At eight weeks old
Barnabas Bartholomew
Bingham the Third
makes an extraordinary
discovery
there's no greater
dog accessory than
its nose
Ready at
his disposal
morning
evening
night
his nose
works harder than
a personal advisor
sniffing and snuffling
the house
the yard
the ankles of a visitor
more than 200 million
olfactory receptors
or as Barnabas
thinks of them
smell detectors
firing on all cylinders
between muzzle
and open air
Since 19th century
countryman
Parson John Russell
bred terriers into
champion hunters
these canine
warriors have used
their noses to hustle
foxes from their den
quicker than you can
count from
naught to ten
Jump across the sea
to 60s Australia
and Jack Russells are
working dogs for
farmers west of Victoria
breaking rabbit necks
and reigning in rats
plaguing iron-clad
grain sheds
Move ahead
45 years or so
and Barnabas is in
a state of euphoria
living his best life
napping on a
sun spotted floor
or yawning in
his bed
It never dawns
he's not the same
ancestral shape
below button drop
ears there's bits of
Cross somewhere
in there
rounder body
stubby legs
wobbly gait
but one whiff of
creek sifting
wave after wave of
ordourous treat
straight up
his nose
and he's tail erect
snout alert
point direct to inspect
the moist mossy dirt
Leash to pram
down Woolston Drive
loyal Human Wanderer
by his side
there's enough
ammonia laced
letterbox pillars
and burnt rubber
car wheel tyres
to make Barney's
five senses reel
but it's bush bashing
along the Fire Track
that gets his plodding
paws trotting
Stronger than
Grasse perfumeries
are the fragrant feces
on display
pungent Tawny Frogmouth
droppings
sharp bouquets
of brushtail possum poo
a swamp rat's
sour number two
fermenting dog dung
waiting for an
unsuspecting shoe
Barney's intricate
nasal bones
lead him to
marked bark
pheromones
urine soaked
stones
wood smoke from
nearby homes
all delectable
detectable aromas
fruiting berries
tart and tangy
coat a breeze
infused with rotting
leaves come compost
Other dog days
the honey-scented wattle
mix with faint
synthetic sprays
Criss-crossing
madly sniffing
no scent is ever
is lost
Barnabas
older
stands aloft
a boulder
surveys his
kingdom
The Granites and
familiar trails
All is good and well
He savours
every smell his
nose inhales