Choppers house was a rural classic. Built from golden limestone it had a rustic quality that matched the region. A pigsty looking in equally outstanding condition stood out the back. After parking the Ute, they walked to the house and entered through a polished hardwood door.
The boys were astonished by the interior. Furnished with antiques, it had a mahogany table in the middle of an open planned kitchen and dining room. A potbelly stove was in the corner. Pastel coloured drapes hung down the side of large tinted windows.
“It’s like a palace,” Mitch whispered.
“Who’d a thought” Jordie replied.
After dropping their clothes in the room they headed to the sties. They walked past large enclosed pens housing sows and piglets, whose pitiful squeals welcomed Chopper in anticipation of receiving their evening meal. He ignored them and marched to a dirt covered, fenced yard at the far end. When they arrived, a razor back boar, not much smaller than a rhino, greeted them. Its head was massive, and shiny tusks extended out from each side of its mouth.
“That’s me’ boy,” Chopper opened the gate, stepped in, then walked over to the boar and rubbed hard on its head. A low gurgle rumbled from deep within its throat. Its snout wiggled and mouth turned into a bizarre kind of smile. Chopper dropped his hand and scratched under its chin.
“Gitchy, gitchy, goo,” he chuckled, and leant forward as if to give it a kiss.
The boars’ long tongue slithered across Choppers face.
“Yuk,” the boys cringed.
Chopper wiped his face with the back of his hand and said, “Meet Gutsy,”
“How’d he get so big?” Mitch asked, trying to get his head around its size.
“I caught him as a piglet. When I put him in with the others, the little mongrel wouldn’t let them near the trough... he grew as fast as asparagus in the sun, and weighs about 800 kg I reckon. He’s a tough old bugger n bloody ornery if he misses his tucker,”
“He could do some damage if he hit ya,” Clyde said as he walked to the gate and handed Chopper a bucket full of slush he had scooped from a 44 gallon drum. A putrid odor drifted from the bucket and hit the boys’ noses. They had an involuntary whiff and dry retched.
“What’s that crap?” Mitch choked.
“It’s his favourite delicacy, a special Mornay of rotten corn, cabbage and sour milk.” he poured the Mornay into a trough; Gutsy plunged his head into the mushy liquid and wolfed it down, snorting in delight.
Passing blowflies spotted the appetising slush; they droned around waiting for their chance
then dove in, swarming Gutsy and devouring any slush that may have gone amiss.
Gutsy flicked his ears and shook his head, then let out a piercing squeal and
bolted. He raced to a nearby mud patch, dropped in and rolled about until his
body was caked with the murky sludge. The blowflies hovered above the trough
preparing for a second serve.
“Those mongrels irritate him no end!” Chopper roared, then instinctively swung
the bucket. He executed a speedy reverse high-kick move and hit them with force.
Stunned by the sudden impact,
they bounced off the bucket and spiraled to the ground. Chopper continued on as if it were a normal
event, repeatedly tapping the side of the bucket, yelling, “Gutsy want some
more, Gutsy want some more,”
Gutsy stood up; shook his large frame and dollops of sludge plonked onto the ground. He trotted over, buried his head into the trough and returned to blissfully slurp his Mornay of stench.