Nestled
on one acre in the Noosa hinterland, with magnificent views of the Cooran
tablelands is my little cottage I bought some time ago. And
as anyone who has ever bought acreage knows, a reasonable amount of maintenance is required to
keep weeds, grass and rapidly growing plants at bay.
So as I
sat proudly atop my somewhat antiquated ride-on mower, I felt quite pleased
with myself. I say proudly because it had taken me the best part of 30 minutes
to get this motorised monster to roar into life. Why? Because the beast in
question had aged considerably, and the starter battery, once the source of a quick
and effective ignition, had died long ago. Now, sheer brute strength and
frantic pulling of a rip style cord was required to get this reluctant machine
to perform its set duties. Having
achieved that part of the ritual I had to be quick, for in order to feed the
beast a rusty old lever needed to be pushed forward before it starved, as if
that happened the whole back-breaking performance needed to be repeated.
So after
about 20 minutes of chomping, slicing and devouring a fair chunk of land, my
confidence had grown. Zipping around orange, apple and lime trees, ploughing through
overgrown weeds, and ripping through dead roots, I felt quite daring. Spotting
a cluster of tall grass strangling a dying tree; I set off to the rescue. However
this rescue would be tricky, as the tree in question grew on a slope and would
require some deft footwork of the combined brake, reverse and accelerator pedal
to keep myself and my machine from rolling uncontrollably down the hill. But of
course that was not going to be a problem, as I knew exactly how to handle this
machine, or so I thought.
I scurried down the hill, manoeuvring my
machine with precision and panache, slicing through the offending grass.
Nearing the end of my mission, I reversed down the slope to get the best
vantage point for a final burst that would see the killer grass finally end its
murderous ways. As I slammed down the accelerator, freshly churned soil flew
into the air as my wheels were forced into action. This was my downfall, for as my wheels spun, they lost
traction and before I could act, I started sliding backwards down the hill. I
contemplated screaming like a banshee in the hope of being rescued but only
Sausage my rather timid Dachshund would hear my bellowing, and any hope of
rescue from her was out of the question.
Fearing
death and realising no help was at hand, (Sausage took flight the moment she
heard my screams), I took evasive action. I had to get off this mad beast and
fast. But in my haste to dismount, my right leg became entangled with the seat,
so as I was trying in vain to disengage my right leg, I was forced to hop
frantically on my left leg alongside a backward moving, mad mower. Suddenly
I could see the headline flash before my eyes. “MAD MOWER MURDERS MOTHER”! I screamed,
‘stop, stop, you mad mower’, but did it listen? No. It just kept on rolling
without a thought for my safety.
Thankfully
I was rescued, but not by a small Sausage or some macho male who happened to
have heard my screams. Mind you though, Sausage had returned and was now
watching with great interest, probably wondering why I had chosen to mow in
such a stylish, yet awkward manner.
No, my
saviour was a large tree who stepped in and saved the day just as me, my
machine, and my now mildly mangled right leg were destined for extinction.
‘Hallelujah’,
I gushed, as I quickly freed my leg from the jaws of the mad mower.
It was at
that precise moment Sausage decided she could be of use, and not seeing her
small grey shape hurtling in my direction, over I went! Seeing as I was now at
her level, flat on my back on the freshly cut grass, Sausage figured it was the
perfect opportunity to shower me with a few swift fish-breath infused slurps.
So there
I was, now not so proudly lying beside a still roaring mower, while a delighted
and very smelly sausage dog showered me with love and affection.
After a
few moments, I removed Sausage from my face, inspected my injuries, and
proceeded to push and heave until the reluctant mechanical beast was back on
even ground. And seeing as I’m not one to give in easily, I boarded the beast
and finished what I set out to do. After putting the beast to rest, I limped slowly back to the
house, stood on my veranda to take in my hard work and I felt proud for I had conquered
the beast.
