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To the memory of Moz

The best blue healer that ever was.

I bought him home as a pup

In my coat pocket,

He was so little I was afraid

I might drop it.

I said to my wife I think I’ll

Call him Aussie,

She said he’s to flaming small for an Aussie

Let’s call him Mozzie.

He was bourn on a property

Just down the road,

His mum was a cattle dog

His dad was too I suppose.

From day one as a puppy

He was attached to me,

Such devotion as his

I don’t think I will again see.

He was my shadow, my offsider

Wherever I went,

If he thought I was going he would

Jump on my ute without being sent.

Working cattle was one

Of his great passions,

And moving free range cattle off our

Property he made it his mission.

He would go for their heels

And often got a kick,

Then roll a few times

Then back in the thick.

Then one spring day

We went for a ride,

A mate and myself with Moz

By my side.

It was hotter than normal

Our horses were sweating,

Something was wrong – poor Moz

Was overheating.

As we rode around a bend

In the track,

All I could hear was

A very loud yap.

He was gone in the back legs

It was plain to see,

He was dragging himself

Trying to keep up with me.

I tied up my horse and rushed

Back to my dog,

Then picked him up and carried

Him to a nearby log.

I thought he might have a tick

Or taken a bait,

After a quick inspection

There was no time to wait.

I rushed to a nearby creek

And jumped straight in,

Holding his head above the water

Trying to revive him.

My efforts were in vain

Poor Moz gave up the fight,

He passed away late

That very same night.

Dave Farrer (The Banjo).

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