We have Cruel.
The shameless hussy. Getting bigger and more bosomy by the day.
Cruel has been allowed out of her pen and has taken up residence in the spare room (aka junk room) in the laundry beside the main house. She burrowed her way in amongst the piles of stuff and made a little nest amongst some old towels. Methinks the puppies may be making their entrance soon.
(NB Make sure you vote in the poll to the right! Time is running out. Unless you've voted for option one... then you have all the time in the world!).
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And then we have Patch.
Last week, SSB took Patch mustering. It was in a paddock through some really thick scrub. SSB and Trooper rode fast and hard as they tried to get a couple of steers back to the mob. Somewhere, somehow along the way, between the steep gullies and thick undergrowth and logs and rocks, Patch got lost.
...
Now I lose things regularly. I lose my wallet, my sunglasses, my mind (OK I might be joking about the last bit. Most of the time). And life goes on - a bit muddled and financially or solarly challenged at times - but no-one bats a lid. My loved ones are used to me and my forgetfulness.
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The next morning, SSB drove down to the southern paddocks again. Nothing. I rang one neighbour we hadn't checked with. No sign. Jeez. The brow was getting even lower and more thunderous. I was concerned that SSB's eyebrows would soon block his vision, but I kept that thought to myself. No-one appreciates a smart alec round here!
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That night just on sunset, I got a call. From the last neighbour - her husband thought he had seen a dog that day. Near the shelter at the yards in our southern paddocks. The black brow disappeared as I relayed the news to my husband - SSB fed the horses and took off in the ute to check the shelter. I thought for sure Patch would be sitting in the back of that battered old vehicle when he arrived home. No such luck. The thunder had returned. Sheet!
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The next day was Saturday and SSB decided to use a rare day off to muster. So he saddled his headstrong grey mustering horse and rode all the way to the southern paddocks in the hope Patch might somehow hear him and get herself within sight. The theory was that she was nervous of the vehicle and had maybe hidden herself when she heard the motor. After three days, anything was worth a shot.
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I packed a picnic and the kids into the dual cab and headed to meet the searchers. I tried calling SSB on the two-way radio to make the rendezvous. No answer. I called again. Silence.
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My God, I thought. First the dog, now SSB. I wondered how on earth I was going to find a possibly injured husband in the thick scrub miles off the road. With kids. In a ute.
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Trying to maintain a sense of calm as I drove past the yards, I concocted a plan to check the boundary and mentally noted who I would call for help when I located my potentially battered and bloodied husband. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I caught a movement. A flash. Of black and white. I stopped and turned off the engine.
I called in my best non-threatening voice: "Patch"
... a sheepish furry face peered out of the tin shed. She dropped to the ground. The dog was skinny. Coat peppered with burrs and speargrass spears. Looking hunted and nervous.
Patch!
...
The kids went ballistic as I hauled her into the back of the dual cab. She immediately scrambled back out. Oh no you don't you ungrateful hound, I thought (or something like that). And I chained her in place. I was Search Central and I was not losing her again!
We took off up the road, calling on the two-way to my wayward hubby. No answer. Right (I thought) where do I start the search?
She endured the attention like a refugee who knows there could well be food at the end of the pat down.
Whew! Three days with no bones to clean one's teeth makes for some rank doggie breath!
We headed back to the shed and while we had a cuppa and smoko (translation: tea and morning snacks) TLW happened upon an brush with which she decided to groom our reclaimed canine.
I'm not sure Patch was so keen on TLW's makeover plans...
But she sighed and stood quietly as she was groomed with enthusiasm.
She seemed markedly keener on the crusts from the honey sandwiches than getting her nails done. She finally settled and lay down to gaze unblinkingly at SSB.
Sure, I thought, he's the one who lost you. Hero worship HIM! I found you. But never mind me...
But I soon got over it.
(After all, I can see where Patch might be coming from.)
So we all rode off into the sunset together (OK it was only lunchtime, and we headed north, but let's not get picky).
We headed home. Not a thundercloud in sight...
When it is done well, the cut-out is like equine-bovine ballet - they face each other and the horse responds almost instantaneously to the beast, mirroring its moves. 
The rider here is one of our neighbours. We'll call him Harv. This is his wife, Elle.
No trotting or Saturday afternoon hacking around here my friends. 
And this is B&W PW:
