Red Dirt Diary 2 (2 page)

Banjo is loving Wes and Fez's whole circus craze. He's been jotting down verses on his notepad all day. I heard him muttering:

Lynette slipped over on Sarah's salami,

Came crashing down like a giant tsunami.

I suggested he add:

Nick belted Wes over the head,

Blue was hoping that Wes was dead.

But he doesn't like other people interfering in his writing.

Still avoiding Miss McKenzie. I can't stand the idea of her marrying this bloke from Sydney. I don't want to offend her by telling her what a stupid, foolish thing she's going to do, but I can't lie, can I? That would be dishonest.

Wednesday, 22 November

I'm going to be a bridesmaid.

Mat, Lynette and me.

Long, pink shiny dresses and flowers in our hair.

Leading Miss McKenzie down the aisle to disaster.

I think I'm going to puke.

Thursday, 23 November

Gunther is refusing to eat. Pigs never refuse to eat — unless they're emotionally unstable … or dead.

He won't leave the duck eggs and he won't let me anywhere near them. All I can do is make sure the electric blanket stays on to keep the eggs warm. Don't know why I bother. He'll probably eat the poor little things when they hatch.

Still avoiding Miss McKenzie. I will
not
pretend that this wedding is a good idea. And I absolutely
refuse
to be a bridesmaid.

Friday, 24 November

Told Miss McKenzie how excited and honoured I am to be her bridesmaid.

She was really happy and gave my hand a squeeze, so I told her how delighted I am that she is getting married.

I'm such a BIG, FAT LIAR.

I was so mad at myself that I came home and shoved Gunther in the guts to get him away from my duck eggs. It didn't work. Gunther just squealed and bit me. Mum had to take me over to the Sweeneys' for a tetanus needle and six stitches in my leg. I told Mr Sweeney we were lucky to have a local vet who could patch up humans as well as animals. Mr Sweeney said I was lucky Gunther didn't bite down harder or I'd be on my way to Dubbo to see a real doctor, or maybe even a surgeon.

Mat is insanely excited about the whole wedding – bridesmaid thing. I was speechless, so I just sat on the end of her bed and listened to her gush and sigh over how romantic and beautiful it will all be, as she put my red hair in a French knot and arranged violets from their garden into a bridesmaid's bouquet. The pain from Gunther's attack was nothing compared to the pain who
was doing my hair while drivelling on about true love!

Saturday, 25 November

I have three ducklings!

Or should I say,
Gunther
has three ducklings???

They hatched this morning and seem to have decided that Gunther is their mother. They are snuggled between his front legs, tucked under his fat, piggy jowls. I suppose it's nice and warm there. He is uncharacteristically gentle with them and has been making quiet little murmuring sounds all day.

I desperately want to play with the ducklings. They are
my
birthday present after all, but Gunther won't let me near them.

At least I managed to rescue the last egg and hide it in my bedroom. It's wrapped up in my winter pyjamas and the electric blanket. Maybe it will still hatch and I can have one duckling all to myself.

Wes and Fez have given up cartwheeling and flips.

‘They're too dangerous, Blue,' Wes said.

‘Yeah, someone might get hurt,' Fez said.

So they started doing circus stunts on the trampoline this afternoon instead!

‘We're the Flying Ferals!' they cried.

‘It's all about how far you can fly through the air, Blue!' cried Wes.

‘The further the better, Blue!' cried Fez.

Fez must have been very satisfied because he jumped from the laundry roof onto the trampoline, then flew at least five metres through the air before he landed in a patch of stinging nettles.

Sunday, 26 November

I have a duckling!

Her name is Petal. She is yellow and fluffy and fits snugly inside my shirt pocket. She is already in love with me and makes sweet little
peep-peep-peep
noises when I hold her up to my face.

Better still, every time Wes or Fez hold her, she poos on their hand.

I think we are going to have a wonderful relationship.

Gunther already has a wonderful, although bizarre, relationship with the other three ducklings. They follow him back and forth along the veranda and if one is lagging behind, he stops and makes a soft grunt. When it catches up, he
bows his head to the ground for a duckling kiss — a nibble on the snout followed by cute little
peep-peep-peep
sounds.

I can't believe how tender Gunther is. Gunther, who has been responsible for more tetanus injections, stitches and dressings than all the rusty barbed wire and corrugated iron this side of the Black Stump!

He is totally transformed. He is just so, so gentle.

Monday, 27 November

Gunther ripped the ear off one of the farm dogs this afternoon.

Burley got off his leash and ran onto the veranda. The ducklings got a fright and scattered but Burley rounded one up near the firewood box.

Gunther turned into a ferocious mother lioness defending her cubs. He leapt on top of Burley, pinning him to the ground and savaging his ear. Poor mutt ran down the driveway yelping, tail between his legs, while Gunther stood on the edge of the veranda squealing and frothing at the mouth. Then, like changing the channel on the TV, he turned around to his ducklings and made gentle, loving grunts until they waddled back to him and nibbled at his snout. Amazing!

Fez doesn't know how to deal with the whole mother-duck side of Gunther. I think he's ashamed of him. He called him a sissy-pink-pants and stormed off to find Wes to do some pig chariot racing with Doris and Mildred.

Tuesday, 28 November

Thank goodness for Matilda Jane the Mature. If I didn't have her to copy, I wouldn't know
how
to behave around Miss McKenzie. Mum and Dad are always telling me to be myself and act naturally. But if I did what comes naturally at the moment, I'd be shaking Miss McKenzie by the shoulders and screaming at her to forget James Welsh-Pearson and stay at Hardbake Plains where she belongs.

Somehow, I don't think that's what she wants to hear right now.

So today, when Mat sighed at Miss McKenzie and clutched her chest as though her heart was about to burst, I really paid attention so I can do it myself some time. When she asked Miss McKenzie detailed questions about fabrics and veils and petticoats and hosiery, I jotted the words down in my maggot notepad. I researched the words after school so I'll be ready to use them tomorrow if I
need to. It turns out, by the way, that
hosiery
is not for irrigating vegie patches or filling the troughs up with water. It's the mature word for stockings!

After just one day of close observation, I have a bank of five actions that I can use when talking to Miss McKenzie about her engagement and wedding:

• The chest clutch

• Tucking hair behind ears while talking enthusiastically about wedding dresses

• Crossing one foot over the other and swaying from side to side while asking a question about honeymoons

• Fluttering eyelashes (especially helpful when I have tuned out and can't give an intelligent answer)