The Tooth by Des Hunt

and Dad had first met. Grams was a well-known country music singer in Hawke’s Bay. Almost every Saturday night she would put on her suede leather dress, her knee-high boots and white cowboy hat, grab her guitar and head off to some country hall or hill-country station. There, she would wow them with some old-time music or songs she had written herself. When he was old enough, Dad went with her. Grams was singing one night in a woolshed not far from Gentle Annie when Dad spotted Mum for the first time. They started going out together and some time later it ended up with me. Then, when I was old enough, I joined Grams on her gigs. That’s how I learned that I could also sing, and for the last few years of her life I would often join her up on the stage.
    That night began with the guitarist singing a few modern songs. It was almost a feature of the barbecues that the songs got older as the night went on.
    After that we had a few rowdy ones like ‘Ten Guitars’ before someone called out my name. Then a bit of a chant went up: ‘Time for Tim. Time for Tim.’
    I didn’t even have to think about which song I would sing—the guitarist was already playing the introduction to ‘Kaimanawa Horses’.
    This is a song that Grams had written and it was easily her most popular composition. It’s a gentle waltz rhythm that suits my voice.
The central North Island is where you’ll find my land,
    With its rivers and high mountain range.
    And on a fine morning the light of the dawning
    Will show many things that seem strange.
    For down on the courses you’ll see groups of horses,
    A-feeding on what they can find.
    Yes, they are the wild ones, the undomiciled ones,
    And they are the last, yes, the last of their kind.
    Next came the chorus, which is the most popular bit, partly because everyone can sing along, but also because the words reflect people’s thinking.
Kaimanawa horses mean so much to me.
    Living their life so unfettered and free.
    As wild as the country where they can still roam.
    Kaimanawa horses are calling me home.
    It’s more than a century since horses first went there,
    Imprinting their hooves in the sand.
    They’re part of our history and add to the mystery
    Of living in this wondrous land.
    But there have been rustlers along with some hustlers
    Who think so much different to us.
    For they think it’s thrilling to go around killing
    That wild and most beautiful, beautiful horse.
    In between the verses I glanced over at Mits. His face was wide with surprise. He knew nothing about my singing talent—it’s just not something I skite about.
So back in the city they formed a committee
Devoted to helping their cause.
    They came here to check them and then to select them,
    So they could create the new laws.
    Thus now they’re protected and often inspected
    To make sure they get the best care.
    Those laws are enduring and always ensuring
    That they will forever, yes, ever be here.
    The singing for the second run through the chorus is always louder than the first, as people start working up for thefinish. I noticed that Mits was attempting to sing along with it. He gave me a smile that showed both amusement and admiration. I smiled back and moved onto the fourth verse.
I’ve travelled widely, my family beside me.
    I’ve been to the east and the west.
    I’ve climbed lofty towers, seen people with powers.
    But here is the place I love best.
    For on a clear morning this land I was born in
Awakens the blood in my veins.
    So I pray that those awesome Kaimanawa horses
Live freely and never, no never get tamed.
    And so to the big finale, where people sing so loudly that my voice always gets drowned. It’s a double run through the chorus with the last line changed slightly and drawn out slowly.
Kaimanawa horses mean so much to me.
    Living their life so unfettered and free.
    As wild as the country where they can still roam, Kaimanawa horses—have—brought—me—back—home.
    The guitarist finished with a strumming of