Just Bury Him Round The Back

Well, we've had an attractive landscaping feature added to our bush camp - a dead horse. There was a bulldozer doing something or other about 150 metres away the other weekend; I thought they were just getting sand from the flat for the rodeo ring, but in fact they were burying a poor racehorse who died of a heart attack (do not get me started on the cruelty and stupidity of rodeos and horse racing). They buried it there because it's one of the few nearby deep sand patches (the bedrock is too close to the surface everywhere else). It's become one of our camp reference points - "There's some emu tracks just past the dead horse", "I found this old bottle in the grove by the dead horse" etc.
On the other side of the racetrack is a horse grave with a headstone and a photo. "Dudes - RIP Mate, you always did your best". In 2010, Dudes and his owner, Buff, both had a heart attack at the same time while in the stock horse competition; they both died.
On a cheerier note, I know you will all be wild with excitement to hear that the moped is running! It was a post-modern effort combining internet parts from Dave in the USA, googled Austrian electrical wiring charts ("AUFSCHLASSENGERBISCHTERENGINEPARTEN NICHT MIT DER DAMMT WEISERSCHLEFFENHORNENOFF!") and good ol' fashioned lick 'n' spit bush mechanic know-how from Gary. Technically, it's a motorised bicycle - you have to pedal to get it moving, then use a handle to engage the engine, and off you go. It will do 60 km/hr downhill with a tailwind. I toodle along at a sensible 20 km/hr, wearing a cowboy hat and motorcycle goggles; Gary's often getting loads of rock from the stockpile about a kilometre away, so I use the moped to take sandwiches and cold drinks over for our morning tea. Honey tags along until we get to the racetrack, then heads back to camp (I haven't put a basket on for her yet).
The heat is building. The swimming pool and the indoor fan are keeping us comfortable; we can always go and sit in the car with the aircon running if it's too hot...ha ha ha...ooohh err.... the dogs stretch themselves out with their bellies against their big water trough and just pass out for the day, Smokey retreats to his secret underground superhero cave or whatever he does out there in the bushes, and the chickens dig cool holes in the dirt and go to sleep. I do gardening and projects until Gary comes home for lunch, then work on the book and have a snooze in The Eyesore until late afternoon when the direct heat eases off and I can do some more gardening or fencing. It's a tough life, but someone has to do it!