National release of "Red Dog" film sparks sneaky return of the legend

This week, the Pilbara had a bit of a coup. To the lovely Jess Mauboy, that's not coup as in cow-p or coop as in chickens or coop as in scoop. Even though it is a scoop. A lovely one at that. I hear the doves coo (as in coup). It was a national movie premiere, no less. Perhaps our debut. (The one which rhymes with coup, not mutt).

Speaking of mutts, that's where all these seemingly random literary segues are headed. To Red Dog.
He's a famous woofer in these parts. Liked to roam about the Pilbara between Paraburdoo and Dampier several decades ago. Today in Dampier, his statue stands proudly. The only way history could stop him disappearing into the ether of history forever.
Many people have stories about Red up here. Some knew him. Some fed him. Some knew someone who knew someone who knew him. And everyone else who didn't grabbed a role as an extra in the film so they missed out neither on history nor hobnobbing.
When the film premiered recently in the beautiful amphitheatre of the Walkington Theatre in Karratha, the town went off and Kleenex bought shares in the Shire of Roebourne.

Koko - star of "Red Dog" on location in Dampier, WA,
with Courtney Bertling, 2010

I like to imagine that Red Dog is still alive. He's out there wandering, looking for a bit of Chum and the odd truck ride to Port Hedland. And he quite likes the look of himself in the movies.

Woof and you’ll miss him

Who, oh who, let the dog out?
Who oh who? What’s more,
he’s been gone about a week,
he’ll be dripping down his cheek
gettin’ honks from hooning road trains by the score.

Someone out there yells, “Got ‘im!”
And the locals gather round ‘im to be fussy.
But he’s rather too polite,
floppy ears and hair’s not right
and it turns out we’ve been duped - it’s bloody Lassie.

Far oh far away in outer space,
even there the martians think they’re right.
And we reckon, finally, righto,
but they’ve mucked it too, that’s Pluto!
So they speed off green, embarrassed, into night.

That dog, oh dog gone it, he’s just vanished
and everyone is feeling rather goofy.
It’s a dog’s life for our Red
and we’d like to go to bed,
but we cannot help but being that bit snoopy

Red Dog? Nope. Doopa.

“There he is, all fluffy!” yells some kiddie,

wand’ring about Hedland last weekend.

But that kid’s in some blind fog

‘cause he’s sniffed down Doopa dog.

Must have overdone the fairyfloss again.

Some Paraburdoobian hears Elvis,

sniffs a hint and gets right on the scent.

But it’s Hound Dog on the radio,

not our Red, just yodeladio.

Our man eats a dagwood dog quite sad and spent.

Suddenly, a call comes from Snake Gully,

a Pilbara traveller’s seen a tucker box

But the dog that she has found

is glued on, not trotting round

and, embarrassed, she just sinks into her socks.

Finally, the word comes from Fremantle,

a red dog standing proud, now that’s our lingo.

Biggest dog you ever saw

looking out to Rotto’s shore

and we smile, realising then…the flour dingo.

So here we sit in Dampier just wondering…

enigma of the roads, where might he be?

For he never ever failed

to stop all chasing his tail

and he never ceased being stuff of legend, see.

Meanwhile, there’s a movie on in Karratha.

Lights down and all eyes agog.

“They made that film right here,”

whispers someone in the rear

and behind him, sitting quiet…shhh

                                                    …Red Dog.

Thirty something (and a bit)

When Jennifer Aniston turned forty, she avoided a midlife crisis with a luxury holiday to Mexico and a renewal of her vows that blonde will always be the new blonde. When Sarah Jessica Parker turned forty, she had a perfume made of her essence (although why one would want to smell like Sarah Jessica Parker is beyond me). When Shane Warne turned forty, he avoided the psychological crash and burn of midlife by continuing to send random large busted women text messages professing undying lust (if not dyed hair). When Kylie turned forty, she began to look like a cat. When my husband turned forty...oh, sorry, that's right, he didn't. And Never Will he tells me. Got that?

And when I turned forty, I did it in style. The only way to do it. I bought something red. And by god, did it feel gooooood.




The Red One

I want the red one, thanks, ‘cause it goes faster.
It may well make a mess, cause a disaster,
but with my fine tuned skills I’ll be the master
and take the chance on ending up in plaster.

Don’t want the blue one, no, it’s not the same.
It may well sink, not swim when in the rain
and blue, well, it’s for boys, (I know that’s lame),
But, oh, I love the red - it’s like a flame.

I’ll polish it each day for best protection
and when I gaze at it, there’s my reflection
and I will smile at me, need no correction,
for choosing red is just my predilection.

I’ll keep it shiny clean and housed inside.
It will have pride of place and we will ride.
The fastest gears it hits; oh no, don’t chide.
This girl is superkeen and cannot hide

wanting the red one, yes, it’s superstition.
But if I think of pink I feel the scission
which tears my heart in two with fine precision
and even black or white cause deep derision.

And so HE trots off to the special place
where all the red ones sit and wait with grace.
Oh how I just can’t wait to set the pace.
All whirr and whizz bang biz! It will be ace.

As he returns no sign of shiny toy
and he bemoans, ‘Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy.’
My heart it caves, implodes and out seeps joy
until I rea-lise it’s a decoy.

He holds a whisk and asks, ‘Will this thing do?’

I stare dumfounded asking, ‘Would it you?’

He ponders, squinting, what oh what to do?

And then I know I shouldn’t feel so blue.

‘I’m only joking!’ he beams, just as I spy

my bright red mixmaster from my left eye.

‘Oh happy day! Thank you! I may well cry!’

‘How ‘bout instead, my love, bake lemon pie.’

So turning forty was not really hard.

Not that I am, but were I, I would star.

For if you’re going to do the crisis BLAH,

then get the RED one and it will take you far!

Shower leaks, roof leaks and WikiLeaks. Yup. Everything leaks!




From the 24 News Desk, Southbank, Melbourne...

 

 Making headlines...


International news of the year was that Lindsay Lohan, Lady Gaga and Sarah Murdoch all managed to make doofuses of themselves, to a greater or lesser degree. Of the three, I would invariably choose to be Sarah, as I am neither fond of dressing in wagyu beef nor donning my fingernails with the phrase 'f**k u' in order to be witty. I'm sure in some world, LiLo thought she was...And, like Sarah, one day at some function large or small, I am bound to be the one standing in front of a bunch of people embarrassing myself despite my best intentions. Indeed, this is the stuff of poetry and I applaud anyone who does it with flair and grace.

None of this made headlines in north West WA though, except that, by the end of it, there was an awful lot of mopping up to do!

Happy 2011 all! Thanks to the gang at ABC North West and the Pilbara Echo for all your support and may there be more embarrassments, sillinesses and stuff ups for everyone next year so I might continue to find fodder for this happy foolishness!


EverythingLeaks


A beer and a cheer for a Happy New Year!
were the words that were slowly spoke
by the guy near the log with his gumboots and frog,
yes, a flustered and feral young bloke.

His hair was crusty, clothing musty
his eyes drooped with sandbags hung
with stoic aplomb sinking on and on
like the folds of old cow dung.

This Andrew Collins nibbled stale stollen,
pondered on life here.
Taking time out from his soggy plight
to reflect on a whopper of a year.

Lindsay Lohan lost the plot and
finally had to go dry.
But it couldn’t compare to Marble Bar,
which ran out of beer, oh my!

Melbourne Cup ran hot to trot
with silks and ladies in hats,
but Pannawonica’s rodeo iconica
starred a wild OLD chap.

At seventy six, Jack had the tricks
to ride ‘em hard and mighty.
With his big, wide brim, he rode like sin
and the crowds went wild, alrighty.

Lady Gaga dressed in meat from her head
to her teetering toes.
But she’d nothing on those trucks which run
into beasts wand’ring out on the roads.

Sarah Murdoch looked like a right chook
reading the wrong model’s name.
But at Pilbara Girl, we were all in a whirl
when Synarrah Murphy’s came.

And Canberra scored a “strine PM”
with Kevin and Tony piffed,
but Karratha got a regional cabernet
and you should have copped a whiff.

Of plans for Pilbara Cities,
like London, Paris and Roma
or at least a new gate or at any rate
a brand new garden gnome.

And Julia showed us her fancy hair
which never ever seemed to relax,
but we pricked up our ears and jiggled our rears
when she fiddled with the mining tax.

And with Julia red as a blister,

you’d think HER the colour hog,
but WE had the red dirt festival
and in Dampier, the star - Red Dog!

NZ had the Bledisloe
which went pretty fast yo bro’.
But the Newman guys they took the prize
for the Cup that was pretty bloody slow.

And twiddling thumbs for decades
since Joan in ’75,
Hedland, cool, got its hospital,
so now if we’re sick, we’ll thrive.

Just in time for our summer clime
and the rain La Niña was bringing
and it poured and it drowned and it sloshed all around
‘til Carnarvon was hardly singing.

And he thought about the weather,
the craziest thing of all,
with forty degrees and irukandjis,
oh boy, they have a gall.

And Muddle, fuddle, sitting in his puddle,
sun beating down on his brow,
with his umbrella up and his dacks in the mud
Andrew’s brain was frazzled now.

And finding some shade he flicked on the radio

and listened to the news of the day,

with Julian Assange and his radical plan

for dobbing in pollies, but hey,

Andrew thought, well, funny that,
as the rain brewed again in our zone,

forget WikiLeaks, here it’s EverythingLeaks…

and with his year mopped up, went home.

© Elise Batchelor December 31st 2010