Family Farm (25 page)

Sheep were crammed into the catching pens behind the shearers, heavily laden with thick wool, while many more waited in the outside pens. Izzy had penned them up early in the morning before everyone else had arrived. She looked across at the three dividers up against the back wall. They contained different grades of fleeces, and she would have to bale some up when she had time.

Brad threw a glance at the clock, as the shearers each headed off and dragged back their chosen ewes. Holding the sheep between their legs, they picked up their handpieces ready to commence. Spot on seven o’clock a loud mechanical hum filled the shed and reverberated off the corrugated iron, as the shearers took the thick wool off the top of the ewes’ heads.

Before long, the first fleece had been gathered up by one of the rouseabouts and thrown across the skirting table. It descended like a dirty white quilt cover. Izzy and another rousie, Todd, whose belly almost sat on the table but who did well for a fifty-year-old, skirted the edges of the fleece, and then rolled it up to the edge of the table before the next fleece landed. Izzy pulled a staple of wool from the fleece and checked its strength to assess its grade, then put the fleece in the relevant section ready for baling.

It didn’t take long for the fleeces to build up and soon it was time to press another bale. She grabbed an armful of fleeces, her face buried in the oily wool. She bundled it into the empty bale bag in the wool press, compacting the wool down repeatedly so she could fit more fleeces in, until it met the required weight of the bale. Releasing the bale from the press, Izzy grabbed a fat marker pen and stencilled on the side of the bale the wool grade and farm name, Gumlea.

‘Todd, can you give us a hand, please?’ she called out to the nearest rousie.

The wooden floorboards groaned and creaked under the weight of the bale as they rolled it towards the mounting collection. Sweat ran down her back as she rejoined the other rouseabouts back at the skirting table. Not much talking went on. The thought of how close they were to finishing had them heads down, bums up and hard at it. Before too long, it was time to fill up the catching pens and the yards out back. Meanwhile the rest of the team had their lunch, which was supplied by the team cook.

Glad to escape the confined smell of wool and sheep poo for some fresh air, Izzy left Todd to press out some bales while she headed down the wooden ramp outside. She could see big, dark clouds brewing in the east and the smell of rain was strong in the breeze. Izzy made her way to the yards with Tom excitedly at her heels. She didn’t have to whistle for him – he knew what came next and was ready and eager to do his bit.

Climbing over the wooden fence into the sheep yard, she headed to one of the grey weathered gates, parting the mob of sheep as she went. Tom, in the meantime, was racing around behind her, rounding them up. Opening the gate, she stepped back out of the way so Tom could push them past her through the narrow opening and into the empty pen beyond. The sheep kicked up the dusty soil as they went by and Izzy lifted a hand up to her face, wiping the dirt out of her eyes. She knew she would look a sight. The dust stuck to her sweaty face and exposed arms, which were already greasy from the lanolin in the wool.

With both her and Tom working together, it didn’t take long before the last of the sheep were pushed up into the shed. She would have just enough time to get cleaned up and bolt down some lunch. Closing the gate, Izzy jumped when she heard an awful yelp. Panicking, she called out for Tom and then took off towards the agonised-sounding reply. She flew over the fence as fast as she could, her boots sending up a cloud of brown dust as she landed on the other side. Lying nearby was Tom, paralysed with pain.

‘Oh, Tom! What have you done, mate?’ Izzy’s voice trembled. She moved her hand carefully down his back towards his legs, feeling as gently as she could.

He yelped out loudly and tried to snap at her hands to prevent her from touching what felt like broken bones in his spine. Looking around, she saw that he must have landed badly, twisting the lower half of his body on the timber and metal lying next to the yard. Tears welled up as she looked back at Tom, the pain evident in his eyes. Patting his head and rubbing his soft black ears, she tried to calm him down.

‘It’s okay, Tom. I know what to do. I’ll be back in a minute, mate. You just stay here,’ she added. He tried to follow her but his broken back caused him to howl in pain.

Izzy knew there was no other choice, as vets were scarce out here. You never left an animal to suffer. It was a rule of the land. Flat out she ran, as fast as her long legs would allow, all the way to the workshop. Nearly slamming into the tall grey cabinet, she quickly unlocked it and grabbed out her father’s old .22 rifle and a couple of bullets to suit. Her feet thundered into the earth as hard as her blood beat through her veins. Her mind began to roam over memories of Tom – when she’d got him, the good times, his companionship – but she forced the thoughts away. She would need to concentrate.

She wasted no time in getting back to Tom as quickly as she could. Kneeling down alongside him, she kissed his black nose and gave him an ear rub. Tom whimpered again at her touch.

‘Shh, it’s okay, boy.’ Izzy tried to soothe him. ‘I’m sorry to have to do this to you, Tom. You’ve been the best mate anyone could ever have. I will always treasure our time together.’ Her voice wavered as she fought to keep her emotions in control. She didn’t want to lose it in front of Tom – he could always sense her moods. ‘But I know this is the right thing to do. I can’t watch you suffering.’

With one last hug, as gently as she could, she let him go for the last time and rose up to load the gun. ‘Goodbye, Tom. I’ll see you again one day and we can go round up some stray sheep.’ Tears welled in her eyes, as his sad brown ones watched her every move.

Battling to keep her shaking under control, she eventually managed to load the gun, flicked off the safety catch and pointed it close to Tom’s head. If he knew his time was up, he was handling it well as he lay patiently waiting for Izzy to save him from his pain. Swiping at the sweat on her brow, she took a deep breath and tried to concentrate on getting a clean shot.

She exhaled and the shot rang out, echoing over the vast land and off the corrugated shearing shed close by. Galahs rose from the nearby gum tree, squawking their protest at the sudden intrusive noise. Izzy stood there, the gun still in her hand, as tears rolled down her cheeks. She was oblivious to the sound of the approaching vehicle or the fact that the activity in the shearing shed had stopped and the shearers were silently watching. No one came to help, but Izzy didn’t need it anyway. There was nothing anyone could do.

It seemed like she had stood there for an eternity before she felt a hand caress her shoulder. She didn’t need to look to know it was Will.

‘I was bringing back the pressure cleaner when I heard the gun shot.’ He reached out, took the gun from her, and placed it up against the fence before pulling her into his strong embrace. ‘I’m so sorry, Izzy. He was a good dog,’ Will whispered tenderly into her hair.

After hearing this, making it seem so real, she couldn’t contain herself any longer and she cried into Will’s shirt. He just held her tight and kissed the top of her head.

Before long, Izzy noticed the sounds in the shed as the shearers resumed work. She felt miserable. She’d just lost the best mate she’d had. He was like Claire – someone to talk to, someone to back her up, and someone to protect her. He was the only one who understood her. Hard to believe he was just a dog. For a moment, she smiled through her tears. Will was still holding her tight and rubbing her back gently and it made her feel safe.

Pulling a hankie out of his back pocket, Will wiped away her tears before giving it to her to use. If Izzy hadn’t been so heartbroken, she might have laughed. What bloke carries around a hankie these days! Nonetheless, she was grateful for it.

‘I’ve gotta take care of Tom and get back to work, as I’m classing,’ said Izzy, before sneaking a glance at Tom. She wanted to be with him, lay him to rest, but she needed to keep working so they could be finished before the rain came.

Will put his hand on her chin and tilted it up until she was looking him in the eyes. ‘Don’t worry. Leave Tom to me. I’ll put him next to where we buried Jo last year. Bill was pretty cut up about losing his best sheepdog to a bloody snakebite. So I gave him a hand – I know where to go. You’ve got a shed to run. Off you go.’ Will gave her another kiss on the top of her head and then gently pushed her off towards the noisy shearing shed, watching her until she disappeared.

She didn’t feel like eating her lunch any more, plus she had a few fleeces of wool already piled up to be assessed. Nobody in the shed said anything to Izzy as she went back to work. There wasn’t much they could say, plus they had a job to do. Todd did put his hand on her shoulder and gave it a squeeze, but that was the way it was out here. The sheep still had to be shorn.

Will arrived back nearly an hour later, and he gave her an encouraging wink as he touched her arm on his way past to help Todd load up the pile of wool into the press. She pushed herself extra hard throughout the afternoon, trying to put Tom to the back of her mind. As the last few ewes were dragged from their pen, she saw his dirty bale bag sitting in the corner of the shearing shed – empty. It had been a long time since her heart had felt so heavy.

Will had been helping out all afternoon and came to her now. ‘How about leaving this for Todd and the others to finish up and I’ll take you up to Tom.’

Izzy looked into Will’s tender eyes and said, ‘I’d like that.’ She went up to Todd who was skirting a fleece on the table. ‘Todd, would you mind holding the fort while I duck off for a bit. I’ll be back to help bale the rest later.’

Todd scratched his grey whiskery chin. ‘No sweat, boss. You take your time.’

Izzy followed Will to his ute and they sat in silence as he drove to the pet patch where Tom had been buried. A minute later, they arrived via the two-wheeled track in a section of bush with large mallee trees, smaller shrubs and Guangdong trees. There were little mounds of dirt in between the trees and scrub where previous loved pets had been buried. When they stopped, Izzy got out and paused at a section of dirt with an old wooden cross pegged into it. ‘Joey’ was engraved into the flaking wood, but only Izzy knew what it said – she’d carved it when she was fifteen. Joey had been her pet kangaroo and he was two years old when they found him dead, unsure of what had killed him. She followed Will towards Tom’s resting place and knelt down to pick up his dog collar, which Will had left on top. Her fingers caressed the old leather with its blue and green ear tags. The blue one said Gumlea and the others had Rob’s farm name, Cliffviews, on them. Tom’s round metal name tag dangled from the middle. Instantly, Izzy’s eyes misted up as she fingered the cold disc. She heard Will’s feet shuffle backwards as he gave her some time alone. Seizing the moment, she placed her hand on the freshly turned soil and whispered her last goodbye.

‘Farewell, my mate. I’m gonna miss ya, Tom.’ She stood up and scrunched her hand, feeling the coarse grains of sand rub against her skin. Then reluctantly she brushed her hand on her pants, feeling like she was brushing away the last of Tom. Izzy gripped Tom’s collar tightly and turned to Will. ‘Let’s go.’

Obligingly he wrapped his arm around her shoulders and squeezed her as they walked back to the ute in silence.

Cut-outs were a commonplace thing after finishing a shed and were normally noisy drunken affairs. Not tonight. Izzy sat next to Will on the solid bales and chatted quietly, drinking cold beers slowly as the stormy humidity circled around them.

Brad Jackson had to get home early because they were taking the kids away for the weekend, and the rest of the crew had wanted to head off. The Lake Grace pub had ‘chase the ace’ on. It was a game where one person got the chance to pick a card out of the pack and if it was the ace they won; if not, the money stacked up till the next game night. The pot was now up to five grand. It was guaranteed to be packed out with plenty of fun on offer, and that’s where the shearing crew wanted to be tonight.

Giving the crew a final wave as they headed off in their little white bus, Izzy and Will found themselves alone on the floorboards near the large sliding door of the shed.

‘Well, that’s gotta be the cheapest cut-out we’ve had yet. Dad will be pleased to know Brad and his lot didn’t drink all his piss!’ Izzy laughed.

‘Thank God for the pub, hey.’ Will’s extraordinary blue eyes fixed upon her, exuding warmth and sympathy. She felt caressed and melted into their depth.

‘Will, thank you … for everything.’ She reached out her hand and held his arm lightly for a moment before letting go. ‘It means a lot.’ She wouldn’t have trusted the job to anyone else.

‘It’s okay, kiddo. You’ll be all right.’ He brushed some stray strands of hair from her face, before resting his hand on her shoulder, giving it a squeeze. He wasn’t sure how long he could handle seeing her this way. It was indescribable the way the sadness in her eyes worried him. She looked so vulnerable he just wanted to wrap his arms around her and make it all better.