by Sally Morgan
‘Good boy!’ said Mr Tanner (to Spike, not Dad). ‘How about a bit of sausage?’
Watch, wait, grab—I bet that’s what the pup was thinking.
Yep! Once he had the sausage in his teeth, he flipped backwards down the chimney. What a dog!
I ran inside with Mum.
Spike was already gone. So was the sausage. The feather pillow was pretty much gone, too, and our lounge room was full of soot and feathers.
‘My feather pillow!’ Mum wailed.
There was a wild look in her eyes. She had only one feather pillow.
‘I bet Spike’s run outside and hidden somewhere,’ I said.
But I was having another one of those funny feelings. I was pretty sure Spike had headed straight for my room. But I wasn’t going to tell Mum that.
‘Wait till I get my hands on that pup!’ Mum cried.
Dad, Mum and me dashed outside.
‘He’s out here hiding somewhere!’ I said. I had to keep Mum away from the house till she calmed down.
We searched the whole garden and looked up and down the street. There was no sign of Spike.
‘Looks like we’ve lost him,’ said Dad sadly.
‘You should have brought the little fella straight to me, Jim!’ said Grandpa Ted. ‘There’s no respect for the wildlife any more. He’ll probably starve to death now!’
Then Grandpa Ted got into his ute and took off. The lizard was hungry and needed to be fixed up.
I felt sorry for Dad. He felt bad about Spike.
But Mum didn’t. She crept up behind Dad. ‘Meeowwrrr!’ she screeched.
When my sisters came home, Mum told them the pup had vanished into thin air.
Tia was happy. ‘Now you can get a cat, Mum!’
But Sharni wasn’t happy. It turned out she’d bragged big time to her friends about our wild dingo pup. She’d told them it was going to live with Grandpa and that they were welcome to come and see it. Now Sharni had nothing to show off about.
I pinched the last three cold sausages from the fridge. Then I lay on my bed and waited until it got dark.
All I could hear was breathing. Mine … and Spike’s.
His snout appeared from under my bed.
I dropped a bit of sausage. Spike snapped it up. I broke off another bit. It rolled across the floor. He darted out, gobbled it down, then disappeared again.
I tied a long bit of string to the biggest sausage and dragged it around the room. Spike was fast, but I was faster. Each time he got close, I yanked the sausage away. Sometimes I let him get near enough for a little nip, then I pulled it away again. When I ran out of puff, I told him he was a good dog. He had learned how to chase and nip. A useful skill for a family guard dog. Boomer would’ve been proud of him. I reckoned Spike would impress Mum whether she liked it or not!
I couldn’t have another night of pee, poo and pong, so I opened my window. Then I dangled my last sausage over the edge of the bed. Spike darted out. I grabbed him. He didn’t bite me. Phew— a miracle! His eyes were glued to the sausage.
I climbed out the window. Slowly, I lowered Spike to the ground, all the time keeping the sausage where he could see it. He cocked his leg straight away. When he finished peeing, I gave him a bit of sausage. Then he hunched over and dropped a small pile of turds. Looked like I was just in time!
‘Good fella!’ I said, and gave him more meat.
Gently, I picked him up again. So far, so good. I climbed back into my room and closed the window. I figured that toilet break should do Spike for the night. But I’d have to get up early in case he needed another one. I chucked him the rest of the sausage as a reward. He vanished under the bed with it. I felt really good. He’d let me hold him. Amazing!
But what was I going to do with the pup in the morning?
I woke up super early. Dad did, too. We met in the kitchen. Dad reckoned his hand was throbbing. I told him Spike was under my bed. He cheered up straight away. He even stopped hunting for some painkillers.
‘Right, Charlie,’ Dad said, ‘let’s make the pup a hide-out before the others wake up.’
We went to my room. Pee-free and poo-free—so far.
Spike growled at our feet from under my bed. I figured he would be hungry, so I chucked a bit of bacon into the disinfected laundry basket. Spike dived in after it. I slammed the basket lid shut, and we carted Spike out the back. At least we didn’t leave a nugget trail this time.
Dad undid the padlock on his shed and dragged out Boomer’s old kennel. I fetched Boomer’s puppy collar and a bag of dry dog food.
‘I always knew we’d get another dog!’ Dad bragged. ‘The dog food is a bit dusty, but it will still be good.’
We dragged the kennel behind the shed. Dad’s shed is really big, so there was no way Mum would spot the kennel. I put out a bowl of fresh water and some of the dog food.
While Spike ate the food, I slipped the collar over his head. Dad tied a long length of rope to it. Then he wound the rope around a tree trunk.
‘He’ll be safe enough here till you get home from school,’ Dad said. ‘And don’t worry, your mum will get over what happened yesterday.’
Was he talking about Spike’s poo or Mum’s feather pillow? I figured he meant the pillow. Pillows like that are hard to get in the bush, but poo isn’t.
I’d just finished failing my maths test when the teacher told the class that our morning break would be late.
‘A dingo pup is loose in the school grounds. Its parents may be lurking nearby.’
I looked out the window. A local policeman, Constable Andrews, was chasing a skinny yellow pup across the playground. I put up my hand.
‘Excuse me, Mrs Wilson. That’s my dog, Spike. He must’ve chewed through his rope.’
‘That’s not all he’s chewed through, Charlie. All the biscuits in the staffroom are gone.’
I hoped Spike had eaten the custard creams. They’re the best ones.
‘And he jumped up on the kitchen bench,’ Mrs Wilson said, ‘and knocked the teapot down and urinated on the tea bags!’
Whoaa! No wonder Mrs Wilson was cross. She drinks about a million cups of tea a day.
‘Also, Charlie, my sun hat is missing!’
Mrs Wilson didn’t believe Spike was a kelpie, so I was the only kid allowed outside to catch him. The others had to stay locked in the classroom.
Luckily I had a secret plan. A left-over chop. I’d tucked it into my back pocket before I left for school. Just a funny feeling, you know.
I held the chop up in the air and wiggled it. Spike saw me, stopped attacking the constable’s trousers and raced towards me with his jaws open. At the last second, I twisted away. Then I grabbed Spike around the middle and shoved the meat into his mouth.
I was slurped, but not bitten. We were both winners!
‘Way to go, Charlie!’ Johnno cheered through an open window.
Even the cool kids in my class clapped. I felt like a superhero or something.
‘Your pup, is it, son?’ Constable Andrews asked. ‘I think I’d better have a word with your parents.’
The inside of the police car was a lot cleaner than Dad’s old bomb. On the way home Spike did something really clever. He pressed the electric button that winds down the window and tried to jump out. What an escape artist!
Dad was shocked when the police car pulled up at our house. I reckon he thought someone had dobbed him in for going places he shouldn’t have gone on his goldmining trips.
He didn’t even notice when I jumped out of the car with Spike in my arms.
Dad just started blabbering to Constable Andrews about how prospecting for gold was legal and that it wasn’t fair to outlaw everything. It was a free country, after all.
I hoped Dad hadn’t been using his metal detector near the Finkin Gold Mine. The mining company would be after him if he had!
Constable Andrews said, ‘What about other people’s mining leases?’
He’s from the city, so he gets upset about
things. Sergeant Scott, our other policeman, doesn’t get upset like that. I think Constable Andrews is a bit simple, too. Some city people are. He confuses everyone by talking about animals, when really he’s talking about the law.
So he said, ‘Mr Burr, if it looks like a duck and it quacks like a duck, then it’s a duck!’
Was he talking about Spike being a dingo, or Dad being a possible crook?
I moved closer to Dad. If he was going to have a run-in with the police and end up in the clink, then he’d need me to stand by him.
Spike got the idea that we were on Dad’s side and started growling at Constable Andrews.
‘I think that pup is a dingo!’ said Constable Andrews.
Me and Dad were both surprised when Mum stormed out. She must have been watching from inside the house.
‘You’ve got it all wrong, Constable!’ she said.
Dad’s face lit up. He thought Mum was going to stick up for him.
Boy, was he wrong! She was sticking up for Spike.
‘That pup is not what you think,’ Mum went on. ‘It’s not a dingo. It’s a cross between a yellow-haired terrier and a kelpie.’
I knew there would have to be some reason Mum was sticking up for Spike, but I had no idea what it was.
‘Let’s stick to ducks, Mrs Burr,’ Constable Andrews said. He pointed to Spike. ‘Contain this yellow duck in your yard, or he will be taken into custody.’ Then he looked at Dad. ‘As for the much smaller yellow ducks, which may have strayed onto this property … they will also be removed if anyone lodges a complaint about their mining lease.’
Was he talking about Dad’s collection of gold nuggets or something else?
‘It’s not legal for a big stray duck to waddle around just anywhere, picking things up and putting them in his ducky pockets. Understood, Mr Burr?’
Okay, so he was talking about the gold.
Even Dad got it now. ‘Quack!’ he joked.
Constable Andrews gave Dad a warning about dead ducks, then drove off with his blue light flashing. What a show-off!
Then Mum said, ‘The pup’s on trial. As a possible guard dog. For a few days only, Charlie. Understood?’
Yeah! She was giving Spike a chance!
Mum went back inside.
Dad said, ‘You have a crime to thank for that, son. Granny Mary’s unit was broken into last night.’
‘But that’s just down the road!’
‘I always said they shouldn’t build pensioner units down there. They’re the only buildings in that part of the street, and there’s scrub on both sides. Anyway, the thieves took ten dollars and that little gold-nugget pendant on a chain I gave Granny Mary for her eightieth birthday.’
‘Who did it, Dad?’
‘Don’t know. But tourists are arriving early for the Camel Carnival. Most of them are camped down at the caravan park.’
‘So it could be a tourist?’
‘Maybe.’
I couldn’t wait to tell Johnno.
Guess what? I’m famous! Johnno took a big detour to my place after school so he could tell me the good news.
‘Some kids reckon you’ve got the talent to be a wild-animal trainer,’ he said. ‘Other kids reckon you’re a crook because you went off in the police car. Either way, you could end up on television!’
I wanted to introduce Johnno to Spike, but the pup was snoring his head off in my laundry basket.
‘He’s a guard dog,’ I told Johnno. ‘When he’s older he’ll sleep in a kennel.’
Spike didn’t look very menacing asleep. The whole thing was a bit of a fizzer.
Johnno couldn’t stay. His dad needed a hand with the camels. Uncle Mick and Aunty June were the organisers of the Camel Carnival on Sunday. If tourists were already hitting town, then I guessed the carnival was going to be a success. The Shire had advertised it on their website and even donated prize money.
I asked Johnno if his big brother, Mason, was going to play the didgeridoo, but Johnno said Mason wasn’t good enough yet.
‘Dad says next year we’ll have some singing and dancing,’ Johnno went on. ‘Maybe your grandpa could sing in language. He’s the best one for singing.’
‘And for dancing,’ I said.
‘And maybe those fellas from further out might come in and we could have a proper corroboree.’
Maybe I’d even dance. Grandpa had been teaching me.
‘Listen, Johnno,’ I said. ‘Mum said to tell your dad to watch out for anyone shifty. Poor Granny Mary’s place got done over, and she slept right through it.’
‘True?’ said Johnno. ‘Dad will go mad if anyone tries to steal from him.’ Then he said, ‘Do you reckon you could come to my house after school tomorrow?’
I didn’t want to promise. It was a long walk to Johnno’s house.
‘There’s something I need to talk to you about,’ Johnno said.
That problem of his, I bet. Well, I had a problem, too. Mum’s money.
‘Yeah, all right, Johnno,’ I said.
Maybe my best mate had a spare three dollars.
It took an hour to get to Johnno’s house from school. An hour of heat, dust and flies. Mum had packed me an extra water bottle, but by the time we’d walked along the dry riverbed to the end of the track, the water was finished. And it wasn’t even the hottest time of the year yet. Luckily, we were nearly there.
One hour of walking, and one hour of camels. That was all Johnno could talk about. Mostly he talked about Rosy. Her fur, her eyes, the games she liked to play, her favourite foods. I was ‘camelled-out’ by the time we got there. Not that Johnno noticed.
‘The thing is, Charlie,’ he said, ‘Dad bought Rosy as a racing camel, but she’s just not interested.’
I wasn’t, either, by then. I just wanted him to shut up. I was more worried about Spike. What was he doing? Was he okay? Had Mum changed her mind yet about keeping him as a guard dog? I hated not going home to check on him first.
‘If Rosy doesn’t make money racing,’ Johnno went on, ‘then Dad will sell her. I have to save her. So what’s your advice?’
I was too stuffed to give him advice about anything, so I just shrugged.
The shrug had been working well for me lately, but its magic was wasted on Johnno.
‘Aw, come on, Charlie,’ he said. ‘You must have some ideas. How did you get your mum to change her mind about Spike?’
‘I didn’t. Spike’s on trial as a guard dog because of the break-in. But Mum might still boot him out.’
Johnno moaned. ‘Well, that’s more than I’ve got! And I don’t think there’s any such thing as a guard camel. I don’t know how Dad can even think about selling her. Two-humped camels are nearly extinct. She could be the only one of her kind in Australia.’
Johnno reckons if he can’t save Rosy, he’s going to run away with her. Spike and I can go with him if we want. He reckons he can make a fire from Rosy’s dung, so we can cook our food on it.
I’m being haunted by poo. First Spike, then Rosy. And who’d want to eat a dinner cooked on camel dung?
Rosy was a surprise. She had longer fur than the other camels in the yard, and she did have two humps! Johnno said some camels do, and they are called ‘Bactrians’.
Rosy was dragging a cardboard box through the dirt in the yard with her teeth. When she got sick of that, she kicked a ball around.
We climbed the fence to watch. When Rosy spotted Johnno she lifted her lips. Her big yellow teeth poked out.
Uncle Mick came over from his truck.
‘G’day, Charlie. How’s things?’ he said.
‘Good, Unc!’ I said.
He stood on the bottom railing of the fence and told us not to lean too far over the fence because Rosy was in a stinker of a mood. Right then her eyes bulged and she charged at us. Johnno and I jumped down. But Uncle Mick’s trouser leg got caught on a nail poking out of the fence post. Rosy tried to nip him twice before he freed himself.
‘I reckon Rosy knows Dad wants to
get rid of her,’ muttered Johnno. ‘She’s one smart camel!’
When Uncle Mick limped away, back to his truck, I could see why people were talking about his camel-bitten butt. One fat cheek and one flat cheek. It was weird.
‘Will my dad ever be normal, Charlie?’ Johnno asked.
How would I know?
‘Talk to Mrs Wilson about it,’ I told him. ‘She’s got a computer. She can look up butt cheeks on the internet and find out how long it takes for one to go down.’
Boy, was I surprised when Dad turned up at Johnno’s with Spike! He got out of the car and held Spike up by the scruff of his neck.
‘Remind you of anyone, Charlie?’ Dad said.
Spike’s fur was streaked with red. So were his feet.
‘He got your mother’s hair dye from the side of the bath. Seems the little fella likes to take things that aren’t his. Unluckily, he punctured the packet.’
The dye had worked a lot better on Spike’s yellow fur than on Mum’s black hair.
‘But don’t worry, son,’ Dad said. ‘Your mum’s out shopping with the girls. If Spike isn’t there when she returns, she can’t prove a thing!’
I felt sick. Mum is a lot smarter than Dad thinks.
Then Uncle Mick sang out from his truck. ‘Ay, Jim!’ he yelled.
‘G’day, Mick!’ said Dad.
Uncle Mick put his spanner down, wiped his greasy hands and joined us.
‘Glad you’re here, Jim,’ he said. ‘The engine’s playing up on the truck, I could do with a hand. But first come and meet Bluey, my new bull camel. He’s two metres high and weighs a ton. Got him for a song at an auction. Best buy I ever made!’
Dad gave Spike to me. Spike yawned and fell asleep with his red-streaked head on my shoulder.
‘The pup’s a lot more interesting when he’s awake,’ Johnno said, ‘but he’s still not as good as a camel. And dog poo’s no good for a camp fire.’
‘Crumbs, Johnno,’ I said. ‘If you do go bush with Rosy, why don’t you just take some newspaper for the fire?’
He shook his head. ‘Dung’s more natural.’