A boon in a bone

The wind kept it up all night and with the kennel extension on it seemed that often the whole shebang would rock around, combined with a loud thump as the roof of the extension seemed to occasionally reset itself downward with the gusto of haybail falling from the top of the stack (or a farm gate whipping closed, or one of those high water tanks falling down.... I don't know - whilst I'm a Kelpie I've never actually spent time on a farm, so the metaphors allude me sometimes...all I know is the bang is pretty loud and it's starting to get to me). We all slept in late as we didn't need to worry about exit times or go anywhere specifically in any particular time frame and the weather was not so great.

When we finally did get up we came to the realisation that we're not the only ones that like our portable home. Looks like the local ant population is pretty keen on everything to do with the kennel as well - even to the extent they were in running rings around the water in my bowl. Dad simply sprayed them away with that horrible stuff he excretes out of a can. Our neighbors seem to have a real issue with them expecting the park owners to do something about it - "other campsite managers spray to keep them down" they reckoned. Makes one wonder what's in the soil of those campsites. I hope it's OK because I spend a lot of my time lying on that stuff, burying bones (if I was ever given one, hint hint) and then eating them - dirt and all. 

Dad got some more stuff in a can to deal with them when we next went shopping in town. Well OK - THEY went shopping - I of course had to stay and protect the car from any would be viscous kangaroos that may be hopping around the streets of town. I slept. Before too long though we went around the corner to a cafe, got out and I had the joy of sitting at their feet whilst they caffeinated themselves and Mum and some weird fruit bread toast with marmalade butter that was apparently delicious and worth returning for. 

After dropping the purchased food off at the kennel we then shot off down the highway, completely unrestricted by towing the kennel and with scarce other traffic on the roads and a 110km speed limit it was like gliding through the landscape as an unrestricted eagle would though the skies. I get this - I'm a Kelpie, I've watched them, spoken to them and understand where they're coming from, so don't question me. The terrain of the island is pretty much the same as the mainland (as Mum pointed out), with lots of dry parched farmlands, lots of trees and a few sheep (let me at 'em), the difference of this place is all around the edges. Dad loves a sand dune - especially a big one, however we weren't allowed in there due to a no dog rule (sorry about that Dad), There is really cool place down here where seals lounge around on the shore but we couldn't go there due to a no dog rule (sorry about that Mum). There is a place out on the west coast of the island that have stripey rocks that are 50 million years in the making! They are in the national park which covers all of the western end of the Island which has a no dog rule (sorry about that Grandma).

My take on all this is I don't care because I'm having the time of my life owning the back seat and being with Mum and Dad - we found a beach which was dog friendly (the poo bag dispenser was the give away) and I had a great time running around in the seriously windy place, chasing a stick into the waves as the roar of the southern ocean beating itself furiously against the coastline was deafening.

We then drove around to the other side of Vivone bay along a horrendously corrugated road to a hardworn fishing jetty and a point where the ocean hits the rocks, not the sand. Seriously windy and seriously powerful forces of nature at play. Dad had quick look and came back to the car where we were sheltering. Might be a nice place on calm day. Today was blow your socks off stuff. And mine are not removable (as they are simply different coloured fur) - so you get the picture.

We stopped at a place where we would not normally do so on the advice of tour guide brochures which said their whiting burgers are worth the stop. And according to my parents who shared one they reckon they were correct. It was (apparently) fabulous. I'm happy that they were happy, devouring their wonderful tucker whilst all I'd had for the day was the standard half a cup of the same old dried pellets for breakfast. Day in, day out... always the same. I lay there on the wooden deck at their feet thinking back to days before this adventure when Mum used to give bone to gnaw on and pass my time away... ahhhh.. the good old days...maybe I should do my mind trick thing on her....

Afterwards we jumped back in the car and headed off back down the fast highway and deviated onto the white back-roads and navigated our way to the next destination being the bee factory. On  the way we stopped at a pink lake so Mum could take a picture. Difficult, as there were finally some other cars on the dirt roads but we got around them and raced off to the bees. Upon arrival our hearts sank at the site of a coach in the carpark - that meant lots and lots of people in there.

I was (yet again) left in the back seat (still no vicious kangaroos in sight to protect if from) whilst they went in to the shop and grabbed some stuff just before the busloads swarmed in there as well, like a swam of (go figure) bees and pretty much buzzed around loudly making the place pretty much uninhabitable as it would be if they were a real swam of bees.

That was the bee experience - not sure why they don't mention that detail in the tour guide brochures. I didn't mind though as I was too busy trying to stick my head in a bee photo shoot point out the front.

Back in the car and more shuddering backroads until we hit the smooth tarmac again and went up to a place called American River. Didn't stop to get out of the car as nothing inspired us to do so, however we all agreed that it should be renamed Mexican River, just give one back.

A little bit more on the smooth roads at wonderfully flowing speeds and we got to Prospect Hill, which has a shiny, glowing in the sun walkway (500 steps) up to the top of the island where apparently Matty Flinders once stood , surveyed the place and realised it was an island not the mainland. Not sure what prospect he was expecting when he named it as such, however without that staircase the prospect of him getting his boots full of sand was pretty darn high.

It was around this time my mind tricks on Mum were working and she kept talking about going into town on the way home and getting a bone for me. I was excited. I like bones. Especially when I'm chewing on them. So we got to the local butchers in town before they shut... no bones.

Unforgivable - how could a butcher not have any bones kicking around?  Anyway I insisted that Mum persisted and she eventually found one at the Supermarket. On the way home we stopped for a photo of the silo where I grumpily acquiesced to a picture in front of a painted silo without a Kelpie in it. Probably the only kangaroo we'll see on the whole trip. And then we headed back to the Kennel where the flapping bangs in the wind really started to get to me.

Dad sorted it out with what he calls "the McGiver technique". Not sure what that means but hopefully it will hold up until the winds drop tomorrow and we'll get nice day in before we have to start packing up the kennel.