Morning Mob

As I stepped out the fresh air was filled with morning rain. My nostrils sucked it in and held the very essence of new life as the tiny rain particles fell to the arid earth, where they would renew all doubt.


I tilted my akurba at the magpies, a sign a respect to their morning song. A wonderfully relaxing and homeward bound feeling as they cooed the morning bush opera.


My stride was matched with three excited dogs. They leapt around me like a circus ride. Their anticipation was frenzied.


The smell of old leather waved past me as I opened the stable door. A greeting of happiness sounded from the far end of the box.


He was an old gelding, of thoroughbred blood. His legs ran the race course but his heart never past the post.


I settled myself in the saddle and the old gelding pranced his feet. I slightly shifted my weight forward and the old gelding eased into his stride.


As we cantered effortlessly across the arid paddocks, the dogs anticipation grew wildly with every stride.


Coming to a slight incline I reined the old gelding in. There over in the distance was the greatest site I'd ever seen.


A mob five thousand strong, grazed eagerly on irrigated pasture. They looked at me with intent, but with the crack of my stockwhip they herded in a rush.


The dogs let loose their frenzy and kept over on the flank and the old gelding and I bought up the rear.


In the early hours of the morn you can hear the crack of leather and look to the west and see the mob rise over the hill. Headed to the long yard, a shearer's stand waits.

In My Socks

I learnt to drive and operate machinery at a very early age. The D-4 bulldozer we used on the farm was my first experience with heavy machinery. Just like the tank, it ran on tracks.

Heavy, cumbersome and bloody dangerous.


Early one morning, I needed to head off to work. Unfortunately I was in a bit of a pickle. But not one to be stopped easily, I found away around my dilemma. I needed to start both the front end loader and truck, using only one battery.


I sat the battery loosely on the loader and thankfully there was enough charge in it to start. I then took the battery out of the loader and connected it to the truck.

Yes the loader was still running, diesel engines can still operate after they have been started and the battery is removed. This can only happen if the engine has an alternator. Excellent - say this in a Montgomery Burns voice from The Simpson's.


I then hooked the truck to the loader and dragged it to the top of a hill. It didn't take long for the old truck to get it's memento going and before long the truck was rolling quite fast down the hill. I didn't have time to stop the loader and so I just jumped off. I then ran like blue blazers to catch the truck, it had gotten up more speed than I expected. 

I had to grab hold of the truck tray and scamper up that. In doing so I lost my footing and by hanging onto the rail, my feet dragged behind me and my boots slid off. I started to laugh, yes I have a weird sense of humour.

I finally made my way to the cab and jumped in and used the gears to start the engine. The engine started, but I had no brakes...the old truck was fitted with air compressed brakes and you need to build the pressure up from the engine before you can use them. So the old truck rattled flat out down the hill, with my foot flat to the floor trying desperately to build enough air brake pressure, before I ran through the fence below.


I was unable to swerve, as the speed I was now motoring down the hill would of seen the truck tip over and although no one would of known about that, I was not really wanting to tip the truck over. Finally though, there was just enough pressure in the brakes to slow the truck down and turn around. As I drove the truck up the hill, I parked it, engine still running and I used a rock as a parking brake. I spun on my heel and chased after the loader, as it was still puttering away down the hill too.


After I had retrieved the loader, I tied the loader to the truck, and then I went searching for my boots.


I have used this technique...may I be so bold to call it a technique...a few times. To the astonished bewildered look of passer-bys. Ha what a laugh, it must of looked hilarious, me running after the truck in my socks.


Read More: http://imaginifbusiness.blogspot.com/

The Regret and Appreciation

As warm tears of sadness roll down my cheeks, I reflect on what an impact the above picture has had on me. I fought the feeling to write around the emotions that surfaced, but for me to look forward, I must confront those emotions.


Like most people, I have a few regrets. I see now that I didn't appreciate certain things in my life. Now that I have an appreciation, I feel deep regret.


I have had to survive and I relied on the information of others to much, and that is how I based my decisions. I let others run my thinking and in return I have regrets.


My Mum would of spent many hours making me the patch work quilt, and sowing all the ribbons I had won over the years together as a blanket. At the time I was, or thought I was, appreciative for that, but now I don't think I was.


The honest truth is, I have no idea where the patch work quilt is, and the ribbon blankets I threw away. Yes I know, fucking silly bitch. Believe me I have beaten myself up over that.


But, I was lost in my thinking and thinking I was pleasing God, I threw them out. It had to do with worshipping idols. The longing to compete and win, apparently it can be viewed as idol worship. I think this is bullshit now, but then, I believed it was what I had to do.


I am ashamed of my actions. I am embarrassed to face my feat. I can only hope Mum's disapproval would be over looked in hindsight. I know Mum may of felt disappointed, because she always wanted to do things for me, to make up for the lack when we were separated. That's why I feel so shitty.


I hate myself for doing so. Oh Mum, please forgive me for being such an ungratefully daughter. If I could turn the clock back, I would, but I can't guarantee under the same circumstances I wouldn't do it differently. It is only know that I see the error of my way and if I'd only had today's knowledge then.


...After my Mum had passed away, there were a few items left over from the garage sale. They were items that spoke to me, but I was so emotionally drained I didn't listen. When I had returned home, a flight of five hours, I dreamt about these items. They are, one stable table, for eating dinner off while watching TV, and a small jug, one from a set of three, that my sister and I had already divided up. I couldn't stop thinking about them. I wanted them back, but we had given the left overs to Vinnies.


Unfortunately a few weeks later I had to fly back home, my Nana had passed away. But, there was something magically about to happen. I was picked up from the airport and would have to drive straight past the Vinnies store we dropped the items off at, I couldn't drive past without looking.


I walked in the shop and was instantly drawn to the two items. I held them close as if Mum was hugging me. The shop assistant asked me what I was doing and after I told her my story, she wouldn't let me pay, but I donated money instead. I use the stable table most nights and the little jar has it's rightfully place on the mantle too...


Mum did it to make amends and I just casually threw it all away. I'm sorry Mum, really I am. I can only hope you know my regret and where ever you are you know that I do appreciate your effort. I know you thought it was what you needed to do, and I am gratefully. But now you are gone, I cling to all that was yours and hope one day, somewhere, somehow, I will see that quilt again.



Read More: http://imaginifbusiness.blogspot.com/

New Ink

My first tattoo was an awesome experience and I was addicted. I wanted another one.

I confidently walked into the tattoo parlour. I'd been there before and felt I was an old hat at getting tattoo's, albeit the only one. But, that was about to change.


He led me through to the back, a room cordoned off by a curtain. Not for the embarrassed hearted. I sat on the bed and looked around the room. The walls plastered with tattoo's of every design and style. An autoclave, ticked by in the corner and a computer hummed on the desk.


“Take your shirt and bra off," he said.
Well duh, I didn't quiet think through the placement of my next tattoo. But, I was here and no way was I turning back. I flicked my bra on the chair, and let any inhibitions float away.


“lay on the bed,” this was beginning to sound like a porn movie, bra off, get on the bed.
Yes, I've watched my share.


I laid back, hands above my head and watched intently as he prepared himself. He began. He put his hand over my right boob and proceeded to tattoo the stars I requested. Suddenly the curtain was ripped back and big burly guy, with a full length beard and tattoo's up his arms strolled in. He leaned over and promptly had a good look. Definitely no room for the faint hearted. There for all to see, my boobs.


The tattoo guy, moved his hand over my boob, he was just positioning it for the best advantage for the tat, but for me, I could feel my nipple get harder. I glanced down and saw my nipple standing tall, pushing into the tat guy's palm. I smirked to myself.


The door bell sounded as four more full bearded, tat guys walked in, each taking their time to have a good look at what and where my tat was going. My nipples both erect, stood up and waved.
One guy, even sat on the chair, I had flicked my bra on, he held it in his hand as he watched.


Five blue stars, now glued to my body forever. I was impressed. It was a very erotic experience. I was not able to put my bra back on and as I walked out the shop, proud of my new ink, my nipples perked through my shirt.


I had no need to smile, my nipples did that for me.



Read More:  http://imaginifbusiness.blogspot.com/

No. Four

Part Three

It was unusually cold this time of year. The day was cloudy, and a light shower fell across the small sleepy town. The occasional swirl of a crisp morning breeze enraptured a chill in the locals, who gathered together to spy on the body found last night.

Brazenly two strangers blended in with the concerned locals. They relied on the trusting country folks nature, not to draw attention. Like vixens they leered at each other. An elated shriek escaped from their lips. Entwined in each others phychi they embraced and savoured the commotion that splayed around them.

The body had decomposed slower than normally. The cool open elements of the rain forest was a great choice to dump the body. The cooler climate would decrease the decaying process and gave the sisters more time to relish.

On the prowl, they sat quiet in a bar. Using a gesture of a stare they randomly picked the next victim. Flicking her hair and seductively smiling, she sheepishly half turned away. She lent into her sister and pretended to whisper they both giggled, looking back in his direction. His eyes wide open and his urge now awakened, he was captured.

Detective Sergeant Floyd drummed his pencil on the 19th century oak desk. He was puzzled. The only common factor about the four bodies was that they were all male. The murderer was picking males at random, the profile read.

Floyd felt frustrated. Residence were to afraid to go out, especially the men. Everyone began to become suspicious, and the local pub hadn't had a patron in days. The pressure was on, Floyd knew he needed a break through, before another body was found.



Read more: http://imaginifbusiness.blogspot.com/

Coffee and Cake

Your hands callous and weathered, your eyes dim. The many years of hard toll, working the land for a small profit.

Your white blouse stained, the beetroot of the hamburger, that you gulped down during your fifteen minute break, on your nine to five job.


You work incredible long, tiring hours, for little pittance. Society has fast tracked our life style to take out meals and fast food stalls.


What ever happened to a plane and simple, breaking of the bread?


To break bread, a long forgotten tradition, that a minority keep, was first recorded by the Romans. Later the Bible referred to it in many various forms. One being to break bread, is to be a good neighbour. In the sense of, giving what you have to those less fortunate, and to open your heart and share your food with thy brother. Take into consideration that the word brother used in the Bible, denotes all people, regardless of sex.


So, to be hospitable, to stand in the line at Maccas and purchase a big mac meal. Then offer your fries to someone less fortunate. I don't think so. Selfish world.


Although, yes, the minority do strictly adhere to the breaking bread. Some partake on Sunday church service. Others from many years of family tradition eat together around the family table. The Greeks and Italians are wonderful examples of this.


Here in Australia, the breaking of bread, known as the Sunday roast has lost it's value. Even though many reminisce about Nana's Sunday roast.


However you enjoy, breaking bread, do it with compassion and unconditional love. Not only for yourself, but for those who are your neighbour – the whole of mankind.
Share not only your monetary values but your heart.


Not in the same cruel tyrant style, but, in the plenty of “”let them eat cake,”” Queen Marie Antoinette. Just remember to also provide tea or coffee to wash it down with.


When the sun sets over your hard tolled land and the clock strikes five, remember one thing, it's great to be alive.



Readmore: http://imaginifbusiness.blogspot.com/2010/07/my-wedding-vow.html

The Symbol of Life

If wearing different styles and colours represent the person I am. Then bring it on.

I wear for comfort, with a little style thrown in. If clothes make the man or woman in this case, then, I am set for life. I am a self taught junkie, not of fashion (sorry sis), but of life.

Life is the most powerful representation I can offer. I see the glass as half full and yet I am not scared if it is, half empty.

A few days ago, my life took a very different turn.

To those, and you know who you are, that helped direct me where I needed to go, thank you.

I drove myself to emergency. Within 5 minutes, I was hooked up and plugged into every machine you can possible imagine. I was x rayed and dye tested and it was confirmed. I had multiple clots in both lungs. Pulmonary embolism.

The specialist told me, I was lucky to be alive. He said that if I had not gotten to hospital that day, I would not of seen the night out. Reality, that's what I am talking about !!

My heart was under enormous pressure, trying to pump my blood through to blocked veins and arteries. My heart was stressed. But, it was pumping it's little heart out, to try and keep me alive.

I am home now, emotional, but alive. Happy, that I have seen the inside of death and aware that I am not ready to go there, just yet.

So, I am not going anywhere.
I have a book to write.
And, yes, that scares the shit out of me too.

For me, it was not about the what ifs, and why me, but, the what's next, attitude. My spirit's I kept good, as always I saw my life glass as half full.

The symbol of life, dressed before me.




Readmore:http://imaginifbusiness.blogspot.com/

It's a dogs life

My love of dogs began with my first dog, Sam. 1983 - 1991

He was an Elfindale kelpie. Multi coloured: brown with splashes of white and tips of tan. At just five weeks old, I plucked him from the jaws of pig food. He was the first dog I trained to work sheep. He learnt fast and was extremely intelligent.
Sam was an adventurous dog, always up for something. He loved to ride with me on the horses or motorbike. He would play chasey with my pony, Lantana and he slept under the window outside my bedroom.

I remember him getting into a tug of war game with a bungarra goanna over a piece of meat. The bungarra charged at Sam, who tried to defend himself, only to have the goanna, latch onto his tongue. Sam let out an awful squeal, but gained a healthy respect for bungarras after that. Sam was mistakenly shot by a sour old farmer trying to protect his geese.




My second dog was a dingo blue heeler cross, called Sarg. 1984 - 1985

He was smokey grey blue with black patches. Unfortunately Sarg suffered, badly, from motion sickness. He was unable to travel with me out on the farm. Although he wanted to, he would end up to weak after vomiting to many times. Sarg became a yard dog, were he would work the sheep once yarded. Sadly, he never made his first birthday, one morning I found Sarg dead, he had been bitten by a tiger snake.




My third dog was a German Shepherd. Her name was Sharree. 1986 - 1995

Typical black and tan shepherd markings. Her loyalty to me, was without question. She became a fantastic guard dog, not only to me, but also to the horses. Sharree spent her days with me, everywhere I was, she was a close shadow behind. One night, she slipped her collar and for the first and only time she ever did, she wandered off. Picked up by a passer by, who handed her into the pound.

Thankfully I found her three days later, but the pound officer wouldn't hand Sharree over to me because I had no proof of ownership. I challenged the officer to give me commands to tell the dog, if that didn't satisfy him that Sharree was my dog, then I would be happy to leave without her, so was my confidence.

We spent an hour running through commands, every time, Sharree perfectly obeyed me. Satisfied, the officer shook my hand and congratulated me on a well trained dog, but not before giving me a fine for $200 dollars.

Sharree in her old age suffered from hip dysplacia. I arrived home one afternoon, to find she hadn't greeted me at the door, her normal routine. I called to her and heard no reply. I called louder and then a chill shrieked through me, as I heard her soulfully whine, she tried so desperately to get to her feet and drag herself to me. I picked her up and took her to the vets. Sharree was put down that evening, in my arms.




My forth dog, (pictured top) was Terah, pronounced Tear rah. 1995 - 2005

She was a German Shepherd cross, sable in colour. She had been surrendered to the RSPCA and as I was friends with the RSPCA officer he knew that I had recently put Sharree down. He brought this small bundle of tan fluff to me one evening and before I could pick her up, Terah entered my life. She was six weeks old and gorgeous. I assisted in the operation to spay Terah, as I worked at the veterinary hospital at the time.

Terah in her own right was highly intelligent and blitzed her way through puppy school. She amazed dog trainers by her complete obedience. On a cold winter rainy day. It was arranged for me to show off Terah's brilliant ability. I command her to sit in the middle of an oval during a kids footy match. She didn't flinch. The kids ran past her and some even stopped for a pat. The ball bounced near her and all the while she sat, poised, eye contact to were I was standing. It was an amazing day.

Terah, loved the beach, and every chance we got, we were there. Terah travelled with me when I crossed the Nullarbor, and she was jet setted from Victoria to Cairns.
The day Terah died, from a paralysis tick, broke me to tiny pieces. My friend gone.


All my dogs were taught hand and eye commands. As well as verbal, but I rarely used it. These dogs showed outstanding obedience, and I have been honoured to share my life with them.



read more: http://imaginifbusiness.blogspot.com/

The Lions Jaw

Part two

 A chill hung in the air, not from the winters day, but from the skull found in the lions enclosure.

The morning sun peeked through the cloudy sky. A light shower of rain hovered over the wildlife park. The zoo keeper noticed that the big cats didn't roar down to the fence as usual feeding routines go, they slowly rose from their slumber and sauntered down to sniff the meat and play with it, like a cat does a mouse.

As opportunistic eaters, they didn't eat it, they weren't hungry.

Unbeknown to the keeper, the pride had already been fed. During the dark of night, a fresh kill was devoured by the lions.

The only trace was apparent, when one of the young cubs, ran past the keeper holding a human skull in his mouth.

The wildlife park, was brought to a complete stand still. A body count of workers was conducted, everyone was accounted for. Within minutes, the police had cordoned off the park.
Disappointed tourists were turned away and the gates heavily guarded and padlocked.

News of a murder spread quickly through the close knit town. Reporters began to set up cameras and they climbed trees to try get a better advantage point.


Detective sergeant Floyd, looked at the human remains, hair and skin still visible. The skull was damaged by teeth scratches, and the lower jaw bone was missing. 

Forensic scientists examined the skull for fifteen hours and then reported, that at the time it was found till death, had been less than twenty four hours.

Under police guard, a veterinary surgeon was choppered in and pumped the stomach of every lion. The contents now evidence.

The detective was really concerned. Three bodies had been found in a week. It was apparent a killer lurked in their midst.