Chapter 18 HONEY
Lightning crashed violently in the sky above them, frightening Billy and making the pups huddle together.
“Gotta go, fellas,” Billy said urgently.
The alarmist cocked his head and put his paw over Honey.
“Don’t worry, she’s coming. I don’t know how I’m gonna carry you all but.”
He wondered if he could do as kangaroos do and carry the pups in his bag like a pouch. He put his hat and vest on, transferred all his bits and pieces into the many pockets of his shorts and then squeezed the boys into the bag. There was no room for Honey. He didn’t mind, he wanted to carry her anyway. He dunked her one last time, grabbed his spears and then hobbled off with far more babies poking their heads out of his pouch than any self–respecting kangaroo should have to bear.
He headed in the general direction of the peak, creek–hopping for a good hour before coming upon an isolated meadow with good protection from the wind. He really wanted to reach the peak and the possibility of an overhang, or maybe even a cave, but the storm was threatening to burst at any moment. He didn’t want to take the chance of being stuck out in the open without a shelter so he decided to stop and make one.
He lay Honey down and drizzled water into her mouth. Suddenly she coughed and spluttered and woke up. Billy couldn’t believe it. He was ecstatic. He quickly took off his hat and put his bag on the ground beside her so the boys could crawl out and greet her. They were really excited too, licking her face enthusiastically and nudging her into life. She could do little more than look around.
He gave her another drink and this time, she lapped at the drips thirstily, filling him with hope. He dunked her in the creek again, desperate to keep her cool, but then she started shivering. She’d already cooled down and now the cold wind was chilling her. He panicked, thinking he’d done her harm. She’d already been through so much. He wanted to rub her down and dry her off, but with her being so weak, he was worried that it would be too much for her. He huddled the boys around her, unfolded his bag into the poncho and lay it over the top of them to keep them warm.
They settled down immediately.
He took the opportunity to get a fire going and build a shelter. It wasn’t much, just a lean–to really, however it protected them from the wind and would keep them dry from the imminent storm.
Just as he was finishing, he noticed something white out of the corner of his eye. His little mate with the intelligent tilt was watching him again. He’d stuck his head out from under the poncho. He wondered how he was going to tell them apart as they all looked exactly the same — all snow white with a little black nose and a tiny pink tongue. He wondered about their age and tried to compare them to dingo pups. Then he noticed that their skin wasn’t floppy like a puppies. In fact it was stretched tight over their lean pumped up muscles. He could even see a network of straining veins under their skin. Maybe they not puppies? Maybe they just small? A year old, maybe? That’s still young enough to train ‘em to hunt.
They were funny looking dogs — about the size of a Chihuahua with thin bones covered in sprint athlete type muscles, and a menacing Roman–nosed Bull terrier head. Despite looking sickly, they still looked like they were set to explode out of the blocks and tear your toes off at the finish line if you weren’t careful.
As Billy sat under the shelter and poked at the fire with a stick, the alarmist came over and put his head on Billy’s leg. Billy gave him a generous pat — it was nice to have a friend. He broke out the jerky and shared it with his little mate. He didn’t eat much though, closing his eyes and falling asleep instead. Billy thought it was a good idea too so he gathered the pups under the shelter and lay down with them, holding Honey up against his body, trying to get her warm. She was still shivering.
He woke in the early hours of the morning to the mournful howls of the boys.
Honey had died.
He cradled her in his arms as tears welled in his eyes. It surprised him how upset he was becoming. He didn’t fight it. He let it flow like a flood and it felt good. The boys howled along with him, all becoming one in their grief. An ancestral song of mourning emerged from deep within his soul. It was sorrowful and helped him bawl it out. His emotions ebbed and flowed and stalled and rushed and gained a life of their own as a long–standing harrowing energy inside him was finally released. Billy felt none of the pouring rain and penetrating winds. He lay back down, numb, and holding Honey close; mourning the loss of her life and his own life of longing for something he didn’t really understand.
A mum.
He woke on daybreak holding all four pups tight within his arms. The boys had snuggled in, needing to be held too. A powerful gust of waterlogged wind demanded his attention. This was more than his shelter could bear with no end in sight.
Billy dug a deep hole for Honey in the centre of their shelter and placed her lifeless body in the bottom. It upset everyone. He covered her with dirt and carefully protected her grave with river stones. The pups could do little more than watch and whimper, still too weak to do anything else.
Billy inspected the fireplace with deep concern for Honey’s spirit. He needed to send her spirit to her place of birth so she wouldn’t become lost, forever wandering in fear. A smoking ceremony would see her safe, but the fireplace was a pool of water and the rain was torrential. It was hopeless.
“Gotta move,” Billy said as much to himself as to Honey’s brothers.
He tried them with some jerky for breakfast but they weren’t interested. Neither was he.
“Maybe we find a cave, hey?” he tried to be bright about it but it was all too depressing. “Come on,” he said while loading them into his pouch. They didn’t complain — it was a good place for a sick pup to be. His poncho would have been perfect to wear in this weather for himself, but he didn’t begrudge the pups for even a second. His only thought was to keep them warm and dry.
“Look after her, Mum,” he said, stepping into the storm, the pups lost in their own cocoon of sorrow.
The storm was determined to wreak havoc on their day as violent outbursts probed for weakness amongst the withered limbs of the old folk of the forest. Chaos ensued with a, “CRACK” and a, “CRUNCH” as limb after limb was torn from its body, scattering all below in fear of their life. “THUD,” the curtain call of another widow–maker’s bid for glory — to feed her folk on the rotting remnants of another unsuspecting victim, oblivious to the dangers from above on a windy day in the bush.
A day of dodging death in a storm–filled bush left Billy physically and mentally exhausted. He knew the general direction of the peak however visibility was reduced to no more than a hundred metres at best. Finding his way had taken all day. By the time he reached the bottom of the cliff face, he and the pups were in dire need of a decent shelter. He knew there must be one up there somewhere or his mum wouldn’t have guided him here. If only he could find a way up.
Back and forth he walked the base until finally, he stumbled upon what seemed to be an ancient trail. It was hard to see, all overgrown with grass and weeds but he noticed stones piled unnaturally along its sides. He remembered watching Cobar kick stones to the side of the path when he was a toddler. He thought it was a game so as he got faster on his feet he’d race ahead to be the first to kick the stones away. He didn’t realise it until later that it was all a lesson in taking care of the young and old.
On one side of the path lay a craggy old rock wall with homes for all things small, on the other, a shear drop to the forest floor. Every twist, every turn revealing another twist, another turn in a trail trodden by many in a time before time was known. Higher and higher he climbed, every step enlivening his soul to the prospect of what lay ahead. Above the canopy now where spirits rest, a final twist, a final turn, a dry sandy floor.
****************************************************** Don't forget, please "Like" my Facebook page and "Share" these chapters with your friends to help me spread the word. Gary Taaffe (author page) https://www.facebook.com/#!/pages/Gary-Taaffe/212091488802148?fref=ts
All my books are available here:www.BunyaPublishing.com
“Gotta go, fellas,” Billy said urgently.
The alarmist cocked his head and put his paw over Honey.
“Don’t worry, she’s coming. I don’t know how I’m gonna carry you all but.”
He wondered if he could do as kangaroos do and carry the pups in his bag like a pouch. He put his hat and vest on, transferred all his bits and pieces into the many pockets of his shorts and then squeezed the boys into the bag. There was no room for Honey. He didn’t mind, he wanted to carry her anyway. He dunked her one last time, grabbed his spears and then hobbled off with far more babies poking their heads out of his pouch than any self–respecting kangaroo should have to bear.
He headed in the general direction of the peak, creek–hopping for a good hour before coming upon an isolated meadow with good protection from the wind. He really wanted to reach the peak and the possibility of an overhang, or maybe even a cave, but the storm was threatening to burst at any moment. He didn’t want to take the chance of being stuck out in the open without a shelter so he decided to stop and make one.
He lay Honey down and drizzled water into her mouth. Suddenly she coughed and spluttered and woke up. Billy couldn’t believe it. He was ecstatic. He quickly took off his hat and put his bag on the ground beside her so the boys could crawl out and greet her. They were really excited too, licking her face enthusiastically and nudging her into life. She could do little more than look around.
He gave her another drink and this time, she lapped at the drips thirstily, filling him with hope. He dunked her in the creek again, desperate to keep her cool, but then she started shivering. She’d already cooled down and now the cold wind was chilling her. He panicked, thinking he’d done her harm. She’d already been through so much. He wanted to rub her down and dry her off, but with her being so weak, he was worried that it would be too much for her. He huddled the boys around her, unfolded his bag into the poncho and lay it over the top of them to keep them warm.
They settled down immediately.
He took the opportunity to get a fire going and build a shelter. It wasn’t much, just a lean–to really, however it protected them from the wind and would keep them dry from the imminent storm.
Just as he was finishing, he noticed something white out of the corner of his eye. His little mate with the intelligent tilt was watching him again. He’d stuck his head out from under the poncho. He wondered how he was going to tell them apart as they all looked exactly the same — all snow white with a little black nose and a tiny pink tongue. He wondered about their age and tried to compare them to dingo pups. Then he noticed that their skin wasn’t floppy like a puppies. In fact it was stretched tight over their lean pumped up muscles. He could even see a network of straining veins under their skin. Maybe they not puppies? Maybe they just small? A year old, maybe? That’s still young enough to train ‘em to hunt.
They were funny looking dogs — about the size of a Chihuahua with thin bones covered in sprint athlete type muscles, and a menacing Roman–nosed Bull terrier head. Despite looking sickly, they still looked like they were set to explode out of the blocks and tear your toes off at the finish line if you weren’t careful.
As Billy sat under the shelter and poked at the fire with a stick, the alarmist came over and put his head on Billy’s leg. Billy gave him a generous pat — it was nice to have a friend. He broke out the jerky and shared it with his little mate. He didn’t eat much though, closing his eyes and falling asleep instead. Billy thought it was a good idea too so he gathered the pups under the shelter and lay down with them, holding Honey up against his body, trying to get her warm. She was still shivering.
He woke in the early hours of the morning to the mournful howls of the boys.
Honey had died.
He cradled her in his arms as tears welled in his eyes. It surprised him how upset he was becoming. He didn’t fight it. He let it flow like a flood and it felt good. The boys howled along with him, all becoming one in their grief. An ancestral song of mourning emerged from deep within his soul. It was sorrowful and helped him bawl it out. His emotions ebbed and flowed and stalled and rushed and gained a life of their own as a long–standing harrowing energy inside him was finally released. Billy felt none of the pouring rain and penetrating winds. He lay back down, numb, and holding Honey close; mourning the loss of her life and his own life of longing for something he didn’t really understand.
A mum.
He woke on daybreak holding all four pups tight within his arms. The boys had snuggled in, needing to be held too. A powerful gust of waterlogged wind demanded his attention. This was more than his shelter could bear with no end in sight.
Billy dug a deep hole for Honey in the centre of their shelter and placed her lifeless body in the bottom. It upset everyone. He covered her with dirt and carefully protected her grave with river stones. The pups could do little more than watch and whimper, still too weak to do anything else.
Billy inspected the fireplace with deep concern for Honey’s spirit. He needed to send her spirit to her place of birth so she wouldn’t become lost, forever wandering in fear. A smoking ceremony would see her safe, but the fireplace was a pool of water and the rain was torrential. It was hopeless.
“Gotta move,” Billy said as much to himself as to Honey’s brothers.
He tried them with some jerky for breakfast but they weren’t interested. Neither was he.
“Maybe we find a cave, hey?” he tried to be bright about it but it was all too depressing. “Come on,” he said while loading them into his pouch. They didn’t complain — it was a good place for a sick pup to be. His poncho would have been perfect to wear in this weather for himself, but he didn’t begrudge the pups for even a second. His only thought was to keep them warm and dry.
“Look after her, Mum,” he said, stepping into the storm, the pups lost in their own cocoon of sorrow.
The storm was determined to wreak havoc on their day as violent outbursts probed for weakness amongst the withered limbs of the old folk of the forest. Chaos ensued with a, “CRACK” and a, “CRUNCH” as limb after limb was torn from its body, scattering all below in fear of their life. “THUD,” the curtain call of another widow–maker’s bid for glory — to feed her folk on the rotting remnants of another unsuspecting victim, oblivious to the dangers from above on a windy day in the bush.
A day of dodging death in a storm–filled bush left Billy physically and mentally exhausted. He knew the general direction of the peak however visibility was reduced to no more than a hundred metres at best. Finding his way had taken all day. By the time he reached the bottom of the cliff face, he and the pups were in dire need of a decent shelter. He knew there must be one up there somewhere or his mum wouldn’t have guided him here. If only he could find a way up.
Back and forth he walked the base until finally, he stumbled upon what seemed to be an ancient trail. It was hard to see, all overgrown with grass and weeds but he noticed stones piled unnaturally along its sides. He remembered watching Cobar kick stones to the side of the path when he was a toddler. He thought it was a game so as he got faster on his feet he’d race ahead to be the first to kick the stones away. He didn’t realise it until later that it was all a lesson in taking care of the young and old.
On one side of the path lay a craggy old rock wall with homes for all things small, on the other, a shear drop to the forest floor. Every twist, every turn revealing another twist, another turn in a trail trodden by many in a time before time was known. Higher and higher he climbed, every step enlivening his soul to the prospect of what lay ahead. Above the canopy now where spirits rest, a final twist, a final turn, a dry sandy floor.
****************************************************** Don't forget, please "Like" my Facebook page and "Share" these chapters with your friends to help me spread the word. Gary Taaffe (author page) https://www.facebook.com/#!/pages/Gary-Taaffe/212091488802148?fref=ts
All my books are available here:www.BunyaPublishing.com
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