Is it fun because I’m burning around the paddock on my quad bike?
Courageous bounding logs and rocks and narrowly escaping stump holes,
Chasing reluctant cows and pestering inquisitive calves when it’s time to move them on?
Is it fun because of the great Aussie bush myth?
The romantic idea of the fearless cowboy … the muscle-bound jackaroo?
Is it a connection with our historical roots, the Aussie bush pioneer who shaped our nation?
Or is it fun because of our sense of dominion?
The cows exist at our behest, grown for the sizzling steak on the great Aussie barby.
We breed them, feed them, herd them, wielding our power hither and thither?
Is it fun when we force them into the yards?
They know what’s coming, their reluctance evident in their stubbornness,
The battle more and more difficult the closer we get (our uniquely engineered funnel doesn’t trick them anymore).
Is it fun when we yell and curse and crack the whip?
Nearly ramming their backsides in our persistence and shortening temper.
We push, we prod, we yell … but … we never give up.
Is it fun because we rule supreme?
Eventually their wills give way and they jostle and push through the gates.
Captured at last in the yards, waiting to endure the day’s work.
There is no escape now.
Is it fun because the muster home is always so much easier?
It’s almost too hard to keep up as they race away, eager to get back.
Except the Mum’s that have left behind their young.
They moo and turn and moo and turn.
Is it fun because it is that battle of wills?
Us and against them, human against beast, predator against prey.
Is it fun? I’m not sure, but when all’s said and done, I’ll be back on my bike to do it all again.