Chapter 20 MOTH BALLS

Billy woke on daybreak to a full–blown tantrum–chucking storm. It muffled the sounds of the pups chewing on his poncho — they were hungry again. He’d wanted to save some of last night’s jerky but he’d been desperate to get them to sleep. He checked the bottlebrush flowers that he’d collected along with the firewood yesterday and was happy to see hundreds of syrupy droplets now hanging from each flower. It wasn’t much, but at least it would be something.

He rescued his poncho and roused on the pups. The damage wasn’t too bad, just some bite marks around the edges. He put it out of reach and then folded some paperbark into a cup for himself and a bowl for the pups. Filled each from a run of water cascading over the overhang, added a hot stone from the fire and dunked the bottlebrush flowers into the water. The tea it made was sweet, which didn’t impress the pups at all, however they lapped it up anyway and instantly became bright–eyed and playful.

Billy was happy to see them feeling better but he knew the sugar fix wouldn’t last long. He predicted a couple of hungry days ahead of him if he didn’t work something out. He sipped his tea and considered how lucky he was to at least have some water to drink.

He spent a relaxing day while the pups recovered; hoping for a break in the weather that would allow him to go out and forage. By sun–down, he decided to set some traps in the hope of snaring at least something that might wander in for shelter. He didn’t like his chances but he had to try.

He made a torch and wedged it in a crack just below the ceiling in the corner of the back wall, hoping that moths would be attracted to the light and fly into the flames in their excitement. The rising heat would blow them towards the roof, burn off their wings and then roast them as they fell back through the flames.

He wondered why the big Bogong moths were late swarming this summer. Normally he’d be grabbing handfuls from rocky crevices and rolling them in hot ash to cook. All that would be left after the ash had burnt off their wings was a delicious little ball of protein. Moth balls for breakfast — one of his favourites.

Thinking about them was making him hungry so he tried to concentrate on the task at hand. He mounted a large, flat rock beneath the flames to collect the moths, and then imagined getting so many that he could grind them into a paste and bake some biscuits. Mmm, moth biscuits — sooo good. He especially liked them fresh out of the oven.

He was fixating again.

He adjusted the rock, making sure it wasn’t too close to the flames as a python might like to curl up and get warm. He pictured the heat from the fire carrying the scent of the wet pups into all the rocky crevices above the overhang. They would have smelt them already, he was sure of that. He’d seen their skins on the way up the path and some of their scat was in the overhang. One was a worry — its skin was really big, probably visiting often in search of sleeping wallabies. He decided to keep the pups close at night.

He also set his sights on some of the smaller marsupials that might be around, anything from Sugar gliders to possums. He ground up a Gidgee Gidgee seed from his collection and mixed it with the sap of the Bramble wattle tree. It was sweet with a strong odour that would attract prey even through this storm. One lick and they’d be dead. Billy would be too if he ate the dead animal’s stomach.

He smeared the bait onto a piece of wood and buried it within a pile of heavy rocks. Then he watched the pups while they sniffed around and tried to dig their way in. He made some adjustments so they couldn’t get it and sat back to wait.

Billy was restless that night, waking often and counting the pups, cautiously checking for lurking snakes. It wasn’t only pythons that he had to worry about, there’d be plenty of black snakes and brown snakes and a myriad of other highly venomous serpents around to slither in and deliver a fatal bite.

He was bleary eyed the next morning when he was woken by the still unfamiliar feel of snuggling pups.

Three.

Phew.

Nothing in the traps.

Damn.

Storm still raging.

Damn.

Everything felt damp.

He propped himself on an elbow to throw some wood into the ashes and admire the pups. Three little brothers, he considered. He was one of three brothers. He smiled at how strange life was. He’d left his brothers to go walkabout and found three brothers to keep him company. I’m the big brother now, he smiled.

He wondered what to call them — Mallee, Pindaari and Billy seemed silly. He didn’t know many names. Cobar, Burnam and Mandu made him laugh. The pups had a comical way about them. He remembered seeing dingo pups at play that would often end up in a fight. Not these guys. They were just full of fun. Even when they were half asleep and someone’s tail landed on their face, they couldn’t stop themselves from grabbing it with their mouth and holding it, just for a stir.

He remembered Burnam telling him funny stories about three guys they knew at the stockman’s house where he and Cobar used to sleep — Larry, Curly and Moe.

Larry, Curly and Moe, he considered. He liked it. It made him laugh just thinking about it.

He tried to pick out the one that was always more alert than the others — the alarmist, to call him Larry, but they all looked so alike. Another one was always quick to curl up in his lap. He’d call him Curly; if only he could figure out which one he was. They were all snuggled together in a tight ball by his belly.

“Larry, Curly and Moe,” he said aloud. All three heads popped up instantly. One with an intelligent tilt. “Hello, Larry,” he said with a pat.

“Rrruuff,” he returned with sleepy eyes and a big yawn.

Billy sat up and gave one of the other pups a pat. He seemed a little bigger and beefier than his brothers. The other pup crawled into his lap.

“Hello, Curly.”

Curly put his head down and went back to sleep.

“And you must be, Moe,” Billy said with a tickle. Moe was instantly up for a game. He jumped at Billy and nipped at his fingers playfully. Curly was getting trampled and couldn’t sleep so he joined in. Larry barked and grabbed a hold of Moe’s wagging tail.



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