Henry and the Wood Pigeon

 

 

 

Henry and the Wood Pigeon

 Young Henry used to watch the pair of wood pigeons that came year after year to the cherry plumb tree in his yard. He was only ten years old and they had come for as long as he could remember, so that was year after year to him. He was happy to eat the cherry plumbs while they were still a bit green because of their tartness, but when the fruit were ripe, they were a bit dry and tasteless… and yellow, which made Henry wonder why the wood pigeons liked them so much. They would eat so many at one sitting that they could barely fly.

His Dad couldn’t tell him why they liked the plumbs either, and he knew a lot about the natural world; he used to explain all sorts of things to Henry, filling him with wonder. For instance, the New Zealand wood pigeon was the biggest pigeon species in the world! The world, and in a lot of countries there were different kinds of wood pigeons, but none as pretty. New Zealand wood pigeons mate for life, which is why these two were always together… Henry wondered if, with their cooing, they could actually talk to each other. That’s not as silly as you might think, Henry used to say to himself… often. Because they used to talk to him as he sat beside or under the tree; they would coo and Henry would reply with a coo… not just a coo but a coo crossed with a whistle. And they would answer with their coo back. He had no idea what the meaning might be, but usually, he would tire of the conversation before they did. And Dad told him another thing about the wood pigeon; they can recognise peoples’ faces. Apparently, scientists have tested the theory and Henry reckoned from his experience, they certainly could!

On the day before Christmas, Henry smiled at the Christmas card Grandma had sent him, it was a scene of a house covered in snow, and in New Zealand it was just three days since the longest day… if you want to be scientific, the summer solstice, so the card should have summer flowers or a beach scene! While thinking about summer, he was startled by a loud thud on his bedroom window! He put the card on the shelf and ran out to investigate what might have made the thud, maybe it was someone’s ball?

He found one of the wood pigeons lying under the window, dead! This saddened Henry. He realised that birds don’t understand about windows and from this window, if the door was open, you could see right out of the kitchen window on the other side of the house! George, as he called them, must have thought there was a way through. He called both pigeons George because he had no idea how to tell their sex, after all they were both the same colours.

Henry picked up the limp carcass, having no clue what he should do with it and he cast his eye at the other George sitting on the power wire watching. After feeding on the cherry plumbs, they both sat on the power wire, chewing their cud… well that was Henry’s idea, his Dad told him they were actually digesting their food. Wait! Henry couldn’t quite believe it! He could feel the bird’s heart beating! It was a slow rhythmic beat unlike the sparrows he caught that had found their way inside. Henry wondered what he should do now. He thought about the box Arsey, the grocer had given him, it would be big enough… ten-year-old boys snigger at anything a bit rude and Henry liked using the word, Arsey; the grocer’s name was R.C. Mattews esq. Henry had another snigger at the thought.

He made a straw bed in the box onto which he placed the bird carefully, hoping its neck wasn’t broken. He pulled the binds down in his bedroom and put the box and bird beside his bed, and shut the door. He thought that was the best he could do, and he carried on with the rest of his day. It was light at 5:30am on Christmas morning, so Henry raised the bind enough to see the bird. George was sitting up as if he was sitting on a nest! Henry breathed a sigh of relief because the bird seemed not to be alarmed, but curious, with a red, beady eye watching Henry’s every move.

The bird didn’t struggle when Henry picked him up. He carefully carried him outside and held him up expecting him to fly off, but he didn’t… he remembered that wood pigeons are heavy, so they dive off whatever they’re standing on to fly off. So Henry threw George as high into the sky as he could! Alarmingly, the bird fell like a stone, but then, his wings were out and he flew up to the wire where the other George was waiting. He seemed fine.

It was a happy Christmas for Henry even before he opened any presents!

 

 

 

Frozen Barney

Frozen Barney

 During his days of misspent youth, Henry used to drive a Commer Cob; some called her a van, while he liked the sound of ‘stationwagon’. She had bucket seats, and although small, she could go like the wind and it was amazing how many people – or pigs - she could carry. It was rumoured that she had a certain stink, through the cartage of his two dogs or perhaps it was the pigs he had shot. The service garage always tried their best by washing her with some sort of disinfectant, but on a hot day, it only made it worse… but Henry didn’t seem to mind.

 Earlier however, she was pretty clean and during his second year of training to become Forest Ranger, passengers were happy to pile into her go somewhere or other. His second year of training was a year of study and practical work to do with indigenous forestry at the Ranger School… He was oner of twenty-nine keen young lads, fit for an outdoors lifestyle with similar goals.

 During his time off, Henry enjoyed hunting by myself, parking at the top of the Rahu Saddle and climbing up to the south on Mt. Haast. The tops, above the bushline, were clean snow tussock country and if there were no deer or chamois about, the climb was worth it for the scenery, solitude and silence. Doing such activities your own, these days is frowned upon, but as government hunters, it was seen as being quite normal.

 One winter’s Sunday, Henry had planned to go for a quick hunt, and the news spread around the camp, so four others asked for a lift so they could go hunting too. Barney is the guy of focus, he and two others wanted to be dropped off at Lake Stream, and Henry backtracked to Duffy’s Creek with Jack… a their fellows had earlier spent a couple of weeks cutting a track up Duffy’s Creek to where there was a tarn; a good spot a deer.

 It had been snowing but the sky as clear and as was normal did back then, they wore shorts and Swandries… actually, even for them, they weren’t adequately prepared properly for the middle of winter; it could get cold in the mountains and they made the mistake of not taking food or drink with them. But to be fair, trousers were a hindrance when working in the bush, so was practical rather than anything else. Henry and Jack arranged to meet Barney and co at three o’clock, at the Lake Stream bridge.

 Luckily Henry and Jack didn’t have much snow to plough through and Jack shot a young stag near the lake, so they carried a hind quarter each with the idea of giving them to the cook back at base. The cook and his wife were the best cooks of any of the camps Henry had stayed in during his career; the free venison was a favour they thought was just. Anyway, they were back on time at the bridge, but the others were late!  Henry had to keep running the engine from time to time to keep themselves warm as the late afternoon cooled quickly.

 This is Barney’s story: The three had plodded along the track through boot-deep snow to the lake, which was completely frozen, so they skated on it in their hobnailed boots using their rifles as ski poles which was fun, but it sucked up some time. They had seen no animal sign, not even a footprint in the snow, so they eyed the rocky crags some thousand feet above them and decided to climb up in the hope of spotting a chamois. It looked to be good habitat for them.  The climb took longer than expected, but being fit young bucks, they planned to jog back through the bush to the road once they were back on the easier topography beside the stream.

 They hadn’t made much ground along the better topography when, Barney’s bootlace came undone, so he told the others he would catch up with them. He hadn’t considered that it gets dark in the bush an hour earlier than in the open… and quickly. Even in the dusk, Barney lost the track, because the old slasher blazes on the tree trunks had mossed over and didn’t show up in the gloom. However, he knew that following the stream would take him to the bridge but it wasn’t a direct route, it twisted and turned, which was less suitable topography. He knew it was going to take him much longer to meet up, so he decided to let off a couple of shots to let the team at the vehicle know where he was, and one of them let off one in answer.

 Barney was stumbling in the dark over roots and rocks that were half-buried in snow.  He didn’t see the bank that dipped down to the stream, so fell awkwardly into the freezing water, luckily, he wasn’t hurt, but the cold water triggered the onset of hypothermia and he knew he shouldn’t stop moving. He was hungry, wet and cold, classic danger signs! He was also aware that he wasn’t thinking straight, but he plodded on. He thought he had fallen asleep standing up after he’d fired his second volley, and because he couldn’t remember if the team answered, he let off another two, his third volley. At this stage he hadn’t thought about there being only ten rounds in his magazine! Meanwhile Henry reckoned that Barney’s last shots sounded to be getting closer so he flashed his lights in the hope it might guide him. Barney recalled seeing them and tired, hoped the road was close. But he knew he was hallucinating and couldn’t be sure it was lights that he saw.

 At the reply to his last two shots, the realisation came that it came from a different direction and at the same time as the flashing lights dawned on him. Barney had actually walked under the bridge without him, or the others knowing! He retraced his steps and when he climbed up the bank to the road, he was a sorry sight! He lay down in the back of the Commer Cob and they headed back to camp with the heater roaring at maximum. Barney wasn’t thawing out well so Jack took off Barney’s Sandri which was still soaked, and wrapped him in his own.

 Unusually the camp kitchen light was on and they found the cook’s twelve-year-old daughter making herself a cup of cocoa… she did a great job making everyone a cup with plenty of sugar and rifled through the fridge for leftovers from the meals they’d missed. She was a saviour! Afterwards, they deferred to the hot showers, which allowed them all to thaw out properly. Barney didn’t wake until ten the next morning… his room was next to Henry’s, so he checked on him from time to time through the night.

 There could have been a tragedy that day, nevertheless sixty-two years later, they are all still kicking!

 

 

 

 

 

The Dosing Strip

 

 

 

 

The Dosing Strip

Henry had two dogs, one was a Dobermann–Shorthaired Pointer cross and the other was an Alsatian-Collie cross, they were his partners for his pig hunting exploits. The Dobermann, Wally, was a refined sort of a dog, not interested in being patted and very intelligent, not that Fred, the other dog wasn’t, his build made him a bit clumsy, even goofy but he was hard as nails and loyal. Henry had taught Wally manners from a pup and they had sort of grown up together, but Fred came from the dog pound, in modern terminology, he was a rescue dog. And Henry knew there was a risk bringing another adult dog into Wally’s environment, but at first they weren’t at all antagonistic… it was possum hunting season, and Henry, as always had a couple of carcases for dog tucker, so he untied the dogs and fed them a portion each, which they wolfed down.

Knowing they’d have to sort out who was the boss among them, Henry thought it best to sort sooner than later, so he told them both to sit, which Wally did, but Fred’s full stomach filled him with tomfoolery, which Wally took a dim view of, so he snapped at him. A full-on scrap eventuated and after a few moments, Henry separated them, threatening with his boots. He couldn’t pick the winner, but Fred did and he chose Wally. From then on, they were partners with never a growl between them… and it was Wally who taught Fred the manners that Henry required. No matter the distraction, both dogs would walk at heel with Henry unless told otherwise. Wally also taught Fred not to act the fool when pig hunting, because Wally was the finder and needed to be alert.

Dogs have to be registered at the council office, where for a few dollars they were allocated a leather collar with an identifying brass tag riveted to it; dogs were supposed to wear them at all times, but Henry took them off when they were hunting to avoid them being hooked up on branches. There was a regulation that every six months, dogs had to be dosed, a test for hydatids. Sheep carried the disease, and if dogs ate sheep offal, they could pass the disease on to humans. The dosing was to give the dog an aggressive laxative and the droppings were collected for laboratory testing. If a dog was found to be carrying the disease, it was destroyed.

Bert and Henry usually walked the hour and a half journey to the dosing strip, they could have used Henry’s truck, but despite the river crossing, it was an enjoyable walk and qualified as time off from work, so why not? Bert’s bitch, Bess always walked beside him and Henry’s two walked beside him and none of the dogs needed reminding. The dosing strip was a mown area, a chain or so long, beside the road… most roadways are about three carriageways wide, while the actual carriageway was a single lane so there was plenty of room.  There was a sign at each end of the strip to say what it was, warning, because it wasn’t exactly the place for a family picnic. A long chain was pegged to the ground and off it were dog chains about a yard apart. The routine was that dogs were clipped to the chain and the owner headed to Angus’ truck. Angus was the tester and he gave a pottle for each dog for the owner to write the dog’s name and registration number on the lid. The pottle was then left in front of the dog. Angus dosed the dog with a drenching gun and waited for the business to appear when he’d scoop it up, and they could go home. It wasn’t always as simple, but that was the theory. Now and then, the laxative didn’t work, so the dog suffered the ignominy of being given an enema.  

This day, Bert and Henry were talking to old Tom when Bert scowled at the approach of Doug in his old, grey truck that sounded like it was running on three cylinders. Henry noticed that Doug was wearing his going-to-the-pub suitcoat, and guessed that’s where he’d been or was where he was going, he thought nothing of it… although, what might happen, could end up being his business, because he’d been a part of it. Doug, in a drunken temper, had challenged Bert to a duel with .22 rifles, and Bert with Henry as his reluctant ‘second’ had turned up at the allotted time and place, but Doug had not. Henry had tried his best to talk Bert out of it, but anyway, now Henry wondered what might happen because this was their first meeting since. Doug carefully didn’t make eye contact with them, so Bert asked old Tom if he had a pair of side-cutters in his truck and he did. Straight away Henry knew Bert’s plan; he wanted to cut the valves off Doug’s tyres! Henry appealed to Bert and succeeded to talk him out of it. ‘That’s not a very inventive way of getting back at him,’ Henry had chided, ‘surely you can think of something more… appropriate.’ To which Bert mumbled something incoherent, as he chewed on his pipestem.

While the dosing was going on, Henry was bailed up by Alan, who had a certain political opinion that was the reason most avoided him, and then there was Lloyd, who wanted him to lay possum baits in his turnip paddock; possums were chewing on the foliage. Angus gave Henry a whistle to signify that his dogs were ready and the chains were needed for other dogs. Bert’s bitch had been ready for a while and Bert seemed overly keen to get going. ‘You in a hurry Bert?’ Henry asked, as Bert began striding out than was his usual gait. They stopped at the river to give the dogs a drink after the medicine they had taken, and to wash their hands after touching those pottles. ‘Did you catch up with Doug?’ Henry asked coyly. Bert smiled and nodded.

With Bert, sometimes you have to be patient, but at last he cracked a smile. ‘Doug’s dog will have to get the boo-gee treatment up his bum this time, but it won’t work!’ And he cracked another smile. ‘I picked up his dog’s turd in it’s pottle and managed to tip it into Doug’s flash going-to-the-pub suitcoat pocket!’ And his eyes sparkled.

Henry had questions, but knew he wouldn’t get answers for a while, so he punched Bert lightly on the shoulder, ‘Well that was inventive.’ He said.