Got out of bed this morning, and as is my usual habit, I stuck my head out the window to see what type of day I was in for. It was wonderful. A warm Spring day, not a cloud in the sky and barely a breath of wind. It was then I got the urge. An urge I quickly passed on to the good woman. She's quite partial to my urges. Within thirty minutes, we were in the auto and heading down the highway, on our way to a small country race meeting, in a town we'd never before visited. After a leisurely three hour tour, we duly arrived at the outskirts of our destination. The town center was just a pub, a few stores, a house or two and garage. Nothing gave a hint as to where the track might be, so we called in at the servo and asked for directions. We were pointed toward a side road and told the course was about two minutes away. Sure enough, there it was. It was beautiful. But I'm a little biased, I think all tracks are beautiful. A big open space with white washed rails, a small wooden grandstand and plenty of trees. The whole place gave off a great sense of warmth. I was a happy man as I paid for the two entrance tickets. The smell of a race track is a breath taking thing. And I'm not just talking about that stuff that bubbles out of a neddies rear end, although that isn't such a bad smell, especially as it sizzles in the sun. But that's another story. As per usual, as the afternoon drew on, we found ourselves wandering down to the stabling area. The good woman isn't into the punt, she prefers the aesthetics of the sport. So there we were, down with the horsie folk, chatting about this and that, but never asking about a horses chances ... that's not the done thing. Anyways while there, we fell into conversation with a gent who told us about a dog he had for sale. That was enough for the light of my life, she dragged me to where the animal was tied to a shady tree, and started to make all kinds of cooing noises. I knew I was in trouble. A strange thing happened though. Just as we started talking to the dog...good dog...who's a lovely dog then?...that kind of stuff, we heard a voice. It was the dog. âYeah, I am a lovely dog then.â He said sarcastically. We were shocked. We rightly pointed out that dogs can't talk, but he was having none of it. âOf course I can talk, in fact, I've put my talents to the very best of uses. The Australian Secret Intelligence Organization enlisted my services. I traveled the world listening to secret conversations, which even helped bring down Communism. I got a bucket load of medals for it. Then for a couple of years I did the same job at an international airport. But anyway, enough of that. I'm now retired and spending my leisure time hanging around the track.â As soon as he shut up, we hot footed it back to his owner. âWhy would you want to sell such a wonderful creature?â we asked. His lip curled and he spat. â Because he's full of bullshit. He's never done none of that crap.â
