|Standing on the roof of a car with my pet goat.|
It’s really hard to confine a kid with a non-existent attention span in the Australian bush. I know. I was that kid who if my parents turned their backs I was off seeking adventure.
I think my mother was always hovering on the brink of a nervous breakdown, always worried about where I would end up. My father was more laid back about my wanderings. Or maybe he had resigned himself to my fate. There was a strong possibly I was going to die in childhood and the bush has many ways to kill you, especially if you’re a kid.
For a start there was the nearby river. I couldn’t swim. Dad had attempted to teach me but without success. I did only manage to nearly drown twice. I think I’ll do a drowning blog as both episodes are interesting.
Talking about near misses. There was the wild pig that charged at me when I went with dad to check a dam. Luckily my father was there to save me. Wild pigs are big, black brutes with razor sharp tusks. They can do a lot of damage. Then there are the snakes. Venomous ones. I once rode over one on a tricycle. Dad grabbed me before it could bite me. Can you see a theme developing here? My father was a good rescuer.
I think the closest I came to being taken out was when I wandered into a stock yard full of cattle aged five. I climbed into the yard only to have them rush at me. Fortunately for me they stopped in front of me or I would have been trampled to death. Was that all of the near misses.
I ran away for a whole day and managed to come home. I was aged all of three.
That deserves its own blog. Stay tuned.