We have a friend who used to help us in the feedlot from
time to time. A lovely girl, whose pride
and joy to this day are her two dogs, a blue heeler called Millie and the
biggest German Shepherd I have ever seen called Rex (obviously). She taught
these two all manner of commands and tricks, but for various reasons, one being
her father of German descent, and the other, well, she didn’t want just anybody
being able to tell her dogs what to do, so they only understand German. Which is great, until you walk around the
corner into your shed, with her car parked under it with a blue heeler and what
can only be described as the Godzilla of the canine world inside, heads poking
out the windows and giving a bark that says “I dare you to come closer.” It’s
at this point I wish I’d taken German instead of Japanese in high school, and
after racking my brains and a few failed “Shuddups” and “Siddowns” I yell
“Nein!” And both dogs cease and desist and I manage to get in and back out the
tractor without losing any limbs.
That is about the extent of my experience with Germans.
Until three weeks ago.
If you've been reading for a while and ever wondered what it be like to be on a station, here's your chance. Welcome to Gabyon Station Stay, our new little sideline that we hope people will enjoy.
