Blog: September 4. Fathers’ Day.

Afternoon, everyone.

It’s a fantastic Sunday and it seems absolutely everyone is taking advantage of the great weather to make the most of Fathers’ Day. There sure have been a stack of bikes going past and blowing the horn and waving at my place. I’m never quick enough to see who all the hornblowers are, but I’m sure I spotted Gav Gill – who had a well-deserved win for his XS at Macksville, I see – and it might’ve been Pottsy on a V-Strom.

I can’t be sure because I was behind my shed finishing off the installation of an electric fence.

When I say ‘electric fence’ it’s actually a thing called a ‘hidden fence’ designed to keep dogs in the yard. Basically a wire runs around the yard and the dog wears a special collar. When the dopey dishlicker tries to walk over or under the wire he gets an electric shock to the neck, thus dissuading him from trying to get outside the fence.

It took me quite a while to set up, mainly because I’m useless at that type of thing. The wire was okay on the boundary fence, but it had to be buried under the driveway and chicken coop.

Anyway, it’s done now.

But…how can you be sure it’s working?

I did all the tests and the collar beeped and the light flashed…but…how could I be sure?

You can see where this is heading, I can tell.

I strapped the collar on my arm and walked up to the fence.

The light flashed, the collar beeped angrily and…nothing. Maybe an itchy little vibration I could hardly feel. It wouldn’t stop anything, let alone Bigfoot, the wilful hound.

I sat with the instructions and found there’s an adjustment for the amount of ‘correction’. It was supplied set on the lowest setting – ‘1’ – so I cranked ‘er up a bit put a good dollop of lick on the arm to ensure a good contact and headed for the fence.

Holy shit me dead, Batman!

Lord above.

I’m glad I hadn’t strapped the thing on for the second test. It was like being smacked with a baseball bat. I let out a yip, voided from all my bodily orifices simultaneously and hoiked the stupid collar about 30 metres out into the paddock. I didn’t mean to. The cataclysmic muscle contraction made it happen and I didn’t have much say in the matter. The dog may not be all that bright, but I’m sure I saw him chuckling to himself as I wobbled and trembled like jelly on a plate, trying not to drool on myself.

I know it works now, so if I can catch Bigfoot and wrestle him to ground I’ll fit him up. He’s been worrying the farmer’s bulls, and something has to be done.

No riding for me this past week. Between the flu and work, I don’t think I’ve left the house (that was one good thing about the electric-fence incident. I don’t think I’ve had to blow my nose since).

Probably the next interesting ride coming up is work’s Congregation on September 16.

Vince Strang has big celebrations for 40 years as a Suzuki dealer that same weekend, so I’m heading up Friday to visit Vince’s shop. I’m taking the trailer, so I’m hauling Marty Blake’s DR650 as well so he can drive up with his family. I know Craig Murcott and Trev Randall are planning to ride up, and Dave Ramsay has a group coming from the north. John Hudson’s bringing a crew from Urbenville and there’s a few southerners making the trek. It should be a great weekend.

See you there.

TF

 

 

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