Rally and the Brown Dog

By Rally Rug

On the 4 th of February I left the Alice
Loaded to the hilt with three trailers too
With fuel and oil and odds and ends
So people out west don't meet their end.

It was not long before I saw and felt
The clouds in the west, they meant the "Wet"
And if I got caught amongst that lot
I knew I would come to a bloody big stop.

So I hurried along and kept my cool
Out of the centre and into the west
For it is the work that I love best
On the fuel run out in the west.

On the third day out the rain came in
And flooded the country from end to end
So in with the diff locks and on with the three
This would make any driver jump out of his tree.

While splashing along from mud hole to water hole
Came across one which was longer than the others
Entered with a splash but to no avail
For I did not get to the end like the others.

With a slip and a slide I felt the power die
For when the third one hit, I just gave a sigh
Slipped the box and CURSED the boss
For when the wet is in, you are made to stop.

The lightening flashed and the thunder roared
And all I could do was shut the door
To see the rain come in and sheet the ground
And watch the road as it slowly drowned

At the crack of dawn I was up and about
Open the door and jump right out
For when I did I gave a gasp
Ankle deep in mud and stuck in fast.

For what I did then I will let you guess
And would have to do my very best
To get this three trailer rig
Right out of this bloody mess.

With two sun-ups gone I give her a go
And to my amazement she began to move
Packed up my gear and stowed it away
For the next water hole was only one K away.

As I crested the hill and looked along
There was another hole not as long
So I broke up the three and down to one
I would play it smart and beat this one

My smartness soon ended as quick as it started
While approaching the water the ground began to give
The brown dog grunted and poured out the smoke
And the diffs went down, it was no bloody joke!

Now the rain has gone and the skies are clear
I am rattling along home to have a beer
The easterly wind springs up and stirs the dust
I wish it would rain and settle the bloody stuff.

Thanks to Bob Knight the former owner of the Wauchope Hotel for the poem