Muster Map

The clouds over the ranges were turning grey, and the farmer wanted the weaners moved into the home paddock before the afternoon rain. "Spike, Suzy, you're on muster duty," she called. "Little Thunder, you're the navigator."

Little Thunder had never been the navigator before. He unrolled the laminated farm map on the ute's bonnet and studied it carefully. It was divided into squares, with letters along the bottom and numbers up the side.

"The weaners are in grid square D4," he read. "The home paddock is B2. And the scale says one square equals two hundred metres."

Suzy tilted her head. "So how far is that?"

Little Thunder counted. Two squares west and two squares south. "About four hundred metres one way and four hundred the other. Maybe a bit less if we cut across."

"But not through C3," said Spike, pointing a paw. A red outline marked the square. "That's the bull paddock. Never take young cattle through there."

Little Thunder nodded seriously. He traced a route with his hoof: west along the creek to B4, then south through the gate into B2. Longer, but safe.

Spike swung wide to the left, and Suzy moved quietly on the right. The weaners, led by a calm heifer called Canberra, walked steadily along the creek. Little Thunder called out directions from the map. "Gate's coming up on your south side!"

They reached the home paddock just as the first drops fell. The farmer latched the gate and grinned. "Perfect muster. Who planned the route?"

Spike and Suzy both looked at Little Thunder. He tapped the map proudly. A good map, he thought, was like having a friend who had already walked every paddock.