David my eldest brother was always there in his life for me, even when I was a child. I would sit in his brilliantly blue room, downstairs in the Hamilton house and listen to Joe Cocker, the Beach Boys and Herman and the Hermits ad infinitum. I had absolutely no idea of the lyrics, but I hero-worshipped David, thrilled that he would include his little sister so readily.
Later, in my last year of school, he would visit our home on the Gold Coast. One weekend, I had my friend Suzi Hansen over for a swim. Suzi, the product of a Czechoslovakian mother and a Danish father, was already a stunning young woman. At Seventeen, I Learnt The Truth. Blokes' eyes were capable of exploding off their faces on long stalks in the presence of a Gorgeous Young Thing. David was no exception. I have never forgotten that episode and look back with both great amusement and total understanding.
Michael was my childhood companion, confidante, and comforter, and I lost almost forty years of sibling connection. However, we are making up for lost time. In the last twelve months, we have rekindled and grown that special affection we have for each other. He has not had an easy life, with his plans going atray whilst he was still a teenager. I am so looking forward to February to spend more time with Mike and scatter Mum's and Dad's ashes. I just wish he was on Facebook!
Simon was the brother that I so longed to know. When we were growing up, he always seemed too old to play with me. He appeared to hold his cards very close to his chest. Only in the last year have I discovered what a hilarious, gregarious, generous and loving individual he is. And he lives in a part of Australia pretty close to paradise.
My knowledge and understanding of Simon usually came in the stories of others. Then there were also the Famous Poker Nights in the rumpus room of the Hamilton house, where Simon and his friends would gather to drink and smoke (highly illegally) and play cards. About this time, I learned how to pour beer. A very useful skill for me to acquire at around the age of nine.
The following morning would usually present with a number of enormously tall young men all over the rumpus room floor in various states of sobriety and slumber. Simon's many mates were unfailingly kind to me and through them, I also developed a more rounded picture of him.
Charlie Miller was Simon's friend that stands out most clearly in my memory. He was an enormous gentle giant. At sixteen, he looked the oldest of the crowd, so Charlie was always sent to the bottle shop for supplies. He appeared to have quite a different and interesting family life to us. Legend has it that Charlie took a young kangaroo named HooRoo, concealed in an esky, into the Gabba to watch a cricket match. Apparently, all the excitement was confined to the stands after Charlie released HooRoo for a bit of a hop around.
Charlie's father, a doctor who enjoyed his nightly beers, was responsible for a miniature version of Harry Potter's lightning scar on Simon's top lip. As Simon and Charlie were watching the telly (probably the cricket), some random dog wandered through the open front door, took an instant dislike to Simon and bit him on his lip. I have no idea what happened to this particularly nasty dog but Doctor Miller sprang into action and stitched up Simon's wound. As he had already begun his evening amber fluids, the resulting scar on Simon's lip has always been quite noteworthy.
The Millers were also the owners of two sheepdogs, Ben and Moira. Someone within the family came up with the brilliant idea that they should invest in a sheep for the sheepdogs. So, in a typical Brisbane backyard, Shank was introduced into the mix. Ben and Moira chased him ragged. Eventually, Shank went to the big pasture in the sky, after the Millers ceremoniously cooked him and ate him for dinner. Shank had the last laugh. He was as tough as an old boot and almost inedible.
Since we became the Beverley Hillbillies, I have come to know a little more about various fowls and animals. Chooks are psycho and will stop at nothing to go for my throat. Geese are extremely loud and bite. Alpacas and llamas make good sheep guards but have unpleasant manners, similar to camels. Ducks just create torrents of duck poo wherever they are. As do horses. Horse poo, not duck poo. Horses also kick, bite and slobber. Sheep have the weirdest eyes I have ever seen and are close relatives of chooks in homicidal behaviour. Male sheep, in particular, often end up in the pot after they cease to be cute lambs and became antisocial in the extreme.
In what is left of my romantic mind, calves are beautiful creatures. Their enormous, kohl-rimmed eyes, their obvious intelligence (more than sheep anyway) and their smooth coats have always appealed to me. When our former neighbour, Lorna added Stevie the calf to her menagerie, I thought he was just a perfect example of all I love about calves.
And now Stevie has also gone to that big pasture in the sky. Amongst other things, Stevie was included in some delicious sausages with plenty of parsley and other goodies. As I cooked them last evening, I noted with pleasure that Stevie's sausages produced very little fat.
I have decided that personally eating Stevie was a big mistake. I knew him. Perhaps he knew me. Or perhaps he was a tad upset with the whole series of events. Who can blame him?
In the early dawn this morning, I needed to sit on the loo for a most distressing episode. For me anyway. In guilty misery, as I crept back into bed, I wondered if Stevie had pointed his bone at me. Or cast a hex.Then I realised that Stevie's actions were not confined just to me. Michael took his turn on the throne with a similar outcome. Feeling entirely emptied, we commiserated with each other and sent a skyward apology.
Stevie had definitely had his revenge.
The moral of this story is across generations. Shank and Stevie are both perfect examples.
Obviously, never eat an animal that you know.
Why did HooRoo go to the Gabba?
He wanted to play cricket, of course!
Two sheepdogs with no sheep?
Maybe the Millers consulted this book!
Then it was on for young and old.
Until Shank became dinner.
I never trust a chook...
but I do have a soft spot for calves.
This was a first world problem for me this morning...
and a great deal of this product was required in the aftermath.
I have a feeling that both Shank...
and Stevie had the last laughs.
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