by Tony Parsons
‘You mongrels don’t deserve to own dogs. What the hell do you mean by treating a dog like that?’ he asked venomously, provoking the men to try something.
He was aware that some bushmen killed cull dogs by strangling them with wire, and that some even used hanging to get control of ‘hard’ dogs. Such methods horrified him and filled him with contempt.
‘What would you know about dogs, sonny?’ the head drover said sarcastically. ‘You’re still wet behind the ears. I’ve had dogs all my life and I know how to handle the buggers. If a dog won’t do as he’s told, you’ve got to show it who’s boss.’
‘Most of the time it’s morons like you who are at fault. You’re not a dog man’s bootlace. The condition of these animals is a disgrace.’ He could see the gasping dog out of the corner of one eye and thought that there was a chance the kelpie might survive if he could get it to the vet’s in a hurry. He sure as hell wasn’t going to leave it with these creeps, but he did have to be careful how he extricated himself from the situation.
The younger man stepped towards him with a menacing look in his eye and David let him have it with his left-hand whip. The man howled blue murder but was only aggravated even more, so David let him have one on the other ear. They were the softest blows he could deliver, and were designed to intimidate rather than cause real injury.
David’s assailant collapsed on a log, gripping his agonising ears. He was down but not out.
‘Listen to smart arse here telling me how to handle my own dogs. What would you know?’ he continued.
‘More than you ever will,’ said a quiet voice appearing from behind.
David turned and saw Roger Cartwright standing at his side. His sister, Susan, was back next to Anne by the car. But this was a different Roger Cartwright to the boy who had been a couple of years above him at primary school. In those days Roger had been the school wimp. The children had nicknamed him Blub because he broke into tears so easily when picked on for being overweight. The Roger who stood before David now was several inches shorter than him but very powerfully built.
‘David MacLeod is the best handler of dogs this district has ever seen. You wouldn’t be fit to be spoken of in the same breath,’ Roger said. ‘David, you need any help?’
Roger’s powerful figure beside him was immensely reassuring. He turned back to the three men at the plant. ‘That all depends on these apologies for stockmen,’ he said caustically. ‘I’m taking this dog with me. I’m going to report you to the police, the RSPCA and the Pastures Protection Board, so you’d better get some decent tucker into those other dogs. I hope they fine the tripe out of you. If I ever run into you again and find your dogs in the condition they are now, I’ll flog the daylights out of you. If you think I’m talking through my hat, ask this man beside me,’ David said. Then he bent down and picked up the kelpie and carried it across to the utility, where he laid it on a bag in the back. When he turned around, Susan was beside him.
‘You were terrific, David,’ she said and gave him a dazzling smile.
‘I’m sorry, Susan, I haven’t got time to talk now. The vet’s – quick, Mum! Thanks for your support, Roger. I hope I’ll see you later.’
Anne had stood transfixed while all this was going on. If she had not seen it for herself she would never have believed it. It seemed only yesterday that David was just a little boy, but she knew that she could not have stopped him today.
‘David, I can’t believe what you just did,’ she said as she started up the motor.
‘Mongrels, that’s all they are. Fancy treating a kelpie like that. They’re earning their living from animals and they know nothing about them. You see their other dogs? People who use animals ought to be licensed and have their animals subject to inspection.’
He looked through the back window and noted that the dog was still lying as he had placed it but now seemed to be breathing a little easier.
As David and Anne drove away, Roger took out his notebook and wrote down the number of the drover’s truck.
‘What are ya doin’ that for?’ the head drover asked.
‘My father’s on the local PP Board. I’m going to report you for cruelty and neglect of your animals.’
‘Aaah.’ The sound that came out of the drover’s throat was not something that could be interpreted.
‘Clean up your act here,’ Roger continued. ‘Those dogs are a disgrace. They don’t have to be in that condition to work sheep.’ And with that advice, he turned and left.
Roger had a soft spot for David MacLeod. David had been one of the only boys who had never made fun of him at school, and on a couple of occasions he had actually defended him.
When David and Anne arrived at the vet’s, David explained what had happened and stood by while the kelpie was being examined. Eric Chalmers was recognised as a good vet and he had known David since he was a small boy.
‘He looked at last gasp when I cut him down,’ David said.
‘You got him just in time. I think he’ll be okay but his throat has been damaged and he may not bark normally for some time, if ever.’
‘We’ll call in and see you before we go out, Mr Chalmers. If the dog can be taken away, we’ll take him. Don’t let anyone else touch him.’
‘What will you do with him, David?’ Anne asked as they drove up the main street to the clothing store.
‘I think I’ll give him to Kate. She wants a companion dog. Should have had one before now. After what he’s been through, that dog should appreciate a bit of love and attention in a good home. He’ll look a new animal with some decent tucker in him.’
So that was how Lucky came to live at Poitrel. Kate said he had to be named Lucky because he was so damned lucky to be alive. After a few lessons from David, Kate soon had Lucky under control. The dog’s biggest drawback was his bark – or, rather, lack of it. It was more of a high-pitched yip than a bark, but he became a very good guard dog and always warned Kate and Jean when a vehicle turned in at the front gate.
Kate and Jean had settled in very well at Poitrel. They shared the jobs, and after Jean learned to ride, either one or both of them would ride out and inspect the sheep and cows. This took some of the load off David’s shoulders. The long-neglected flower garden became Jean’s responsibility, while Kate concentrated on the vegetables. Kate taught Jean to milk, too. Jean told Anne that living at Poitrel gave her a kind of freedom and happiness she had never previously experienced. She said it was as if she belonged to something worthwhile.
Chapter Fifteen
The day after David had brought Lucky to Poitrel, Andy arrived home from New England. The shearing run had started way out in western Queensland and finished in the cooler northern tableland area. Andy sat and listened in growing admiration as Anne recounted David’s exploits. But Andy’s obvious interest in his son’s achievements did not disguise the fact that he had aged a lot during the past year. His once dark-brown hair was now almost totally grey, and he had lost a lot of weight.
‘Are you all right, love?’ Anne asked.
‘Just a bit tired, old girl,’ he said. ‘It’s been a long year.’
‘You’d better take it easy for a while. We’re managing well.’
‘Maybe I will,’ he said. ‘Maybe I will.’
That admission was in itself a source of concern for Anne because Andy had never taken it easy. But after a couple of days of riding about the properties with David, he seemed a little brighter.
There followed a week of stormy, humid weather and the flies became very troublesome. They began striking the ewe lambs and Andrew suggested to David that the best course of action would be to shear them.
‘No need for you to touch them, Dad. I can whack the wool off them.’ David had become a reasonably proficient shearer over the past few years and could manage eighty to ninety sheep a day quite comfortably. It was still a long way below Andy’s tallies, but David had never been away to the sheds to develop.
‘We’ll do them together, mate,’ An
dy said. ‘I don’t want you busting yourself all the time.’
So the next day the pair of them yarded the ewe lambs and began to shear them while Kate swept the board and picked up the wool.
About halfway through the next run David looked up and saw that his father had not emerged from the catching pen. He carried on with the lamb he had started and then crossed the board for another sheep. What he saw in the pen made his heart stop dead.
His father was down on his back with a strange, twisted look on his face.
‘Kate,’ David called at the top of his voice.
She was in the wool room putting a wool pack in the press.
‘Kate, in here, quick,’ he called again.
‘What is it, David? What’s the matter?’
‘It’s Dad,’ he said, pointing at the catching pen.
Kate ran into the pen and dropped to her knees beside her brother-in-law. ‘Where does it hurt, Andy?’ she asked.
Andy tried to answer her but no words came out of his mouth. One hand crept towards his heart and then flopped back. Kate looked at his face and felt alarm race through her.
‘What is it?’ David asked. Kate saw the worry in his eyes. This was a new experience for him. He had never seen his father stricken with any kind of sickness. Andy had always seemed to be built of iron.
‘I think your dad has had a stroke,’ she said. ‘We need to get him to hospital very quickly. First we’ll have to get him onto a bed of some kind. Is there an old door or something in the shed?’
‘There’s a camp bed in the feed shed,’ he answered quickly.
‘Go and get it, but first run and tell Anne I need her. Don’t tell her why. I don’t want to panic her.’
David charged out of the shed, told his mother that Kate needed to see her, and raced back to the feed shed for the old wire-mesh camp stretcher. By the time he returned to the catching pen – now emptied of lambs – his mother was kneeling with Kate beside his father. He noted the concern on the women’s faces, especially Anne’s, as she held on to Andy’s hand.
David put the camp bed down on the grating floor and, between the three of them, they lifted his father onto it. They carried the makeshift stretcher out through the wool room and down the back steps of the shed before they laid it down. ‘Wait here and I’ll back the ute across,’ Kate said. ‘We’ll put a mattress in the back and, Anne, you’ll have to ride with Andy and keep the sun off his face.’
Anne took David’s hand and pressed it. ‘You stay here, darling. I’ll ring you at two o’clock,’ she said.
David nodded. ‘Is it very bad?’
‘We won’t know until we get Dad to hospital.’
After the women had left, David began to think about the implications of what life would be like if his father had had a stroke. If Andy could not work, he could not go away shearing, and if he could not shear, that would mean a lot less money coming in. That was a real concern.
Before she left, Kate had asked him to ring the hospital and warn them that they were coming.
‘Don’t look so alarmed, David. Andy will be in good hands,’ Kate had said as she left.
But David was alarmed. After he had rung the hospital he tried to carry on shearing, but it didn’t seem to be the same place without his father alongside him. Andy’s presence back on High Peaks had reminded David just how much he had missed him over the past three years. Would things ever be the same again?
David continued shearing until nearly one o’clock, at which time he returned to the house for lunch. He made a meal of cold meat and salad and boiled the jug for tea. Just after two o’clock, exactly as expected, the phone shrilled beside him.
‘Is everything all right?’ he asked straightaway.
‘Not exactly. I’m sorry to say that your father has had a stroke, a severe stroke.’
David’s heart stopped. How could this be? Sickness was something that happened to other people, he thought. He had hardly had a sick day in his life, and neither had his father. He just could not envisage Andy laid low. There was nothing he hated so much as visiting people in hospital, and to know that his father was lying there now was shattering.
David didn’t know how to reply, but finally managed to utter the words, ‘Oh no. Should I ring anyone and let them know?’
‘No, dear. We’ll wait a day or two before we do that. Kate is coming back to get you and bring you to the hospital. She’ll probably stay with you tonight as I won’t be coming home.’
‘Righto, Mum.’
David didn’t like the sound of things at all. His mother wouldn’t call him to the hospital unless his father was real crook. Maybe he was going to die and had asked to see him one last time. What a thing to happen. His father had always seemed indestructible, yet there was no doubt he had looked a lot older and wearier since he’d arrived back this time. Andy had worked like hell to stay the top shearer, but look what it had cost him.
David went across to the dog yards and let Nap off his chain. The shorn lambs went back into their old paddock and the woolly sheep were let out into a small holding paddock. The other dogs had a run before they were fed. It was a bit early to run the calf off the cow so he brought them up to the horse yard and fed them some hay. He could take the calf off when he got back home later. Then he fed the fowls and collected the eggs. There were some broken eggshells in one pen and he reckoned a goanna was on the go again.
Kate arrived back at four o’clock.
‘How is he?’ David asked as soon as she came into the house.
‘He’s not well, I’m afraid, Davie. He could be worse, but he’s bad enough. He’s had a major stroke and his right arm and leg are affected, and his voice is just a croak at this stage.’
‘Why would Dad have had a stroke? He’s not old and he’s as strong as a bull.’
‘Even bulls break down, you know, and they aren’t subject to stress like we humans are. Andy has pushed himself hard all his life,’ Kate explained. ‘He’s also had his fair share of worry. It gets you down in the end. Now, I must tell you, there is a fair chance that your dad will return home a semi-invalid. He could also have another stroke, or a series of strokes, which could finish him. It’s no good me trying to pull the wool over your eyes. You need to know the complete picture.’
‘We’re lucky to have you, Kate,’ he said.
Kate knew David was being sincere. He always was.
‘I consider myself lucky to be here,’ she said, putting an arm around his shoulders.
The drive back into town was probably the most miserable trip David had ever made along the familiar road, and the sight of his father in intensive care did nothing to improve his state of mind; it just depressed him even more. He had never before seen anyone connected to so many tubes. Surely it couldn’t be his father lying there so quietly.
Andy’s eyes were open and they flickered momentarily when David came into the room and stood beside the bed.
‘Hi, Dad,’ he said.
There seemed to be the vestige of a smile on his father’s face but no sound came from his mouth. David did not know what to do next; everyone around him was speaking in whispers. The place seemed unnaturally quiet. He couldn’t just stand and look at his father as his mother was doing. All he could think of was his father on the back of Jess or Gloss or Cecil Miss, or working Ben and King.
Presently Kate took Anne’s place beside the bed and Anne led David outside.
‘I wanted Andy to see you, David,’ she said. ‘I thought it might help to keep him going. There’s nothing more you can do here. Kate will take you back shortly. Jean will look after things at Poitrel. She’s on duty here and Kate has spoken to her about it. I shall probably be staying here for some days, at least until we see what happens. If Dad improves we’ll be able to bring him home. Until then, you and Kate need to look after each other. You will be all right, won’t you?’
‘You know I will, Mum. Don’t worry about me. You stay with Dad and let me know how things are going. I c
an look after things at home. If I had my licence I could come in each day, but that’s not far away now.’
After dinner that night, David and Kate sat together on the wide verandah and looked out across the moonlit countryside. Away in the distance they could hear a fox yapping and the mournful cry of a mopoke.
‘We are going to have to look at where we’re going, Kate,’ David said after a long spell of silence.
Kate looked across at him. It seemed to her that just as he had grown up so rapidly when Andy went away shearing, he had within these last few hours matured just as much again.
‘What do you mean?’ she asked.
‘Now that Dad is sick he won’t be able to shear. He’s going to be right out of the picture, work-wise. I could probably get a bit of local shearing and crutching but I’m not a fast enough shearer for the big runs and, in any case, I can’t leave here for long spells. There’s too much to do. If the wool price was higher, things might be a bit different, but as things are, we are going to be a fair bit down on money.’
‘I’ve been thinking about that, too,’ Kate said. ‘If I put my wages into the kitty and you did a bit of local work, I think we could manage.’
David shook his head. ‘We wouldn’t expect you to do that, Kate. What would you live on?’
‘I don’t need much, not here. I have meat, milk and vegetables, and the station pays the bills.’
‘Well, if we went that way, we would have to increase your share in the company. But let’s wait until Mum comes home and thrash it around then.’
Kate nodded her agreement.
‘I’ll bet things liven up around here when the word gets about that Dad’s sick,’ David said.
And he was right. As soon as the news flashed around the district that Andy MacLeod had had a stroke and was in hospital, the phone started to ring. The wives of near neighbours sent cooked meat, cakes and biscuits. It was a job getting away from the house for the callers, and Kate, who was staying at High Peaks, said that she had a full-time job keeping the kettle boiled.