General News
14 January, 2025
CHIPPY: Her earliest days — Part One
Chippy had a rough start to life, but nothing perseverance and a caring family won't fix.
It was a cold and damp spring morning as an old lady in gumboots and a blue scarf headed up the long driveway to the side of the Goulburn Valley Highway.
She was accompanied by her grandson, a boy of 10.
Each carried a wicker basket. They were on a mission to find bottles for sugo (a tomato sauce) and if lucky some early spring mushrooms.
Before either was found, a gruesome discovery was made.
Beneath a tall ghost gum lay a dog, a bitch, and her five dead puppies.
The elderly woman (my nan) noticed some movement in the mother’s belly.
Taking her sharp knife she cut open the dead dog’s stomach to reveal a barely living pup.
Taking the dog’s mouth to her lips she blew a strong draught of breath into the lifeless pup.
Miraculously the pup coughed and gave a gentle whimper.
With the pup wrapped in Nan’s apron we headed back to the homestead.
Thus began the pup’s first struggle for life (not her last).
She placed the pup in with a pregnant ewe and fed her some of its milk. Thus began a struggle for several days.
On the morning of the third day the young pup started to show signs of recovery. She was an Australian terrier (renowned for their courage).
Her coat was essentially black and white with small brown patches.
Initially Nan said she shouldn’t be handled until she became more robust.
After a week she became mobile and found delight in being patted and cuddled. I was thrilled when she fell asleep nestled in my lap.
Amazingly though her closest bond was with my grandmother.
Once on solid food she started to grow rapidly. She was fond of the poultry feed and often joined in with the chooks at feed time. Another favourite was minced meat and pasta noodles.
Soon she started to explore the verandah and then the garden.
I watched as she sat fascinated watching a grasshopper. She even hopped in sync with the insect.
A lesson was soon learnt when she toyed with a red ant and received a sting on the nose.
Nan trusted her with a rag wet with methylated spirits (used by farmers for many treatments).
Within a short space of time the garden and surrounds became her domain. Anyone entering was greeted with a low pitched bark.
Grandad and Chippy (now named) had an indifferent relationship. His sheep dogs were disciplined working dogs and had no tolerance for inquisitiveness or frivolity and when not working liked to sleep and eat, chewing on bones until they were shiny white.
Now almost fully grown she came into season and Nan made sure she stayed in confines of the farm house.
Ali, an Indian tinker, visited the farm annually to repair the water tans or mend any pots and pans.
He had a male terrier whom Nan had selected to mate with Chippy.
The day of the mating was thrown into turmoil when Chippy decided to make herself scarce.
I found her under the shearing shed (her favourite refuge).
I returned her to her fate and was horrified by the mating process.
Sheba the dog was extremely brutal in his actions and Chippy was frightened out of her wits suffering the indignity as Nan held her still.
At last it was over and she couldn’t believe that her best friends could allow her to be treated this way.
It was several days before she meekly returned and trusted us again.
When I returned after school had finished I found her proudly displaying five puppies — all clones of her.
All the pups found good homes and things returned to normal.
Chippy guarded the house warning of any visitors (which weren’t very often).
Grandma bred turkeys and geese and occasionally had visitors wishing to buy a bird.
Chippy had an ability to discern if the purchaser was trustworthy, if not Nan chased them off with her straw broom.
Of all the animals on the farm Chippy was only wary of the gobbler (male turkey). She always kept a safe distance from him.
On occasions on the farm I went out with Grandad to shift the sheep or to have them dipped.
Then I saw the sheepdogs at work. They were all crossbred Kelpies and knew every instruction that Grandad gave.
It was about 10 miles round trip to the dipping station, most of which was along the Goulburn Valley Highway to the outskirts of Murchison East which had a school and a church and nothing else.
The dogs worked tirelessly rounding up strays and keeping the sheep off the road which had little traffic mostly trucks.
At the station the sheep were coralled and in single file they moved through the blue dip.
My job was to push them under the dip with a bowed pole.
They were easily identified as the fleece was blue.
Before returning we drank from a “billy” of cold, black, sweet tea. And the two massive high tin cheese and jam sandwiches.
The hessian water bag was devoured as if it was the nectar of the gods.
It was warm and tasted like hessian. Now I couldn’t drink it even if I was dying of thirst.
Back at the farm the first priority was feeding the dogs. Johnny, the horse who had pulled the gig, was unharnessed and fed and stabled.
Grandad stripped to the waist revealing his white skin and washed. Once cleansed he downed a bottle of his light chianti and we sat down to a well deserved feast.
It was five o’clock. Dinner was religiously served at five — rain hail or shine.
Nan served a large bowl of chicken broth (thick with homemade noodles). This was followed by freshly sliced meat and a fresh garden salad of endive, apple onions, tomato and olives drowned in a vinaigrette of home crushed olive oil and balsamic vinegar.
Once Grandad had broken the bread we hoed in. Any dressing left was mopped up with the bread.
Read Part Two in Friday’s Advertiser