot of the range and was staffed by two teachers. Although they sat in the same classroom and played in the same playground, David would seldom acknowledge Catriona’s presence.
Catriona had visited High Peaks many times before starting at school. Coming from very different social circles, Jane Campbell and Anne MacLeod shared an odd kind of friendship. Jane could be rather superior in her ways but she did like Anne. Everybody liked Anne MacLeod. Jane had known her before she married Andrew and valued her obvious intelligence and commonsense. Angus Campbell had never had to do the kind of manual labour Andy was used to – and could never beat him at a sheepdog trial. Both men helped each other out when it was needed, but neither man thought of the other as a real friend.
Like a lot of young station-reared girls, Catriona was very fond of horses and riding, and she had been told many times how good at it she was – her pony club triumphs attested to that. David would never go to a pony club meet and was only ever seen at gymkhanas and the local show. It semed to Catriona that David was by far the best young rider she had ever encountered. He could do things that she had never seen anyone do before, like standing bareback on his pony and cracking a whip. He could also ride over country that she was not even allowed to attempt. What’s more, he was beginning to develop into a very handsome young man. Tall for his age, with wavy brown hair that never seemed to blow about or look untidy, David had inherited his father’s captivating grey eyes, although Catriona had once heard her mother remark that David would be much better looking than his father.
Throughout Catriona’s childhood, David had always been there. This was not just because the MacLeods were the Campbells’ closest neighbours, but because David’s exceptional ability with ponies and stockwhips was becoming known across the high country. But he lived his life oblivious to Catriona, consumed as he was with his dogs and horses. Although Angus was practically unbeatable with beef cattle, sheep and wool, David had beaten him with a dog. This turn of events caused David’s popularity to skyrocket, particularly in the eyes of Catriona.