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Well, unless I put in a specific request during sex time, that is.
"Why ya grinnin' like that, mate?" Taika, one of the stockmen, asks, riding his horse up beside me.
"Just thinking how I'm the luckiest son of a bitch alive."
"Okaaay."
He looks confused. I don't blame him. I've spent the entire season up to now looking like a total misery guts and constantly bemoaning the loss of the farm.
"I met a guy…"
He smiles, steers in a little closer, and pats me on the back. "Say no more, brother… Is he a keeper?"
"Oh, yeah. He's a keeper all right."
"Happy for ya, mate."
And with that, he takes off after a stray calf that's become separated from the mob.
I don't think I stop smiling all morning. I sit pretty until lunchtime, staying on the edge of the coaching mob, the small pack of cattle up front that the rest of the herd will get behind. They're all pretty well-behaved, which is unusual, but I'll happily take it.
Even the ribbing the guys give me over smoko break—where we drink bushman's billy tea and eat damper that gives Gran's scones a run for their money…although if she asks, I'll deny even thinking it—doesn't bother me. I'm not as close to these guys as I am to the vet crew since I only see them a couple of times a year, but I'll miss 'em all the same.
And I'll miss moments like this. Sitting out in the middle of nowhere with a few mates, talking shit and tucking into some true-blue Aussie grub.
But this part of my life is over…and another chapter is just beginning. I have to focus on that. On all the good that still lies ahead of me. I may be penniless until the day I die, but I have good people in my life who love me. And one person who's choosing to be with me. Not everyone can count themselves so lucky.
After lunch, the pace picks up, the three of us on horses dealing with never-ending breakaways. I almost lose my hat chasing down one particularly sneaky little cow. He's a cunning bastard, hiding in the long grass and then darting off whenever I get close. I get him in the end, I always do, but, mate, by mid-afternoon, I am knackered.
The cattle head count has grown to, I'd guess, about three thousand. We funnel the herd towards the enclosure where we'll leave them overnight to calm down before returning tomorrow to tag, brand, and for safety reasons, dehorn them.
The eucalyptus trees cast long shadows in the late-afternoon light as the last of the herd make their way into the massive holding yard. I'm standing on a ledge atop a steel gate, my fellow stockmen are on the ground, and all of us are keenly on the lookout for any trouble.
Thankfully, there isn't any. Once all the livestock are in, I hop down onto the dirt, and we begin closing the massive gates. I've locked the first one and am rounding up the chain for the second when one of the guys yells out, "Wilby! Behind you!"
I don't have time to turn around or move out of the way. I get thumped—and it's a solid fucking thump, too—right in the lower back.
I'm down on my knees.
I fall forward.
My face hits the ground.
The pain.
Ohmygod, the pain is so fucking bad, pulsing from my back into every corner of my body. Throbbing. Searing. It's the worst fucking thing ever, and it's all I can feel. My entire body is on fire.
I breathe in some dirt, and then my eyelids get heavy.
I black out.
I come to…my head wobbling. I'm lying in the back of a car. "Where am?—"
I pass out again.
Time lapses. I don't know how much. I open my eyes again. I'm still in the car. I try to ask what’s going on, but can't get any words to come out.
I overhear a fragment of the conversion between the two blokes up front. "Get him back to the farm. Polly will have to…"
