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M.D.

Though I hadn't entered and knew nothing about it, I apparently won the competition. I was embarrassed. My wife, Trixibell, had entered for me with my name and all my details. The entry was based on my farming activities and she used all the fancy language. "Conserving Soil Carbon", she called it and she described my efforts to compost. I just wanted the cows to do well. I'd had enough of living with the ass out of my pants and being unable to afford anything better.

Because I was flying to the capital to meet the minister and collect my prize, the kids were jealous. We kept telling them that they weren't invited. Eventually it was resolved, Jon, Don and Ron went to stay with Uncle Con. Aileen, Gaylene, Rayleen and Carlene went to stay with Auntie Lurlene. Trixibell was happy to pack them up and send them on the train. It was a performance. Then it was my turn to go. Trixibell had me all packed up and on my way very quickly, she promised that she would take good care of the farm.

Six days in the capital, I wasn't enthusiastic. I'd have much preferred to stay at home with the cows and the bloody bull- he worried me, too cantankerous to load up for the butcher and too valuable, with his pedigree, to shoot and leave to rot in the paddock like I should have. The little bastard was huge and he could run. We called him M.D., short for Managing Director because he could manage and he was direct. I ...

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