The aboriginal kids in Meeka are on a ginging rampage at the moment. A ging is a kind of homemade slingshot; they're illegal. The kids are deadly accurate shots with the damn things. The school yard caretaker was so upset at the number of dead birds he's been picking up that he wrote to our illustrious local newsletter. Day before yesterday I had the dogs down at the creek park and three boys came along ginging everything in sight, and had Honey lined up - I stopped them just in time, and got the police on to them. This is in a tourist pullover area where grey nomads and travellers regularly stop; the way the kids carry on down there, it is just a matter of time before someone loses an eye or has a serious injury.
The kids also love throwing rocks, just to hear things smash. All the street lights have wire mesh covers because of this, but the kids chuck rocks at the covers until they break off. Several times I've caught rotten little Jandamurra, Barry's miserable kid, chucking rocks on to the roof of my neighbour's place, plus the streetlights and just about anything else, including my dogs. Yesterday I was sitting in the bus in the front driveway when he came skulking along and paused by the fence, looking in - Honey ran out and he chucked a huge concrete block at her, just missing her and the bus. I leapt out and gave him hell, then picked up the concrete and took it up to Barry's place (Jandamurra took off behind the creek).
Barry was drinking beer in front of the telly. I politely explained the problem. "Just report the little c--t" was Barry's reply. Then Tania, his wife, came out and pretty much said the same thing. "We don't know how to stop them bloody kids." I left the concrete block with them. Tania has two more little kids, just toddlers, and looks worn down to the bone. One of the older kids, Jandamurra's brother, is already in jail in Perth. That's why I don't want to go to the cops - I don't like to think of becoming another cog in the machinery of his pointless and inevitable journey into prison, welfare and misery.
Then on the way to fire training tonight, I saw another boy ginging at some Major Mitchell cockatoos - protected birds! I yelled at him and he took off. When I got to the brigade, Norm, our first aid training officer, told us how he'd just come back from Hall's Creek where three aboriginal boys stole the town's only ambulance and trashed it while he was there. This was half an hour after the ambulance crew had just returned from attending a call-out to treat their injured sister.
This afternoon I narrowly avoided having the back of my neck torn out by Blackie, one of the dogs at the demonic pensioners flats; I must have subconsciously heard him behind me, because I ducked forward just as he jumped. He caught my shirt and I kicked him backwards, slamming the gate in his way. So no more meal deliveries for that lot! Tomorrow I have to put a report in to the shire office about the attack.
My friends back in Melbourne often think I'm exaggerating these things - trust me, this is only the tip of the iceberg of what goes on in town with the aboriginal community. I really think there is no hope for these people.
On the bright side, everything is happy and flourishing at Rancho Loco. Ethel is trying to hatch her eggs in the tank house! She was in there for three days and I finally had to go and gently remove her (they don't eat or drink when they're brooding). I got pecked and squawked at of course. I gently tried to explain the facts of life - "Now, Ethel, when a rooster and a hen love each other very, very much..." But Ethel's an independent type and not willing to let the absence of a bloke chicken get in the way of her egg hatching plan, so I am trying to get the egg out as soon as she lays them (not easy). I feel like a thief!
Gary was delivering shipping containers out at Karalundi, the slightly creepy Seventh Day Adventist station/education centre about 50 km out of town, and they're adopting out their almost-out-of-date laying hens. He was about to grab a bunch for me but wisely thought he should check first, and we decided in the end that I already have too many animals & forty more chickens would just push us over the edge of sanity (because let's face it, I wouldn't be able to choose just a few & would feel sorry for them and we'd end up with a ute stuffed full of forty chooks which would then end up in the house).
Imagine Boy in a yard full of forty chooks...god almighty
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