A Normal Day in My World
I’ve been a solo parent on and off since I had my first child. Let me tell you, sometimes the shit hits the fan, and there’s no one around to clean it up but you.
This day was one of those days.
Solo Parenting on the Land
Picture it: Angus, my firstborn, is about 7 to 8 months old. Marshall’s working on another station, five hours away. It’s just Angus, myself, a cat, some chooks and six pig dogs.
Now, these weren’t just any dogs—these are Marshall’s pride and joy, trained to hunt feral pigs. While he’s away, it’s my job to feed and run them. They are good dogs; they have to be. I need them to listen and do as they are told when they are told to, and 95% of the time, they do.
I’d take Angus for a walk in the pram with the dogs every day—good for the dogs, good for me, good protection against dingos. Yes, there are lots of dingos on this property, and I’ve been chased by them a few times before. I would rather not be chased while my kids are with me, which is another reason we have the dogs.
When Nature Calls (and So Does Chaos)
This morning started like any other. Dogs out. Cages washed. Go for our 1-hour walk in the big loop where the dogs run and smell all the good things, but stay where I can see them. We are on the home straight when everything turned to shit—literally.
Angus had done a poo so massive it had climbed up his back and was coming out the neck of his onesie.
I know—how the hell does a kid even do that? I didn’t even think to lock the dogs away, as I usually do. I rushed straight upstairs to deal with the living crime scene that’s my son. Twenty minutes later, after scrubbing Angus clean and finally putting him down for a nap, I looked outside and expected to see all the dogs sleeping in the sun. Nope—they were gone. Shit!
The Fence Fiasco
I yelled for them because they usually come when called, unless they have found something. Then I heard the barking coming from down the creek, about 200 meters or so. With pig dogs, barking usually means either a pig somewhere they can’t grab him, like in the water or something that smells like one, aka an echidna.
I couldn’t leave Angus alone—he had just gone down for a nap, but he wasn’t quite asleep. So I did what every person on the land does when they have lost a dog or aren’t listening to you. I grabbed the gun, fired a shot into the air—the universal “get your asses home” command. Five dogs came running home.
Except Dozer. My main man. The old man who came to work with me every day and I trained from the start, and there was no way I was letting anything happen to him. All I knew for certain was they didn’t have a pig because no way would any of them have come home if they had one. So what was Dozer still going on about? By this time, Angus is in a deep sleep; otherwise, the gun would have woken him. I should have enough time to jump in the buggy and go get him. Right?
Well, I ran to the buggy. I could still hear Dozer barking down the creek. I can assure you, I had the buggy at top speed. All that was going through my head was, ” I’ve got to get Dozer and back home before Angus wakes up. Well, I get about 50m off Dozer and the creek, and the only thing stopping me is the heavy-duty four-strand barbed wire fence.
No problem. I’ve climbed through these a hundred times before. Except today wasn’t my day. Halfway through the fence, I dropped my leg just a touch. And a 2cm barb went straight through my skin, hooking me to the fence like meat on a butcher’s hook. Stuck. And I do mean stuck. I couldn’t pull forward or go backward. No one was around to help—the closest neighbour was 30 minutes away, and Marshall, well, he was 5 hours away. No one to call, no one to help me, apart from me.
Lessons in Grit (and Gore)
So I stayed stuck on that fence for about five minutes, talking myself into ripping my leg off the fence, and the whole time I was cursing Dozer out for getting me into this mess in the first place. And maybe the person who built the fence. Because why the fuck wasn’t there a gate nearby that I could have used.
Only one thought mattered: “Angus is at the house—what if he wakes up and screams for me?” I had no choice. I gritted my teeth and ripped my leg off that fence. Tore a 3-inch gash in my leg. Didn’t even stop. Rushed down to the creek to grab Dozer, and yep, just as I thought—barking at an echidna. Yelled at him to come and then rushed back through the fence extra carefully this time. And floored it home to Angus. Angus? Well, he was still fast asleep.
Now that I knew Angus was still asleep, I just had the small matter of dealing with my leg. I didn’t want to go to the hospital as it’s an hour drive along a shit dirt road. I was hoping I could clean it and apply a bandage. What’s one more scar?
Stitches and Support
Marshall disagreed with that assessment and told me to go to the hospital. Not much he could do, he wasn’t there, to make me go. It took talking to my Mother-in-law and her pointing out that I wouldn’t be able to clean it well enough by myself, and fences have all sorts of nasty gems on them, which got me to go. As soon as Angus woke up and had his lunch, it was off to the hospital. I was going to drive myself, but Marshall told me to stop by the town hall, as he had organised one of the other mothers to drive me.
And thank god he did and she did, because the wait was an hour and a half to get it cleaned and six stitches put in it. It wasn’t that I couldn’t drive—it was having someone there to help look after Angus. Small country communities are great like that—everyone is so quick and willing to help you out whenever and however you need them to.
Finally back home with a sore leg and a bruised ego because now everyone knew I got caught in a fence. Still to this day, three years later, it still makes me laugh and cringe at the same time. And I am still extra careful going through all fences.
Looking back now, you don’t realise the lengths you’d go to for your kids until you’re stuck on a barbed wire fence, bleeding and swearing, determined to get back to your sleeping baby. Being a mum means doing the impossible with grit, grace, and sometimes a bit of gore. And I can honestly say that I would do nearly anything to keep my kids safe. As I do have the scar to prove it.