Dingo Pup

Photo credit - MSBegy

Legend talks of a bull so mean he was never ridden and the spurs that hang on the old fence is testament to the cowboys who have tried. They say you can hear their voice every eight seconds on the territory wind.


As I cocked one leg on the bottom rail of the old wooden stock yard I listened to the old man tell the story of the meanest bull he'd ever ridden.


When he was young and worked mustering in the outback he remembers seeing the meanest bull.
A tough and rugged scrub bull had his plight changed the day young Jake rode into Arnela station.


Jake steps into the cattle yard and makes his intention known. An eerie silence broken by the swirl of dust and straw. He spies a tornado of blood mixed for ultimate destruction. His pedigree feral. He commands the ring. He demands respect. He gives no mercy.


The Bull whips his head from side to side and sharpens his deadly horns along the ground. A surge of raging power bolts down his legs as he menacingly paws the dry earth, throwing down the glove he makes his challenge. Jake nods his head challenge accepted.


The bull stands steely poised. A picture of brute strength and presence. Clouded by an aura of decree he dangerously gives nothing away. Piercing through he eyes right into the soul and he instills in every courageous cowboy that dares to wear the spur a dripping cold sweat of fear.


He entices Jake into a false sense of confidence as he patiently and calmly stands in the chute. They tug on the ropes and tightening the flank straps. Ready Jake sits over his gloved hand. His heart beat bursts through his chest as he tries to focus on the ride.


The chute gate swings open and the savagery of the bull explodes and there in the presence of the every brave cowboy that has gone before him, Jake's finds his right of passage written in eight seconds on a bull they call Dingo Pup.


Footnote: Alternate


As a young girl in pigtails, I remember great uncle Jake tell the story of a bull. How cowboys from all over the country came to claim their right to passage of eight seconds and so the legend was born.


I had travelled many miles to a destination marked on no map. To see for myself the wall of spurs that hung on the old rabbit proof fence.


A willy willy swirls and twist by me and in the dust I hear their voices tell me the tale of the bull they called Dingo Pup.


Cowboy after cowboy steps into the cattle yard and makes his intention known. An eerie silence broken by the swirl of dust and straw as he spies a tornado of blood mixed for ultimate destruction. His pedigree feral. He commands the ring. He demands respect. He gives no mercy.


The Bull whips his head from side to side and sharpens his deadly horns along the ground. A surge of raging power bolts down his legs as he menacingly paws the dry earth, throwing down the glove he makes his challenge. The cowboy nods his head challenge accepted.


The bull stands steely poised. A picture of brute strength and presence. Clouded by an aura of decree he dangerously gives nothing away. Piercing through he eyes right into the soul and he instills in every courageous cowboy that dares to wear the spur a dripping cold sweat of fear.


He entices the cowboy into a false sense of confidence as he patiently and calmly stands in the chute. They tug on the ropes and tightening the flank straps. Ready, the cowboy sits over his gloved hand. His heart beat bursts through his chest as he tries to focus on the ride.


The chute gate swings open and the savagery of the bull explodes and there in the presence of the every brave cowboy that has gone before him he hangs his spur up too.