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Charlotte Amalie
Saturday, August 13, 2022
HomeNewsArchivesAUSTRALIA, HERE I COME

AUSTRALIA, HERE I COME

I am sitting here dripping in emu oil while contemplating last Sunday's disgrace at the Jogger Jam. Emu oil claims to relieve sore joints, muscles and anything else that's handy. Though as a well-meaning friend pointed out, it's probably intended for oiling squeaky emus. I wonder how you oil an emu -– would it be like milking an elk?
I have never owned an emu, squeaky or otherwise. I wonder if they are affectionate. I've had my Dog of a Lifetime, and cats, well, cats are cats.
I've always thought that an emu was somewhere between a chicken and a sheep. Wrong on both counts, it turns out. For one, they have just two legs, both of which are considerably longer than those of a chicken, or even a sheep. They do have feathers, however. The Australian Aborigines love them. Not the feathers, the birds. They rub themselves in emu oil all the time. Perhaps I should oil up and enter the Australian Jogger Jam.
As a pet it wouldn't be hard to find, should it wander off. The owner of a turtle lost in Frydenhoj has been looking for weeks. He is either shaped like an H or a peanut. Now, an emu has only one shape and it's unmistakable -– 5 feet tall, mostly legs, topped by a turkey torso with a bearded thing in front.
I don't know if they sing. It's possible there's some parrot in them. There are lots of parrots in Australia. You could look it up; I just did. It would be great fun to teach him to sing. I could enter him in the Calypso Competition which is just around the corner. None of those new songs, though. I would teach him the good, old ones like "Mr. Walker." (Remember "Sweet Rosemarie"?)
I can see it all now. I would name him Fred. I've always liked the name Fred, it has such a ring to it. For the competition, however, we would have to have something dressier. The Eager Emu? Emu the Earnest?
There's simply no end to his possibilities. I live right near a little playground which is ideally suited for emu rides. And I could get the children to feed him. I wonder what they eat. Could I train him to like bullfoot or kallaloo? I've always felt kallaloo could benefit from less okra. But, getting back to my pet.
We have a small yard, and an even smaller house. I've never actually sat down and discussed an emu with my husband. Nor have I ever discussed entering the Australian Jogger Jam. Perhaps I'll just enter Fred in the Australian Jogger Jam and not tell my husband. Or maybe I'll just find him a nice comfortable crossword puzzle where he can live peacefully among the three-toed sloths. Hmmm, three-toed-sloths -– now there's an idea….
Editor's note: Molly Morris is a longtime resident of St. Thomas.

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I am sitting here dripping in emu oil while contemplating last Sunday's disgrace at the Jogger Jam. Emu oil claims to relieve sore joints, muscles and anything else that's handy. Though as a well-meaning friend pointed out, it's probably intended for oiling squeaky emus. I wonder how you oil an emu -– would it be like milking an elk?
I have never owned an emu, squeaky or otherwise. I wonder if they are affectionate. I've had my Dog of a Lifetime, and cats, well, cats are cats.
I've always thought that an emu was somewhere between a chicken and a sheep. Wrong on both counts, it turns out. For one, they have just two legs, both of which are considerably longer than those of a chicken, or even a sheep. They do have feathers, however. The Australian Aborigines love them. Not the feathers, the birds. They rub themselves in emu oil all the time. Perhaps I should oil up and enter the Australian Jogger Jam.
As a pet it wouldn't be hard to find, should it wander off. The owner of a turtle lost in Frydenhoj has been looking for weeks. He is either shaped like an H or a peanut. Now, an emu has only one shape and it's unmistakable -– 5 feet tall, mostly legs, topped by a turkey torso with a bearded thing in front.
I don't know if they sing. It's possible there's some parrot in them. There are lots of parrots in Australia. You could look it up; I just did. It would be great fun to teach him to sing. I could enter him in the Calypso Competition which is just around the corner. None of those new songs, though. I would teach him the good, old ones like "Mr. Walker." (Remember "Sweet Rosemarie"?)
I can see it all now. I would name him Fred. I've always liked the name Fred, it has such a ring to it. For the competition, however, we would have to have something dressier. The Eager Emu? Emu the Earnest?
There's simply no end to his possibilities. I live right near a little playground which is ideally suited for emu rides. And I could get the children to feed him. I wonder what they eat. Could I train him to like bullfoot or kallaloo? I've always felt kallaloo could benefit from less okra. But, getting back to my pet.
We have a small yard, and an even smaller house. I've never actually sat down and discussed an emu with my husband. Nor have I ever discussed entering the Australian Jogger Jam. Perhaps I'll just enter Fred in the Australian Jogger Jam and not tell my husband. Or maybe I'll just find him a nice comfortable crossword puzzle where he can live peacefully among the three-toed sloths. Hmmm, three-toed-sloths -– now there's an idea....
Editor's note: Molly Morris is a longtime resident of St. Thomas.