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my pop was from here. rad! he died before i was born. my da's favourite stories about his dad come from here. rumour/legend has it told that when pop moved with the family to run the local hotel in Goulbourn he couldn't take his dog, so my great grandfather told him he had to shoot it. he cried and cried, just couldn't do it hey. so, his best mate stepped up, took the dog up the mountain, and put him down. what a mate. thats what they're for. the day i took this photo my da was running around showing me all the spots his dad could have played. like a little boy. well, he met this old bloke, he was about 143 in the shade, and they got talking about my pop. he moved to araluen after my pop had gone but after a bit of to-ing and fro-ing, pops mate who shot the dog, he and this guy became best mates too...and pops mate always told this guy "how he had to shoot Gerry's dog for him cause that what ya mates did!" that was over 80 years ago!
well, they all cried, ha, it was heavy and i'd never seen my Da so proud in all my life. he still looks like a boxer when he tells that story. small dry smile, chest puffing out. "jeez, Settle down dad.... and put your shirt back on."
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