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Station Dog All was right with the world. The black dog trotted along the far bank of the creek on the damp
sheep track. The air was fresh from the rain. Green pick was spreading out from the waterhole. The dog was quaffing the air. He stood and watched the ducks on the water.
There was an air of content indulgence about him. An indulgence not likely to be shown him if the farmer who leases the land for his sheep, should
happen upon this city dog. Nemesis did not come in the grey four wheel drive which occasionally chugs across the paddock. It came, black and white, low along the water course, and skimmed a bare yard over the dog's head.
The magpie landed twenty yards away and watched the dog. The dog, innocent or playing game, I don't know which, continued to enjoy the cool of the morning.
The second magpie flew even lower, nature's version of the fighters on the air base behind them. A hundred yards away I heard the snap of the beak! The dog bounced a far feet away in bemusement and then fled up the creek as the two birds harried him with constant snapping swoops. The morning was over.
A couple of days later l saw the dog again. He was watching the ducks. This morning he was sitting in the shade of a low tree. He was magpie proof! It would be a foolish bird who tried to sweep in under those branches.
I looked out at him as I sat down on the train. He left the ducks and joyfully raced along beside us until we left him behind. I suppose he went back to his ducks then, to wait for the next train.
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