But there was no way to tell them he was safe.
He shivered. He needed to do something. He’d collected enough food and wood, which left him with the rest of the day to fill.
At least he had the puppies to watch now. He picked up the second fish he’d caught at dawn and limped down the track then up again to the dog’s crevice. He sat on a rock just below it, out of the mud — he’d noticed that the dog always had to sit higher than him. Her nose appeared as she caught wind of him and the food.
He put the fish down. She crawled out on her belly, grabbed it, then dragged it slightly uphill. The puppies followed.
Their eyes had opened now. They were fat-bellied and fuzzy, with gold fur like her. He had a sudden memory of eating roast puppy last year, but thrust it away.
The puppies tumbled about the dog as she ate. Finally she stopped and let them drink, then gave a short cough. Regurgitated fish, and what might have been bird too, landed on the rock. The puppies began to eat, their tiny tails wagging. The dog watched them. Loa did too. It was fascinating to see the puppies grow. He’d watched animals and birds and fish all his life, but only as food.
At last the puppies finished eating. The dog lay back. She seemed to be sleeping in the sun, but her ears were still pricked.
One of the puppies lifted his tiny nose. He was the smallest one, a boy Loa had named Little. He sat for a second, thinking, then trotted down the path.
Loa froze. Was he coming to him?
He was too small to be a danger, of course — those tiny teeth would be mere thorn pricks. But what if the dog thought he might hurt her puppy?
Little had reached him now. Loa sat perfectly still as the puppy sniffed his hands — the fish smell, he supposed — and then his feet and bottom and then his hands again. The tiny whiskers tickled.
‘Hff,’ Little said. And climbed onto his lap.
Loa glanced at the dog, trying not to move at all. The dog raised her head. She stared at him, then at the puppy on his lap.
Did the puppy think he was a warm rock? Maybe Little liked sitting on the highest point around, just like the dog did?
‘Hff,’ said the puppy again. He wasn’t trying to eat him. It was … almost … as if he was trying to play.
Loa reached out his hand cautiously, still glancing at the dog. But even as he looked she put her head back down on her paws. Had she given him permission to touch her puppy? He stroked one finger down the puppy’s back. He had felt dog fur many times, but until the dog had allowed him to rub her stomach it had only been when the dog was dead. Puppy fur seemed softer. The puppy rolled over, wriggling with delight.
Another puppy approached, a girl this time. He helped her scramble onto his lap.
The dog lay still, listening, watching.
‘Ow!’ Tiny, needle-sharp teeth bit into his finger. ‘No!’ he said, tapping her nose automatically.
The puppy grunted. Loa flashed another look at the dog. But it seemed she was even happy to have him discipline the pups too. Like a human with a baby, he thought. Did dogs teach their puppies not to bite each other, to share food and how to hunt?
He grinned as the puppies tried to grab his fingers again. He was going to find out!
CHAPTER 45
The Dog
She watched her puppies play with Bony Boy. Somehow he wasn’t just Bony Boy now. He was the man-uncle who brought food, helped guard the den, who played with the puppies and nipped them if they bit too hard. The world was almost right again.
She was hungry though. Fish filled her belly, but she wanted meat. She sniffed the air. There was food down there, hopping through the grass. They were fast, those hoppers. She’d tried to catch them before. A pack of dogs takes it in turn to chase their prey, turning around in wide circles till they were tired, then a fresh dog could leap out and grab one for the pack to eat. One dog alone couldn’t hunt like that.
But she wasn’t alone any more.
She got to her feet, stretched, checked her puppies were safe with Bony Boy, then padded down the path.
CHAPTER 46
Loa
‘No,’ said Loa firmly, as the puppy tried to tear the fish from his fingers. He held the flesh up in the air as the puppy leaped up, trying to grab it.
Little Boy’s puppy teeth were sharp. If the pup got into the habit of grabbing food from him now, he might keep doing it when he was fully grown and dangerous.
The puppy leaped again.
‘Down!’ said Loa.
He grinned at himself. Last year he’d have laughed if anyone had told him watching rubbish dogs could be fascinating.
The puppy sat on his furry bottom, his head on one side. Suddenly he rolled over. He looked up at him, so small and fluffy and silly Loa couldn’t help but scratch his tummy, then give him a bit of his fish.
The puppy sat up and gulped it down, then looked at him consideringly. He rolled over again, looking hopeful.
‘You think you’ll get more fish if you roll over for me, do you?’ said Loa.
‘Grrff,’ said the puppy.
‘Well, you’re right.’ He let the puppy lick the last of the fish from his fingers, as the one he’d named Little Girl padded up. She sat and looked at him, then rolled over too.
Loa laughed. These pups were clever! ‘No more fish. All gone, see?’ Loa held up his empty hands. Little Girl sat up again and whined.
He grinned again. ‘All right, here you are.’
He tugged a piece of smoked fish from his belt. He kept a small store now, in case a storm stopped him hunting. The puppy tugged at it eagerly. Loa pulled off another piece when Little Boy rolled over again too.
The other three puppies tugged at the skeleton of the fish a little way away. Those three never approached him, though they didn’t seem scared of him.
He looked at Little Boy and Little Girl, still chewing at the leathery smoked fish. They were so small, so … silly. That was it. They made you feel good just watching them wriggle and pounce as he dangled his fingers near them …
Suddenly a bird gave an alarm call down below. Loa looked up, searching the clearing. The hoppers were moving, three or four of them bounding towards his camp through the long grass.
Crocodile? He hadn’t seen any packs here yet, but crocs could travel far and fast at this time of year. Another monster lizard? He grabbed his spear, tumbling the puppies from his lap. They scampered up to their crevice. The other three had already vanished, as though they too sensed danger below.
The hoppers still bounded straight towards him, as though instinctively seeking the rocks and crevices higher up. But what were they so scared of?
Then he saw the dog. She must have crept through the grass on her tummy. Now she sped through the tussocks behind the fleeing hoppers.
She would never grab one before it escaped up here among the rocks. But the hoppers were so scared of the dog they hadn’t noticed him — or his spear.
He readied himself as the first hopper bounded uphill.
His spear caught it in the belly. The hopper swivelled and fell in front of him, kicking with its long hind legs. The others bounded past him, terrified, while he quickly wrung the neck of the one at his feet. Its eyes glazed in death.
He kneeled and felt it. Thick, soft fur — he’d skin it and use it to keep off the rain and keep in the warmth — and good meat on those big legs. Even the tail looked fat.
The dog’s wet nose nudged him.
‘You want some of my hopper, girl?’
The dog glanced at him then back at the dead hopper.
And he understood what had just happened. The shock was so great he sat back, till the dog began to pull at the carcass.
‘Not yet,’ he said. He dug out his spear, then cut into the hopper and began to skin it, carefully tugging the hide from the meat. The dog patiently waited for her share of their hunt.
Our hunt, he thought. The dog had planned this. She had driven the hoppers to him, as he waited among the rocks above the grasslands.
Would she ever do it again?
He looked at her, panting in the sunlight. She almost seemed to be grinning.
He grinned too. Yes, he thought. We’ll hunt that way again.
A man and dog were far more powerful than man or dog alone.
CHAPTER 47
The Dog
The Rain Season
It rained, and then it rained again.
The world’s scents changed. She lay on the highest rock to smell them, to learn what was out there: what food, what danger.
The land below their hill was sea and swamp now. The big hoppers had migrated to drier ground. Bony Boy could wade thigh-deep through the water, but the dog couldn’t swim and hunt at the same time. The only food she could catch now lived on the rocky hills too: the small hoppers and lizards and birds she could creep up on.
Bony Boy still brought them fish every day, and sometimes a turtle too. He sat with them also, playing with the puppies, but not when it rained.
It rained so much now. Suddenly the air would thicken and the water washed down the ridges and across the rocks. Then, as suddenly as it had started, the rain would stop — until it rained again.
Bony Boy had brought them one of the huge, fat swamp snakes this morning with enough meat for the whole pack. There was no need to hunt today.
She was bored. The puppies were bored too. As soon as the rain stopped they waddled out onto the rock, wrestling each other and sniffing in corners. She followed them, glad of the sunlight on her fur. The biggest of the puppies began to drag the snake skeleton out of the crevice, though he was too small to drag it far. One of the others waddled up and —
A shadow hovered above them. She had no time to growl, no time to leap.
Two massive bird legs lunged down. Talons snatched the biggest puppy. A few drops of blood splattered on the rock.
Then both bird and puppy were gone.
She grabbed a puppy by the scruff of its neck and hauled it into the crevice. The others followed, stumbling over each other in their eagerness to get into shelter. She left them huddled at the back of the crevice, then crept outside on her stomach, gazing up at the sky.
There was no sign of the bird.
The bird knew where they were now. Maybe it usually lived on the small hoppers. Now it could take all her puppies, picking them off one by one. She might be able to protect one or two, if they stayed close to her. But she couldn’t protect them all.
She crawled back into the crevice. She grasped the smallest puppy by the scruff of its neck and dragged it out of the crevice, hoping the others had been frightened enough that they would stay hidden in their den and not try to follow her.
The rain fell again in fat drops. She ignored it as she trotted down the path.
CHAPTER 48
Loa
It was a day to make you glad you had a deep overhang, a sloping floor to drain away any water that blew in, a fire and a roughly tanned hopper skin.
Mosquitoes hummed in a dark cloud above the swamp. Loa slapped more mud on his neck and legs to keep them off, then threw another branch on the fire. He watched it steam and began to shred more of the inner bark, tearing then twisting it into a growing length of string, then holding it over the flame to singe it just enough to be waterproof.
Some of the string would replace the fraying cord at his waist; he’d make a net from the rest. A fish net, a bird net, a bat net … a net would have been useful when he and the dog had fought the monster lizard too.
He blinked as the dog appeared at the entrance of the overhang, her fur drenched, a wet puppy dangling from her mouth. It was the one he’d named Little Boy. She dropped the squirming puppy next to him, then turned around and vanished back into the rain.
What was she doing? Little Boy cowered, wet and trembling, on the muddy floor. Loa picked him up and put the puppy on his lap, tickling his tummy and scratching his ears till he stopped shivering, then offered him some of his cooked snake. The puppy’s tiny teeth tore off a bit, just as the dog appeared again.
Another puppy!
Loa lifted the latest drenched puppy onto his lap too. He was glad the snake was a big one …
It was only when the dog had brought the fourth puppy then settled herself between the fire and the ledge that he realised.
Four puppies. Not five. What had happened to the fifth?
This land had so many dangers for tiny puppies. She had brought them here for safety.
Little Girl wriggled off his lap. She padded over to the turtle shell where he kept fresh water. She lapped, then began to gnaw the edge of the shell.
Suddenly Loa felt like crying. It was like when his grandfather had given him his precious obsidian knife or when the younger boys of the clan had looked to him for guidance and help — the feeling of being connected and recognised.
The dog was saying, ‘I trust you with my puppies.’
He looked over at her, her fur steaming in the fire’s warmth. ‘I’ll look after you,’ he said. ‘I’ll look after you all.’
CHAPTER 49
The Dog
The scents this season were strong and rich, filled with life as well as the smells of water, mud and rotting wood.
It was time to teach the puppies about the world around them.
At first they tumbled after her as she climbed about the rocks and ledges between rainstorms, always in daylight, when Bony Boy was near.
As the season progressed and the rain eased to short showers each afternoon she took them out into the newly firm grasslands, green and rich from flood mud, the grasses long enough to hide them from birds of prey.
Several times she saw the grass shiver nearby as a croc moved stealthily towards them. Each time she ran. The puppies ran too.
The pups knew the scent of crocodile now; they knew the tracks it left in the mud, the swish it left with its tail.
She had them watch as she waited by the edge of the swamp, motionless, on her tummy, head down, till flocks of birds landed and began to feed, poking their beaks into the mud. In one sudden leap she grabbed one.
The smallest puppy learned fastest, but soon they could all manage it, even if they weren’t successful every time.
They hunted frogs together, jumping frog-like themselves across the mud, crunching the frogs, bones and all. Fat mice scurried through the grass now too. The dogs crunched them in two gulps.
She showed the puppies how to mark their territory, squatting and letting out a few drops here, and then more there, so that any dog who passed would know who owned this land. She showed them how to sit on the highest rock and smell the world: scents of big hoppers returning to the grasslands; the small ones on the hills; and the scent of Bony Boy and his fire.
She taught them how to smell where Bony Boy had been and how to track the small hoppers too. They learned how to drive them towards Bony Boy and his spear and net, because that was the way to get most meat for dogs and human too.
Once she had hunted only before dawn and at dusk. But Bony Boy liked to hunt in early and late daylight. Somehow she had become a dog of the daylight too, waiting for him to feed her and the puppies with hunks of hopper or pulling out the innards in a big steaming heap for them to nose through.
The two smallest puppies were even more daylight dogs than she was. Bony Boy was their family: they slept curled up with him and played with him during the day, tugging on sticks he held or leaping up for bits of meat or bones. They were almost full-grown now, but they still clambered onto his lap, till he laughed and complained about their weight and the smell of wet fur. He stroked their heads or scratched their backs or rubbed off leeches in a way that meant the bites didn’t itch.
The bigger two slept further and further from the fire now they were large enough not to need Bony Boy’s protection. Sometimes they slunk off by themselves, coming back with feathers around their mouths, sleeping when she and Little Boy and Little Girl followed Bony Boy down the track to hunt.
She watched and understood.
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p; Then one dawn she took them through the mangroves. They hunted frogs, snapping and jumping, more for fun than hunger. She sniffed the air. There was a danger scent. Where was it? She lifted her nose again.
Suddenly the bigger two pups broke away. They padded through the mud and shadows to where the water still ran in a shallow river at the edge of the swamp. She watched as they paddled into the river then began to swim away from them. She knew at once what they were doing. They were finding their own territory across the river.
The ripples changed upstream. A log became a crocodile. It had been a croc all the time they’d been here. It must have swum close last night while they slept.
‘Yip!’ she yelped, desperately hoping they would hear and understand. She ran to the edge of the river and yelped again, trying to make the croc head for her instead.
It didn’t. The croc knew her pups were easier meat. She watched it, a silent shape sliding through the water. Could she swim to it to distract it? She leaped into the water — then stopped.
The young dogs were on the other side now. They didn’t wait to shake themselves dry. They had seen the croc too, or felt its movement in the water. She yipped another warning. They ran, swift and steady through the mangroves, till they were two shadows lost among the others.
She waded back to dry land. She could smell their scent getting fainter and fainter, as they ran beyond their mother’s territory to find their own. She could smell their paw prints as she padded back through the mangroves, the other two young dogs at her side. They headed up the track to Bony Boy. He was the centre of her pack now. Her home.
That night she left the two young dogs curled up with Bony Boy. She climbed to the highest hill, as the moon cast its shadows on the world. She lifted up her head and sang.
It was a song of love, of loss, of understanding. It said, ‘I am here; and you are there.’
At last she stopped, and listened. For the first time in this new land she heard the howl back.
Dingo: The Dog Who Conquered a Continent Page 8