The Outback Wrangler

by Matt Wright

  ‘You’re my last hope,’ Kenny said. ‘Otherwise they’ll send her off to the pound.’

  I don’t know why I agreed to take her on. I was living in an apartment block on the top floor. If the dog was proving a handful in a house, how was she going to go in my apartment? I also didn’t really have the time or the money to take on the responsibility of looking after a dog.

  But Kenny was a mate who needed help. Besides, I had been looking for a dog like Ice for a long time. Kenny made it sound that Maggy was the perfect pet for someone like me. I figured there was no harm in finding out if he was right. I took down the address of Kenny’s family friends and told him I’d pick her up on the weekend.

  Back then, I was driving a red 1967 two-door Camaro. It was left-hand drive. Although it cost a bit to run, it was a tough little car, nothing at all like the cars they make these days. I was going to get a 1966 Fastback Mustang until a mate I flew with in Canada said he had a Camaro back in Australia that he wanted to sell. I bought it for a song.

  I pulled up at the address Kenny had given me and rang the doorbell. From inside, I could hear the dog going crazy. She was barking her head off. An old man opened the door, relief flooding across his face when I told I’d come to pick up the dog. He told that me they’d had her for about three months. In that time, she hadn’t left a thing unchewed – from electrical sockets, to chairs and shoes.

  I went inside to get the dog. She had a leash on and was going mental. I managed to grab hold of her and gently tugged on her leash, trying to get her to calm down. When that didn’t work, I wrenched her towards me. I took her under my arm and introduced myself. She barked a few times, licked my face and then tried to run off again.

  ‘Good luck,’ said the old man, quickly closing the door behind me.

  With great difficulty, I managed to open up the passenger door to the Camaro and shove her in. She went wild inside the car, barking madly while leaping from seat to seat, smashing into each door. I raced around and opened up the driver’s door, she barrelled out through my legs. I turned and made a lunge for her, managing to grab hold of the leash. Maybe this wasn’t such a great idea, I thought.

  ‘Come here!’ I shouted.

  I pulled her towards me, picked her up and threw her into the car. She tried to crawl over me again, but I managed to pull the car door shut before she had a chance to leap out.

  ‘Sit down!’ I said sternly, forcing her into the front passenger seat. I held her down for a couple of seconds, hoping she would calm down. Every time I let go, she would spring to life, jumping all over me and drooling everywhere. Eventually, after about 10 minutes, her energy started to sap.

  ‘All right,’ I said. ‘We’ve got a bit of a drive ahead of us.’

  The drive from the Sunshine Coast to the Gold Coast takes a little over two hours. I was trying to convince myself that it would all be over quickly.

  Sure enough, it started out okay. Maggy made a lot of noise, but she kept relatively still. The roar of the engine was scaring her. I don’t think she had heard anything like that before. I could see she was nervous and a little out of her comfort zone, but I wasn’t expecting her next move.

  The moment we hit the Sunshine Motorway, the drive became a nightmare. Maggy nearly died. She leapt out the window, trying to escape. I managed to grab hold of her tail and hung on for dear life. If the force of hitting the road at speed didn’t kill her, then the truck behind me would have cleaned her up. I tried to wrench her back inside, but this dog was determined to escape. I had to hang on to her tail for a few minutes until I finally came onto an exit ramp.

  I took the exit and found a quiet little backstreet. I pulled the car over, wrenched Maggy back from the window and gave her a hard talking-to. She whimpered, leapt into the back and cowered into the seat. I took the opportunity to wind up the window before turning around to look at my new dog. She was scared and confused. I felt sorry for her, but I needed to take the opportunity to teach her that it’s not acceptable to jump out onto the motorway.

  I’ve trained many dogs in the past and it’s important to teach discipline and respect without breaking their spirit. A dog without respect is impossible to have a relationship with. I had an idea up my sleeve that would put her at ease and make her relax during the road trip in the noisy car. The next stop was the pie shop.

  With Maggy devouring three steak and kidney pies, I pulled out from the kerb, swung the Camaro around and got back onto the motorway. Maggy was one happy pup. She left a terrible mess, but there’s no better way to a dog’s heart than with a killer feed.

  Once we got back to my place I was looking at this dog thinking that there is no way in hell I was having a dog named Maggy. Who the hell calls a dog that anyway? That night, all sorts of names were running through my head. I considered Milo, Molly, Mogs and Mischief, but none of them had a ring to it. Then in popped Marley. I liked the sound of that and tested it out on Maggy.

  For the next month, Maggy turned to Marley and she didn’t know any different. That was until I went to the video store to get out a movie and there was Owen Wilson and Jennifer Aniston cuddling on the front of a DVD with a Golden Retriever. The film was titled Marley and Me.

  ‘Ah, fuck it!’ I blurted out.

  Maggy could no longer be Marley. So what was it going to be? This poor dog was going to get very confused before too long. The brainstorming started again and still nothing stuck. A few weeks later I was out on my stand-up paddleboard with Maggy. A few mates were on their paddleboards and we were talking about potential names. I looked down at the dog in question and in front of her was the brand of the board. The brand was Naish.

  ‘Naish,’ I said.

  It had a ring to it and suited the big eyes peering back at me.

  ‘Naish,’ I said again and my dog started wagging her tail. There was a smile on her face, too. Bingo! That was it. My not-so-new dog’s name would be Naish.

  The early days living in my apartment were pretty tricky given there was a rule prohibiting dogs being inside. When we arrived home each night I’d pull out a huge duffel bag. I’d pack Naish in, gently lifting her inside the bag. She didn’t put up any resistance, as if sensing she had to hide. I’d slug the duffel bag over my shoulder, saying g’day to neighbours who waved back, none the wiser. The landlords called me one day enquiring as to whether I had a dog.

  ‘Are you keeping a dog in your room?’ they asked.

  ‘No,’ I said.

  ‘Where do you keep your dog?’

  ‘At the helicopter school.’

  I doubt he believed me but he had no way of proving his suspicion. In the end, I had to buy a house on the Sunshine Coast, just so I had somewhere to put my dog. We stayed in the house on the Sunshine Coast for a couple of months. After I got my instructor’s rating it was back to the life of a line pilot. If I had any concerns about letting Naish loose on a cattle station, I shouldn’t have. She took to her new surrounds like a fish to water. She loved the open spaces and was always a favourite with ringers and station hands, no matter where we went.

  Naish still took a lot of hardcore training before she was obedient. But bloody hell, it was worth it. She became, and still is, the most affable dog I’ve ever come across. Not only was she good fun and great company, but she never complained when we had to sleep in a swag, stay away from home, eat tinned tuna or get grubby. Best of all, she loved fishing. That’s why Naish has always been the main lady in my life. I have shared the best times of my life with Naish but we’ve certainly had some hairy moments, too.

  I was on my way to the Sunshine Coast once and had to stop off at a station on the way to muster some bullocks. They were playing hardball to get out of the jungle. I brought Naish along for the ride in the chopper. Just as I came down on one of these bullocks, a dirty old black and white boar ran out of the long grass directly in front of the chopper. Without hesitation, Naish launched out of the chopper and chased after the boar into the thick jungle. This was bad. Naish had no p
rotection and the pig had the biggest set of hooks I’d ever seen.

  I landed the chopper as quick as I could, grabbed my .357 from under the seat and took off in the same direction. I could hear the commotion as I approached. I entered into the clearing and saw Naish getting flung around but she wasn’t letting loose. A lot of damage had already been done and Naish was red all over. As I got closer, the pig flung Naish 10 feet into the air and turned for me.

  The pig came at me at full force. There was no time to waste. Naish was bleeding to death and the pig wasn’t taking any prisoners. I unleashed a flurry of bullets into the boar’s skull. The pig was dead before he hit the ground.

  I ran to Naish, scooping her up and running as fast as I could back to the chopper. She had deep holes all over her body – in her chest, throat, chin and legs. It was like someone had hacked at her with an axe. I got rags and gaffer tape to wrap her up and stop the bleeding. She looked like a silver mummy once I was done. There was no vet nearby and I needed to remain out at the station for another night. I did some makeshift stitching on my dog that night. She was very well behaved and let me sew up the big gashes. The bleeding had stopped and she had stabilised overnight but still needed proper treatment. I took her to the vet as soon as we got to town and they said she was lucky to be alive.

  This isn’t the only sticky situation that Naish has got herself into over the years. She has nearly overheated chasing down big bullocks; almost drowned in swamps because she can’t swim; come close to being eaten by a crocodile during a relocation; was bitten by a snake because she got too inquisitive; had her paw chomped on by a mud crab; and was chased in the shallows by a shark while I was fishing. Somehow, she has managed to live through it all.

  It has been nine years since I picked Naish up from the house in the Sunshine Coast. Taking her on was one of the best decisions of my life. She’s one special dog with a pretty incredible spirit. I’m hoping to get some little Naish’s out of her soon. There needs to be more like her in the world. The hard part will be finding her a worthy suitor!

  My best mate in the whole world, Naish.

  25

  Little Legend

  My beautiful daughter Brooke came into the world in 2007. Brooke’s mum Cristie is a fantastic mother and I feel very lucky to have such a great relationship with both Cristie her partner Trent. Trent has been an incredible father figure to Brooke since she was born. Cristie and Trent have raised Brooke and her two younger sisters on a cattle station in northern Queensland.

  If there’s one thing Brooke has inherited from me, it’s her love of animals. She’s got a menagerie of green frogs scattered around the pot plants at her house. She absolutely adores her pet pigs Speckles, Pepper and Charger, and rides her horse Cowboy religiously. She loves showing her yabbies Danielle from Danger Lagoon and Earl from Earl’s Lagoon to her friends and family.

  If I had to imagine the life I would want for my daughter it is the exact life she is living now. Brooke is away from the toxicity of city life. She does school of the air, the generic term for correspondence learning for kids growing up in remote places. She plays outdoors with her sisters and rides her horses. Cristie and Trent have created a great family life, one I feel very lucky to be a part of. I cherish the relationship that Brooke and I have and we’ve had some great adventures together over the years.

  Brooke is an inquisitive and wholehearted girl with a contagious giggle and enthusiasm for everything around her.

  One of my favourite memories with Brooke harks back to when she was a little four-year-old. I took her for a walk down the river with Naish. We were wandering along laughing and chatting when Naish decided to bolt off into the bushes. Brooke and I kept walking until we heard loud squealing and grunting noises. Brooke gasped and looked up at me with fear in her eyes. I picked her up and we started running through the scrub towards the noise.

  Naish had found herself a big pig and was getting swung around like a rag doll. It wasn’t pretty. Brooke couldn’t comprehend what she was seeing. I had to act quickly. I stuck Brooke in a tree and told her to stay there while I went to help Naish. The situation was complicated by the fact that I didn’t have a gun or knife. Somehow I had to get Naish off the pig.

  I managed to grab hold of the pig and pull him down hard. Once I had the pig pinned down under my knee, I took hold of Naish with one hand. She was bleeding and the big pig was wound up and surely ready to charge. I needed to work out a way of getting away with my dog without either of us being ripped apart by that pig’s tusks. It was a dire situation and it was about to get a whole lot worse.

  ‘Excuse me, Matt,’ came a voice from behind. ‘What’s wrong with the pig’s ear?’

  I turned around, clapping eyes on Brooke standing there looking puzzled. There wasn’t enough time to tell her to head back up the tree. The pig was bucking like mad and beginning to wriggle free.

  ‘Okay, Brookey,’ I said, keeping my voice calm. ‘Here’s the plan. I’m going to pick you up and we’re going to go for a bit of a run. Are you ready?’

  ‘Yep!’ said Brooke with a giggle. She loves an adventure.

  Firmly clasping Naish under one arm, I grabbed Brooke in the other and bolted out of the bushes. With the pig hot on my heels, I raced back down the path and over the fence. The whole time Brooke was laughing her head off. Cristie and Trent would have hung me alive if they knew the extent of the situation. When we got home, Brooke started telling her grandiose story to her mum while I did my best to play parts of it down.

  * * *

  To get out to the station where Brooke lives is a six-hour drive from Cairns – so not the most accessible place in the world. Around the time Brooke was turning six, I borrowed my mate’s chopper and flew to the station from Cairns to spend time with her. Upon arrival, an excited Brooke greeted me and took me around the side of the house to show me something. Brooke leaned down into a pipe and pulled out a three-foot python with a big grin on her face.

  ‘Meet my new pet,’ she said, smiling ear to ear. Each time I see Brooke her love and fascination with animals seems to grow and grow.

  The next day we took the chopper fishing down the river to see if we could land ourselves some big barra. Brooke and her sisters went off for a walk. A couple of minutes later, Brooke came running back to tell me they’d found a big snake in the waterhole where they were trying to swim. So we went to investigate.

  Sure enough, there was huge body coiled up under a log near the water. My first instinct was that it was a brown snake, certainly not an animal to treat lightly. I couldn’t see the full body so I told the girls to stand back and grabbed him by the tail. I pulled it out and saw that it was a very large water python.

  ‘All good,’ I said. ‘It’s not a venomous one.’

  ‘Does that mean I can hold it now?’ asked Brooke.

  I handed the 10-foot snake over to Brooke who wrapped it around herself cuddling it like a teddy and walked off into the bushes to let it go.

  A more recent adventure with Brooke was to Australia Zoo, the 100-acre zoo on the Sunshine Coast. It was an absolute playground for both of us. Brooke developed an instant fascination with the water dragons that were running around the grounds. She was dead set on chasing one down to hold. I couldn’t interest her in any other attraction or animal. Most of the day was spent following them around in the heat until I finally managed to get one in my arms. I handed it to her and it was like all her Christmases had come at once.

  We were able to visit the other animals and got pictures with the koalas and seals. When we came across the zoo’s big eagle, Brooke was told she was allowed to hold it. After I explained that they’re not easy birds to handle, she was happy to move on.

  Every time we catch up over the phone Brooke has yet another wildlife story. The last time we spoke I got a blow-by-blow description of a kookaburra hunting a frog.

  ‘The kookaburra was banging the frog on the post really, really hard,’ she said. ‘But it’s all part of the circle o
f life!’

  It always makes me laugh to hear how much she loves nature and animals. At her age, I was exactly the same. What really cracked me up, though, was when I spoke to her just after her ninth birthday.

  ‘Out of all the animals, what is your favourite?’ I asked.

  She only needed a second before answering, ‘Well, it has to be a crocodile, of course!’

  My absolute pride and joy, Brooke. Her passion for wildlife and the outdoors is even greater than mine.

  26

  How I Like to Live

  It’s pretty ironic that, after all the years of working with crocodiles and flying choppers, the worst injury I’ve ever suffered was on holiday in South Australia a few years back. Mum was living in Hahndorf, a beautiful little town 30 minutes’ drive east of Adelaide. I flew in from Darwin and caught a bus to Mum’s place. I arrived in the early afternoon.

  The old girl was still at work so I headed to the stables at the back of her place to say hello to the horses. One of the horses was Chas, a beautiful bay gelding I rode growing up. Chas’s ears pricked up when I walked into the stable. I figured once I’d been for a ride Mum would be home.

  I threw the saddle on, strapped him up and set off. He was pulling hard at the reins the moment I was in the saddle so I trotted him out to a back paddock and let him loose. After a good run up and down the valleys, I turned us back for home. That was when we ran into trouble.

  While crossing a bitumen road, Chas’s front legs slipped away. He fell sideways and I went with him, taking the brunt of the impact along the lower right side of my body. Chas was a big, powerful horse and his whole weight rolled on top of me. It didn’t hurt nearly as much as I anticipated, but I cringed at the sickening sound of breaking bones. I was devastated for my old horse. The sound I heard could only mean he had broken a leg.