Dingo: The Dog Who Conquered a Continent (9 page)

Loa hauled another log onto the stack under his overhang, glad that his knee was nearly better now. The wood should stay dry there. He'd moved the fire under shelter too. The overhang was smoky now, but that was better than letting his precious fire go out, plus the smoke kept away the mosquitoes that swarmed up in great clouds these days.

It rained most days now: not the heavy deluges of the Rain Season proper, but the regular rains of the Thunder time. The way back to the sea was cut off by rising swamp waters. Part of the grasslands had turned to swamp too. The mangrove forest that had saved him from the fire was a swiftly flowing stream. Fish lay wriggling in the tussocks after every new storm brought a quick rise and fall of flood water.

He feasted on fish and crab. The figs were sweet and ripe now too, as well as a black fruit. He'd tried only a taste of them first, then a little more when they didn't make him sick. He still limited himself to a few a day, as a change from the figs.

The dog ate the leftover fish, but there were no fruit bats to give her now. Either they'd finally realised he
was attacking them as they slept and moved their roosting spot, or they always moved camp at this time of year.

He knew the dog hunted lizards and frogs and birds to feed her puppies. There'd been no more monster lizards — though at least that one had given her all the meat she could eat for days. When he'd arrived the next day she'd hauled the carcass away from her crevice. He supposed that was so it didn't attract other meat eaters that might then be tempted by her puppies.

Something moved behind him. A pair of hoppers: the small ones, not the big ones taller than he was. The grass was long now from the rains. He'd noticed that the big hoppers only ate grass while the small ones ate leaves and shrubs too.

His spear was better now he had been able to straighten the new shaft in hot sand, but the hoppers still never came close enough for him to spear them. He'd tried sneaking up, or even standing still, leaves about his waist, his legs together, looking down to hide his eyes, all the hunting tricks to disguise himself as he waited for them to come and graze. But they seemed to be able to scent him long before he was close enough to harm them, even if he covered himself in swamp mud and approached them from downwind.

It's like pig hunting, he thought. Pigs were wily. You needed another hunter or, better still, many men, to drive the pigs towards the spears. Or luck, he acknowledged, grinning at the memory of that last pig hunt.

Would he ever hunt pig again? Ever get home, or even find other people? There was no way to even attempt it now until the next Dry.

What was his clan doing now? Did his mother still hope he'd return after the rains, bringing a bride with him? Or had Leki even forgotten she'd spoken to him in the excitement of marrying Bu? Perhaps she had left with Bu before he'd been missed. His family might think he had been eaten by a shark, or taken by a crocodile. Perhaps they'd searched for him.

He shut his eyes for a moment. He hoped they weren't still searching. But deep down he knew his mother would always scan the horizon for her son's canoe. Every time his father tracked game in the forest he'd look for a print that might be Loa's.

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!

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.

‘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.

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.