Category Archives: Working Dog

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It’s a Hard Dog Life

I have written this song for two of my favourite D-listers, my little working dog railway steward at Country Lickers; and suburban Seddon’s favourite surgical son with the bedside manner to die for.

Even though I let these puppies hang out with my pack and come along as guests to many of my opening nights and events, I know in my heart, they can never be A-listers like me. The smell of the pancake, the starch of the hospital sheets and the rhythm of the railroad will keep them always in 3rd class. So much potential, so little drive, and OH-Such a pity.

It’s a Dog-Gone Life (to be howled in a brat-like voice to the tune of ‘It’s a hard knock life’ from the musical ‘Annie‘)

Verse 1
It’s a fat-gut life for Garth
Ate so much he’s gonna barf
Marty’s got a dodgy heart.
Tomatoes make him fart.
It’s a dog-gone life.

Verse 2
Pocketanne’s a working dog.
With a really fantastic blog.
Writes all day cos it all about her
While Phat Boy just sits and purrs,
It’s a dog-gone life.

Verse 3
Kevin Rudd is really back
Throwing Julia G off track
Simon Crean is in a snit
The Labor Party’s gone to shit
It’s a Pollies life

Verse 4
Tony Abbott’s everywhere
He is after the PM’s chair
He loves his horrid red speedos,
Now he really could win, he knows
It’s a NO, NO life

Verse 5
Pocketanne has a good friend Rob
Who plays this song to make a bob
It must be really in her head
Bet she wishes she were dead
NO MOREdog-gone life!




She works hard for the money

Pocketanne's work ethic

My weekdays are busy mostly with Border Patrol on 165.

In fact, I could consider myself to be almost a hero… Stanmore‘s answer to Chris Bowen as I strive to create a best-practice strategy for the eradication of people smuggling business models so I can selfishly ensure my fabulous inner west lifestyle is maintained.

Apart from those that arrive by foot or bicycle at the southern border, I have a constant stream of potential aliens and overstayers from international and interstate destinations arriving by air between 6am and 11pm every day. You should see these giant A380 birds. They dazzle you on the horizon with their bright lights, mating calls, passports and UK heritage. I am not fooled. As a graduate of the Australian Border Patrol School and additional training I completed with the Shooters and Fishers Party, I can tell these giant birds are not indigenous wildlife. Thank goodness the back room deals currently on the table in NSW will soon mean I can do my job properly and permanently rid my borders of this non-indigenous A380 birdlife and their visa-overstaying passengers.

Rats of the air

Border Patrol protecting us from non-Indigenous A380 birds carrying visa-overstayers

During my working week, I usually manage to spend quality sleeping time with my older brother Phat Boy (PB), son of Fillus, nephew of Frolic, uncle of Yougie. Phat Boy is 16. He is the oldest and the bossiest. Despite all of my training with fire arms, he always gets to sleep on my bed and makes me sleep on the cold cement. The only time I get my own way is when Dee Dee or Bootie come to visit and then we gang up on him. One day I will be top dog around here, he can’t live forever although unfortunately he still has about 6 of his 9 lives left. “Your time will come Phat Boy! This gal can only take so much taunting!”

We do have to be careful with PB. Despite living in this diverse, yet gentrified suburb, his black skin colour does not go unnoticed and he is often taunted by the local paler skinned pedigree burmese and siamese felines. He has also been the victim of a couple of violent racial and ageist hate crimes resulting in frequent visits to emergency and the occasional report to Marrickville Council. Luckily he is eligible for a Medicare Card and emergency room waiting times are being fixed by Barry. Now he has been out of Villawood Detention Centre for more than 10 years his refugee status has been removed and on Australia Day this year he finally became an Australian Citizen. We all attended and sang the 2nd verse of Advance Australia Fair really loudly.

It just goes to show, Australia really is the lucky country. PB is living proof you can be a black, old, mixed race, refugee, gay, feline from a country whose name you can’t remember because its name has been changed so many times, and we will welcome you as an Australian with a Medicare Card if you can make it through my Border Patrol and survive the initial detention torture.

Until next time, look out for this working girl painting her hot pink nails,working 9 to 5, minding your neat little lifestyle in your precious little suburb, protecting your wildlife and organising your Medicare Card once you get through the back fence!

Love you, Mean it

Pocketanne xxx

My weekday job - Border patrol or "Keep the bastards out of our suburb"

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