Peak hour traffic halted, and vehicles are banked-up for miles. Helicopters hover. Emergency vehicle lights flash. Horrified road crew workers run for their lives.

A meeting’s called with the city’s Departmental heads, and a released media statement urges:

    • Remain calm.
    • Those trapped in vehicles to lock doors.
    • Canines to be secured.
    • Stay off the streets until situation contained.

Pandemonium and panic….



Scattered walking sides of beef have missed their boat and pound the pavement on a no-rush-rampage. They gawk at pet shop glass displays, viewing trapped humans inside vehicles. This herd of hefty heifers squeeze between cued cars, sideswiping mirrors with grain-fed (now free-range) rumps. Doors dented by dancing hoofs. A red car’s grill, stabbed by horns, kills its stereo.


Leaning against the bar were the usual suspects. Red-dust covered jeans. Sweat-rim hats. Scuffed boots and leathered complexions. Beer glasses cradled in working-man’s-hands, squinting at the televized drama unfolding.

“You mob doin’ a road trip, shortly, ” I ask?

Ol’ mate grinned, giving me a conspirator’s wink. “Let ‘em high paid experts have conversations on co-ordinatin’ them coffee-carriers in catchin’ ’em first. Let’s have another beer luv, an’ enjoy the show.”

To this day, media traffic reports include ‘Rogue-Cattle-sightings’, grazing on council lawns.

But, as part of #operationsteakout, numbers are dwindling…

…and my Barbecue’s never worked harder.