Bluey by Peter Pentland delivers a rollicking bush yarn about a disaster-prone blue heeler whose enthusiasm for cattle work sends an Angus bull—and a flimsy slab hut—into chaos.
Beneath the mischief is the narrator’s lingering grief for old Bandit, giving the yarn a warm note before Bluey’s spectacular turn in the paddock.
Bluey
By Peter Pentland
A curse upon the day, that Bluey I first saw.
She sidles up sort of nervous like and offers me her paw.
Then she’d cringe along behind, she just wouldn’t scare away.
And I guess I fell in love with her, if the truth I’m bound to say.
You see, me old dog Bandit had been with me full twelve years.
When I think of what a friend he was, I have to struggle back the tears.
But the angels came to Bandit and took his dear old soul away.
And the devil sent me Bluey; she lobbed in the next flame and day.
Now, Bluey was a heeler, what had never got it right.
It seems she’d once snuck up on a cow and give her leg a bite.
And purely out of reflex, the cow she kicks behind,
Which shortened Bluey’s snout a bit and made her eyes go out of line.
Well, Bluey got amnesia and must have lost her way.
And for days she wandered around in a daze until with me she came to stay.
(And for weeks and weeks she wandered about till with me she came to stay.)
But she still had no idea of what a dog was supposed to do,
Until I brought the cows down from up the paddock, which give the sod her cue.
Well, she went right off the deep end when the cows came up the trail.
She raced straight up to me Black Angus bull and latched on to his tail.
And what she thought he was doing, I’m sure that I don’t know,
For though the bull ran and kicked like blazes, Bluey just wouldn’t let go.
Now, I’ll admit that my house wasn’t the strongest ever made,
Just a shack of slabs of iron bark with no foundations laid.
But the bull, he knocked it over in his panic and his fright,
And with Bluey still hanging on his tail, he disappeared from sight.
Well, I finally found the bull about 40 miles away.
The dog had disappeared; she’s not been sighted till this day
And I sit here in my tent at night with my gun across my knees
Waiting for that blasted dog to try and get back her set of teeth.
Keeping The Verse Alive
Bluey is shared with permission from Peter Pentland through Keeping The Verse Alive, Country Campfire’s bush poetry preservation project.
By preserving poems like this, we’re helping ensure the stories, humour and characters of country Australia continue to be enjoyed for generations to come.
Peter Pentland
Bush Poet • Folk Performer • Storyteller • Comedian • Broadcaster
Peter Pentland, known on stage as Hayseed, performs traditional-style songs and bush poetry rooted in farm and bush life across South-Eastern Australia. His long career has taken him through folk festivals, stand-up comedy, radio and television, while his stories and recordings keep rural Australian characters and humour alive.
Poems, recitals, photographs, stories and original works remain the property of their original creator and are shared by Country Campfire with permission.
