THAT THERE DOG 0' MINE
Macquarie the shearer had met with an accident. To tell the truth, he had been in a drunken row at a wayside shanty, from which he had escaped with three fractured ribs, a cracked head, and various minor abrasions. His dog, Tally, had been a sober but savage participator in the drunken row, and had escaped with a broken leg. Macquarie afterwards shouldered his swag and staggered and struggled along the track ten miles to the Union Town Hospital. Lord knows how he did it. He didn't exactly know himself. Tally limped behind all the way, on three
legs.
The doctors examined the man's injuries and were surprised at his endurance. Even doctors are surprised sometimes―though they don't always show it. Of course they would take him in, but they objected to Tally. Dogs were not allowed on the premises.
'You will have to turn that dog out,' they said to the shearer, as he sat on the edge of a bed.
Macquarie said nothing.
'We cannot allow dogs about the place, my man,' said the doctor in a louder tone, thinking the man was deaf.
