The Call of the High Country

by Tony Parsons

  Andy’s stroke had affected David greatly because he felt partly responsible: Andy had wanted Poitrel so that David could have a better future. For the first time since he was a very small boy, David did not know how to behave around his father. Whereas his mother adjusted with sensitivity to his father’s condition, he found it very difficult. Without a response from his father, David could no longer discuss with him the many things they used to. He was both frustrated and remorseful at the sight of his father sitting around for hours, but that was before Anne and Kate began working on him with massages and warm salt baths. They gave him simple exercises, which they kept up until he was able to walk the distance of the horse yards to the gate of the first paddock beyond the dog yards.

  David took heart at this small improvement in his father’s condition, but it still hurt like hell to know that he would never be the man he once was. They owned, or as good as owned, two properties, but his father was now only half a man. It was a hell of a price to pay for an extra lump of ground. David was more pessimistic about his father’s recovery than Anne and Kate were. Anne, buoyed up by Kate’s insistence that Andy would improve, threw herself heart and soul into improving her husband’s condition, both mentally and physically. She gave him all the news of the area and outlined what David was doing each day. So gradually some of Andy’s fire came back. To begin with it was more like a spark than a fire, but Andy was too good a man to be laid low for long.

  Not long after David’s altercation with the drovers, he obtained his driving licence, and with it the independence of driving himself about. As soon as he had the licence, he began looking for local crutching and shearing work to help the family out financially. He was mostly well liked in the area, and people who knew his father’s reputation were keen to give David a go, too. David tried not to resent the time he spent away from home working, but he was always aware of what he would rather be doing with his dogs and horses, and he was always disappointed by the fact that no matter how hard he worked, there was never enough money coming in. The problem was how they could get more.

  And then, out of the blue, a solution presented itself, but David would have to make the toughest decision of his life.

  Chapter Sixteen

  David MacLeod, like his father, always had supreme faith in the working kelpie. And David, like his father, also regarded the kelpie as heaven-sent for Australia’s wool industry. David dreamed from his early years that he would one day win the National, Australia’s greatest sheepdog trial, with a kelpie. He sought this prize not only because it would set the seal on the quality of the MacLeod kelpies, but also in honour of his father, who had never been able to work at the National Trials himself. Through all his family’s trials and setbacks, the dream of working great kelpies at the National was never far from David’s mind.

  Bush dogs have anything but easy lives. The mortality rate is high. David had the misfortune to lose some very good dogs over the years, each loss tearing at his heart a little more, as well as affecting his breeding endeavours. By the time he was seventeen years old, the best dog David had ever bred was Nap. Nap, a red and tan male, was a brilliant dog with a great cast and a lovely way of shifting sheep. He would work anywhere, and every sheepdog handler who saw the dog said that without a doubt he was as good as they come. David had won the last local trial with Nap, and a couple of visiting dog handlers had spread the word about the dog’s ability.

  Just after David had turned seventeen, he received the following letter in the mail.

  ‘Jimbawarra’

  Deniliquin NSW 2710

  Dear Mr MacLeod,

  You may be aware that I have a large kelpie stud and send dogs all over Australia. I also export a large number of dogs. The perpetuation of my stud depends on my ability to maintain the highest possible standards, and from time to time I have purchased several top-quality dogs and bitches. I believe that money is no object for the right dog.

  I am writing to you because I have received several highly complimentary reports about your kelpie Nap.

  I would be very interested in seeing this dog, and if he is as good as I have been told, I would like to purchase him for use in my stud.

  I would appreciate it if you would contact me at your earliest convenience regarding this matter.

  Yours sincerely,

  Bruce McClymont

  David read the letter through twice and then folded it and placed it in his shirt pocket. He was not a person who made snap decisions where the sale of animals was concerned, and this offer was too important to take lightly. David had never considered selling Nap – the dog was simply too good to part with and too important for David’s future plans. He and Nap operated on the same wavelength. Nap would never understand if he were sent away. The more David thought about Bruce McClymont’s offer, the more he felt that he shouldn’t sell Nap for any price.

  That night, he showed Mr McClymont’s letter to his mother. ‘Why, David, what a name Nap has made. You wouldn’t be thinking seriously of selling him, would you?’

  ‘Under normal conditions, no. There wouldn’t be enough money in the world to buy him. But you know how tight things are right now. Of course it depends on just what McClymont is willing to pay. When I think of what Dad did so we could get Poitrel, I feel ashamed of trying to hold on to Nap. I’m wondering if I could lease him for a certain period, so that I could still get him back later on.’

  ‘That’s a good idea, but you’d need to have it done legally. I haven’t any idea what this man is like, although I do know that some dog people are anything but honest,’ Anne said.

  ‘You’re right, Mum. I’ll make some enquiries, and if people say McClymont is to be trusted, I might put a proposition to him.’

  ‘That’s very wise, Davie, but I want you to know that neither Andy nor I would push you into selling Nap. We know how much he means to you. We’ll manage without you having to let him go.’

  ‘I know, thanks. We do have pups on the ground by Nap so I can go on with them. I did want to mate him to Belle but she was too young last time. Nap is important to me, but if I have to wait a bit longer to get to the National, so be it.’

  David talked with several of his father’s old mates and established that Bruce McClymont, though a big seller of dogs, was an honest man who could be trusted. A few nights later David sat down and penned a note to the Riverina breeder.

  ‘High Peaks’

  Merriwa NSW 2329

  Dear Mr McClymont,

  Thank you for your letter and kind remarks about Nap. We think he is a very good dog and almost up to the top kelpies of the past.

  I have considered your offer very carefully and have decided that I would not consider selling Nap outright as I have big plans for him. However, I would lease him to you for three years for the sum of $3000.

  I wouldn’t let Nap go sight unseen, so you would have to come and inspect him. If he is what you want, you could take him away with you.

  Nap is to be returned by you, in good condition, three years to the day on which you take him. Knowing the dog as I do, I believe you could breed a lot of very good dogs by him over a three-year period. If these conditions are satisfactory, I expect I will hear from you soon.

  Yours sincerely,

  David MacLeod

  David had composed the letter after consultation with his mother. Anne doubted that McClymont would come at the $3000, but, as David pointed out, if they didn’t get a worthwhile lease fee, why let the dog go? They could earn more than that from the pups Nap would sire over the next three years.

  A week later they received a phone call to advise them that Bruce McClymont would be driving up to High Peaks to inspect Nap, and if he was as good as he was supposed to be, he would accept the conditions set out in David’s letter.

  ‘I’ll bet McClymont hasn’t owned a dog as good as Nap,’ David said to his mother when she told him about the call.

  ‘Your father won’t know what to say if this deal comes off,’ Anne
said. ‘He never got anything like that money for the best of his dogs.’

  ‘That was then and this is now,’ David said. ‘People seem to have a lot more money these days. Trials are bigger affairs now, too,’ he said.

  ‘You had better get an agreement drafted up before McClymont arrives,’ Anne advised. ‘You can’t be too careful. I shall tell Andy all about it. It might cheer him up a bit.’

  Andy had not been able to speak properly since his stroke but he could hear perfectly well. Anne spent several hours each day relating all the news to her husband. David still felt uncomfortable conducting a one-way conversation with his father. What he wanted was his father’s opinion, and he would get frustrated when he could not obtain it.

  Anne had taken him aside and had a few words with him. ‘David, it would be a big help if you told your father what you proposed to do each day, and gave him an account of the day’s activities. Just because he’s had a stroke doesn’t mean he’s not interested in whether there’s feed in the hills or how the sheep look.’

  ‘Okay, Mum. I guess I’ve been a bit shy of talking to Dad.’

  ‘I know, son. It’s difficult for us all, adjusting to this new situation. But don’t forget that on the inside Dad is just the same as he ever was.’

  The year that had led up to his seventeenth birthday had been a traumatic one for David. Now this letter from the Riverina was yet another complex consideration.

  ‘I haven’t given up my dream of winning the National,’ David told his mother. ‘It will just have to wait a bit longer, that’s all. We need the three thousand dollars. It’s as simple as that.’

  ‘David, that’s a very tall order. No kelpie has won the National since Athol Butler won it with Johnny, and Dad always said that Butler was a genius.’

  ‘Yes, and Johnny won it five times. That’s proof that a kelpie can do it.’

  ‘But wasn’t it Butler’s handling that won those trials?’ Anne asked.

  ‘No matter how good a handler is, you can’t win a trial like that without a very good dog that has been well schooled. I know our dogs can do it. What they have to do here is far tougher than anything they’d face in Canberra.’

  ‘But there are so many good handlers at those big trials. You can put up a brilliant score and still not make it to the final heat,’ Anne said.

  ‘If a fella has top dogs and can handle them, he will win good trials sooner or later. I’ll know when a dog is ready to take to Canberra. Right now our first priority is paying our way, and if I have to put off big-time trialling for a few years in order to do that, it isn’t such a high price to pay for what we have now.’

  ‘I admire your outlook tremendously, David, and I want you to know that Dad and Kate and I all think it’s very mature of you to let Nap go.’

  Bruce McClymont came to inspect Nap a few days later. It was a very steamy morning with the threat of a storm in the air. David had been up since daylight checking sheep. Flies were a problem and he had ridden the bottom country looking at the ewes. After breakfast he put a few wethers in the paddock above the house and then cut off a mob and ran them down to the yards. He reckoned McClymont would want to see Nap work in the yards as well as outside.

  The new Ford utility came up the road at about nine-thirty a.m.; McClymont had spent the night at the Federal in Merriwa. The utility was complete with a very substantial mesh crate which was covered by a double roof. In between, there was a layer of some kind of material to cut down the heat, and the front of the crate was closed in so the dogs were protected from the cold air. There was also a thick chain and a padlock on the crate’s mesh door. It was a very professional set-up. David was impressed.

  Bruce McClymont was a man of medium height with sandy hair and bright, hazel-grey eyes. He had a restless manner that had caused some of his neighbours to dub him Mr Perpetual Motion.

  ‘I’m looking for David MacLeod,’ he said as he got out of the Ford. ‘Am I in the right place?’

  ‘Yes, this is the right place, and I am David MacLeod,’ David said, holding out his hand.

  ‘You surprise me. I expected an older person,’ McClymont said.

  ‘I started very young, Mr McClymont,’ David replied. ‘Come with me and I’ll show you Nap.’

  They walked down the track to where the dogs were housed. Most of them were in their logs under the shady trees. David walked over to where the big red and tan dog was lying on top of his log. His head was between his paws and his eyes never left David’s face.

  ‘This is Nap,’ David said as he unclipped the dog. ‘Come on, Nap, jump down. Sit.’ The dog obeyed immediately.

  ‘I’ve put some sheep on the hill behind the house. Dad reckons that when a dog can cast either way up this hill it’s ready to take to a trial. Being hill-country sheep, their natural inclination is to get back to the hills after they’ve had a drink,’ David explained. ‘Those six wethers have been grazed in the paddock through that far fence. They want to get back to it. I thought that would give you an idea of Nap’s strength and holding ability because they’ll want to keep breaking back up the hill.’

  ‘Will he cast that far?’ McClymont asked. ‘It must be a quarter-mile or more.’

  David’s smile was fleeting. ‘Nap will cast a lot further than that. All our dogs will run out of sight.’

  David sat Nap about twenty yards behind him and then sent him away to the right. Nap raced up the fence, cleared the six wethers by about fifty yards and finished right behind them. He stopped there and waited while the wethers stamped their feet and milled about. David leant against the fence and watched proceedings with what seemed only casual interest.

  Then Nap edged forward a little and the wethers turned away. One sheep broke out to the side and Nap gathered him in neatly. In under five minutes, Nap had the six wethers directly in front of them. David had not given Nap a single command after he had cast him away. Instead, he had sat on the log seat his father had constructed years earlier and watched Bruce McClymont’s reaction.

  ‘Can you move him around?’ McClymont asked.

  ‘Sure. Nap, back.’ Nap moved from right to left and stopped.

  ‘Nap, behind.’ This time Nap moved from where he was back to the right, his original position.

  ‘Is he as good in the yard as he is in the paddock?’

  ‘Oh, I think so. He’ll back all day but he’s too good to make a welter of that sort of work. All our dogs will work in the yard and the shed. Our main priority is outside work. Up here we often ride for a week to pick up the last of our sheep. If our dogs couldn’t cast, and if they didn’t have the right field work, we would never get them. I’ve put some wethers in the yard so you can see what he’ll do.’

  They walked down the hill to the wool shed and its yards. David opened some gates and clicked to his dog. Nap speared over the nearest fence and went in behind the sheep in one of the forcing pens.

  ‘Speak, Nap,’ David commanded.

  Nap let out a big bark which galvanised the wethers into action. They shot down the long drafting race and David sent Nap over their backs.

  ‘Speak, Nap.’ Nap barked again to push the wethers tightly into the race and then came back over the top of them. David then opened the gate of the race and sent Nap up the side. He barked through the race as he ran along the side. ‘Up, Nap.’ Nap jumped onto the side of the race and balanced himself on the rail. ‘Speak. Stay, Nap.’ Nap stayed where he was but barked to urge the sheep down the race.

  ‘Anything else?’ David asked, after Nap had dutifully completed all his tasks.

  ‘I’ve seen enough,’ McClymont said. ‘He’s a lovely dog.’

  ‘He’s not bad. I’ve taught him a few tricks, like carrying a stockwhip in his mouth and jumping on my back. I’ll show you.’

  He bent over and Nap jumped on his back and sat there. ‘Off, Nap.’

  Nap jumped down and stood looking up at his owner.

  ‘Is there anything he can’t do?’ McClymont asked.
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  ‘Not too much. The thing is that Nap is a really brainy dog. He uses his head. That’s what I like in a dog.’

  ‘If I can breed dogs as good as he is, I’ll be even happier. Are all your dogs as good as he is?’

  ‘Some of Dad’s old dogs were better than Nap.’

  ‘What about your bitches?’

  ‘No difference. If they aren’t good, we don’t use them,’ David said simply.

  ‘Will you work one for me?’ McClymont asked.

  ‘Sure. There’s a young bitch here that hasn’t done much work yet. She wouldn’t be twelve months old. Her name’s Belle. I think she’ll be a good one.’

  They walked back to the dog yard and David clipped Nap up to his log. He walked down the line to where a young blue bitch was tied to another log.

  ‘This is Belle,’ David said.

  ‘She has a very short tail,’ McClymont commented. ‘And what is that funny mark on her forehead?’

  ‘You get both of those characteristics in our dogs. They came in from the Quinn and King and McLeod dogs. There seems to be more of both of those traits in our dogs than in anyone else’s.’

  ‘I’ll put her on those same six sheep that Nap worked. They should be okay for her,’ David said.

  Belle moved over the ground like a wraith. She made no sound at all and she seemed to have the sheep mesmerised. David moved away about six feet and Belle moved about the same distance to bring herself into line with him.

  ‘Belle had perfect balance from the first day she started working,’ David explained. ‘She’s a real good bitch in the making.’