Stories like this one - The Battle of Dusty Gulch, ( just out of Longreach ) or the biblical classics, aren’t just entertainment; they’re a mirror and a compass.
We need them to stay human because they sneak past our cynicism and self-importance, reminding us of what matters: courage in the face of monsters, kindness amid chaos, and the messy beauty of coming together....old cats, young rats, purple-haired grannies, and all that we know matters.
In a world that’s often too literal, too divided, or too numb or dumb, parables wrap truth in a story we can chew on, laugh at, and carry with us. They humanise us by showing us ourselves, not as flawless heroes, but as flawed, quirky creatures who still manage to save the day with a jar of marmalade or a well-timed pounce. Without them, we’d lose that spark of wonder and connection that keeps us grounded.
We need these tales. They’re not just fluff; they’re a lifeline to our better selves. Dusty Gulch, with its crazy crappy corniness proves it: a parable doesn’t have to be solemn to be profound. It can be ridiculous and still hit home, keeping us human in the wildest way possible. Even Redhead is starting to get it.
So sit back, enjoy and consider this: laws that stifle freedom of speech may also stifle freedom of imagination... or, in actual fact, make imagination more active. Which is it? Our education system is stifling children's imaginations. Who are we without the wonder of " What if.. "
The human need for these stories doesn’t vanish - it just shifts shape. Restrictions might scare off the timid, but they fire up the bold, making parables a lifeline that either shouts or sneaks through the cracks...... so off we go into an incredible battle... for the very soul of Australia.......
Longreach is a place so remote that even the kangaroos forget where it is half the time. Just outside of town is Dusty Gulch. For years, Dusty Gulch had scraped by with its handful of tin-roofed shacks, a pub called The Thirsty Dingo, and a single petrol pump that hadn’t worked since 1983. Life was quiet - until the rats arrived.
No one knew where they came from. Some reckoned they’d hopped off a Cobb and Co Stage Coach back in 1906... others swore they’d tunneled up from the Earth’s core. Whatever the case, the rats descended on Dusty Gulch like a furry plague. They chewed through fences, raided the pub’s beer stash, and even started nesting in the mayor’s prized Akubra hat and winter thongs. The townsfolk were at their wits’ end... until the purple-haired old ladies stepped in.
These weren’t your average grannies. With hair dyed the color of overripe plums and a twinkle of mischief in their eyes, the Dusty Gulch Marmalade Mob (as they called themselves) hatched a plan. Led by Dotty McGuffin, a spry 82-year-old with a knack for sticky situations, they began churning out marmalade by the bucketload. Their recipe was a secret, but it involved oranges, sugar, and a dash of something they only referred to as “the good stuff.” They sold it online, crowdfunding a fortune under the slogan: “Marmalade for a Rat-ified Future.”
The rats, surprisingly, were thrilled. With Dotty’s blessing (and a few jars of marmalade as a bribe), they formed a council led by a charismatic rodent named Reginald Ratcliffe. Reginald had big dreams: he wanted to build an airline.
Yes, I know you have seen it before... get over it... I have been putting out fires this morning
“No more scurrying through the dirt!” he squeaked at the first Rat Assembly. “We’ll soar the skies with Ratty Airways!” The Marmalade Mob, charmed by the little visionary, donated their profits to the cause. Soon, Dusty Gulch had a tiny runway made from flattened beer cans and a fleet of makeshift orange bi-planes cobbled together from scavenged tin and duct tape. Ratty Airways was born.
For a while, it was a golden age. The rats flew passengers (mostly adventurous backpackers and a few confused emus) between outback towns, while the Marmalade Mob kept the operation afloat with their citrus empire. The townsfolk even grew fond of their furry neighbours, leaving out scraps and cheering as Ratty Airways’ planes buzzed overhead. Friendship blossomed between species...until the betrayal began.
Unbeknownst to Reginald and his loyal crew, a faction of sneaky rats, led by a conniving rodent named Sly Whiskers, had other plans. Sly didn’t care for friendship or marmalade. He wanted power...and cheese, mountains of it.
He whispered dissent among the rats: “Why share with humans? Why grovel for marmalade scraps? We could rule this Aussie Outback!” His gang began sabotaging the planes, gnawing through wires and hiding bolts in their cheek pouches. The kind alliance teetered on the edge of collapse.
But a greater threat loomed, one none of them saw coming. What the townsfolk thought was a rusty old bulldozer parked on the edge of town wasn’t a bulldozer at all. Hidden behind a perception-altering field...a trick of light and malevolent magic...was a hulking, ghastly monster.
It had eyes like burning coals, teeth jagged as rusty sawblades, and a hunger to devour Dusty Gulch whole. The “bulldozer” had been biding its time, letting the rats and humans squabble, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
Enter the General, a grizzled tabby cat from America with a reputation for heroism. The General caught wind of Dusty Gulch’s plight via a frantic email from a backpacker who’d flown Ratty Airways. Too old to travel himself, he yowled into action, rallying his feline network. From the alleys of Sydney to the suburbs of Perth, Australian cats answered the call, joined by a squad of American expat cats living abroad. They booked tickets on Ratty Airways’ last functional plane, bound for Longreach, the nearest hub to Dusty Gulch. The rendezvous was set: 0100 AEST, under the flickering lights of a desert moon.
The Battle of Dusty Gulch
The night was still when Ratty Airways Flight 001 touched down in Longreach, its engines sputtering from Sly’s sabotage. Out leaped the cats....sleek tabbies, scruffy moggies, and one particularly pompous Siamese named Lieutenant Purrkins. ( The General's old wartime friend from his days in Desert Storm ) They piled into a stolen ute and roared toward Dusty Gulch, arriving just as the monster dropped its disguise.
The “bulldozer” reared up, revealing its true form: a towering beast of scales and shadow, roaring with a sound like a thousand dingoes howling at once. The ground shook as it lumbered toward the town, its claws gouging the earth. The rats squealed in panic, the Marmalade Mob clutched their rolling pins, and the townsfolk barricaded themselves in The Thirsty Dingo.
Sly Whiskers, seeing his chance, rallied his traitors to flee...only to realise too late that the monster wouldn’t spare them either.
The cats leapt into action. Lieutenant Purrkins took charge, hissing orders: “Flank left! Pounce right! Aim for the eyes!”
The Australian cats, hardened by years of battling spiders and snakes, darted under the monster’s legs, clawing at its scaly hide. The American cats, bulked up on a diet of Trump Burgers and bravado, launched themselves from rooftops, yowling war cries. Reginald and his loyal rats, inspired by the feline fury, scrambled into their planes. Despite the damage, they took to the skies, dive-bombing the beast with jars of marmalade lobbed from the cockpits. The sticky explosions splattered its face, gumming up its jaws.
Australian Politicians were quick to condemn the claw back ..... from their bunker in Canberra they did not even know that the Marmalade Wars were spreading and that their agendas were toast.
Dotty McGuffin and the Marmalade Mob weren’t about to sit idle. Armed with ladles and a cauldron of boiling marmalade, they formed a defensive line. “Not on my watch, you overgrown gecko!” Dotty bellowed, hurling a scalding glob into the monster’s left eye. It roared in pain, thrashing wildly as the cats swarmed its legs and the rats buzzed its head.
Sly Whiskers tried to slink away, but Reginald spotted him. With a daring midair manoeuvre, he crashed his plane into Sly’s escape burrow, pinning the traitor under a pile of twisted tin. “No cheese for you,” Reginald squeaked, dusting off his paws.
The battle raged for hours, a chaotic blur of fur, scales, and citrus. Finally, with a combined assault..cats clawing its face, rats dropping a final marmalade barrage, and Dotty landing a direct hit with her trusty ladle...the monster staggered. Its perception field flickered out, revealing its weakness: a glowing red gem embedded in its chest.
Lieutenant Purrkins, with a mighty leap Dusty Gulch was saved. The cats, hailed as heroes, lounged in the sun, licking marmalade off their paws. The Marmalade Mob threw a victory party at The Thirsty Dingo, where the rats and humans toasted their unlikely alliance. Sly Whiskers and his cronies were banished to Gitmo to live with their kin and left to sulk with no cheese in sight. Ratty Airways got a rebuild, this time with cat-proof wiring and a new motto: “Soaring Together.”
Back in America, the General purred with pride, reading the headlines on his scratched-up tablet. Dusty Gulch became a legend....a tale of rats, cats, and purple-haired warriors who turned marmalade into a weapon of unity.
And if you visit today, you might just catch a glimpse of a tiny plane buzzing overhead, piloted by a rat with dreams as big as the outback sky. But you know what?
The grizzled General, too old to fight himself, mustered his seasoned wisdom to rally the troops from afar. The purple-haired old ladies of the Marmalade Mob, with their years of grit and guile, turned a kitchen craft into a war effort.
Meanwhile, the younger cats - both the battle-hardened Australian felines and the eager American expats - brought their energy and agility to the fray, leaping into action alongside the rats, who were a mix of youthful dreamers like Reginald and scheming upstarts like Sly. Even the townsfolk, young and old, pitched in when it mattered most.
It’s the old soldiers and old cats guiding the charge, the old ladies fueling the fight with marmalade, and the young ones joining in with fearless gusto that sealed the victory. Together, they proved that experience lays the foundation, but fresh blood (or fur) brings the fire.
Will the regions and the bush save our Nation?
Dusty Gulch didn’t just survive because of claws or sticky bombs, but because every generation...human, rodent, and feline...found a way to stand shoulder-to-shoulder (or paw-to-paw). The old brought wisdom and tenacity; the young brought daring and drive.
When free speech is choked; when the monster’s shadow looms or the censors sharpen their pens; it’s not just fear that rises; it’s defiance, too. That instinctive need to survive doesn’t just mean hiding; it means fighting back, often with whatever’s at hand.
In Dusty Gulch, the rats didn’t just scurry away when the monster reared up... they flew rickety planes and dropped marmalade bombs. The Marmalade Mob didn’t cower; they boiled their defiance into sticky grenades. Even the cats, summoned by the General, pounced not out of duty but because something deep down said, “We’re not going down without a scrap.”
Threat flips a switch: it’s do or die, and bravado becomes the fuel.
If laws restricted their tale, that same instinct might’ve pushed them to get louder - or smarter. Maybe they’d smuggle the story in code, turning Ratty Airways into a whispered myth of resistance. The human (and rat) spirit doesn’t roll over easily; it bristles, it boasts, it finds a way to shout even when gagged. That’s survival, sure, but it’s also bravado - a swagger that says, “You can’t kill what we are.”
Here starteth the lesson.
