A fellow wearing a McConaghy cap, $150 Tshirt, sandals from Mr Cool in Lismore and jeans by Rodd & Gunn in Sydney wants to ask a few questions about property around Bangalow.
Bangalow’s ok, one main street going up a hill and old shops and upper verandahs still standing on both sides.
The girl at the real estate desk says waitaminute somebody will be right out just as a little black dog runs around the counter and starts nuzzling him on the leg. An adorable, little full-grown puppy who likes being rubbed and tickled. He has clean black curly hair that feels good to rub and he gives polite little licks to your fingers. You can smell the soap his owner has used to bathe him. And here she comes.
We says how do ye do and what do ye know and the McConaghy man stoops to give the dog another scratch and asks, ‘ this pup yours?’
‘Yes he is,’ she says
‘What do you call him?’
Now this is where the day changes completely.
‘Gulpilil,’ she replies. I had to ask her again.
‘You have called your dog Gulpilil?’
‘You have called your little black dog after David Gulpilil?’
‘Yes.’ The woman looked like she was being told something for the first time.
‘You cannot do that.’
‘Because David Gulpilil may not like it.’
‘Why wouldn’t he?’
‘Ring him and ask.’
What I’m really saying is, if you see little black dog running across the road up there by Bangalow – in that white man’s town – and you have a notion to right some ancient wrongs and turn it into tarmac base – go hunting in the real estate offices instead.
Find the source.
…… images are of david gulpilil