Meet the Thorns
Eh, it's me, again. Apparently, my boys don't think I've a bloody thing better to do than chew the fat with you foreigners.
Some of those you'll see on the station belong here. We're Thorns through and through. We're what's called graziers. Ranchers to you foreigners. We all own shares in our station. Some more than others. And don't think I'm fooled. I know some of my family is just waiting for me to meet my maker so they can squabble over mine.
The natives call me Mick. So I suppose it's all right if you do the same. In my younger days, I was a stockman. Means I spent a great deal of my time around the livestock we raise. Most of the blokes around here are stockmen, drovers, and shearers. It's what we do. We're bloody good at it. Now I spend most of my time fishing while everyone else works their arses off. I'm what's called retired.
I've two boys. The youngest Daniel is in need of a missus. He's a bright bloke who takes after me. And David's already done me proud with two grandchildren.
Aaron's my only surviving nephew. He's not right most of the time. Bloody know-it-all, if you ask me. But he has given me a few fine great nephews. Scratch that. Thom's a fine mate. He's in need of a missus, too. Ace and Matt. Well, they're not right most of the time either. Ace is always out on a walkabout. No help to us around here at all. While Matt honestly believes anyone can learn to ride a horse. Bloody boofheads, if you ask me.
Besides having a mouthy don't-know-his-arse-from-a-hole-in-the-ground son named Travis, Matt's got a twin brother I no longer claim. Damn shame about the lack of IQ in this branch of the family. Kind of feel sorry for Aaron's missus, Alba, who has to deal with them all. She's a bloody good cook. Always barbeques me the finest kangaroo steak.
Nathan passed on back in '03. He left a widow behind. Maree can make a bloody fine pie. She did Nathan proud with three sons. My great nephews, Big M, Middle E and Little C. Even though C can't produce anything but girl ankle biters, we've got to keep him around. He went off to university and knows how to keep the books straight. E's not among the brightest of the Thorns. He enjoys throwing himself into the bloody pond as if he's some shark biscuit. Bloody fool, if you ask me. Now, Big M's a fine mate if he's having a good day. Though I think his last good day was back sometime before '01.
My remaining great nephews were raised by us Thorns. They're what's called orphaned. Paul's the station's veterinarian, Nelson the station's pilot, and Steve the station's no-account hellraiser. All are in need of wives. Well, so is Loneman. But he's sure-as-shit not among the handsomest of us Thorns.
Omitting a bastard or two, this is my family. Besides the one I no longer mention, I'm bloody proud to call them Thorns.