Chapter 17 TRASH AND TREASURE
It was only faint, but he was sure he heard whimpering. Desperate cries coming from deep within the pile of clothes. It terrified him. He tried to pinpoint the exact spot but it was impossible to hear with the crows and the seagulls in a bloodthirsty brawl over the loss of another brother. In desperation, he tore into the pile, hurling handfuls over his shoulder but progress was slow. He stopped to listen again. It sounded so weak. And intermittent, as if the caller had to rest.
A life was slipping away.
Billy panicked and dug with an urgency he’d never felt before. Shorts, shirts, dresses and hats. Bags and bags and bags of clothes ready for distribution. It was endless.
Finally, deep within the pile he hit something hard and hollow. It was a blue drum. A forty–four gallon plastic drum. He cleared the clothes around it and discovered what looked like a way in — a big lid. He pulled at the handle but no matter how hard he tried, it just wouldn’t come off. He didn’t know to unscrew it.
Then he heard another voice. There were two of them inside! And the second one sounded even weaker than the first.
In a panic, he stopped thinking about what he was doing and twisted the lid instead. It worked! It came loose quickly and unexpectedly, popping right off in his hand.
Steaming stale air rushed out.
At the bottom were four white pups.
They were soaking wet with sweat and opening their mouths wide with each intake of cool fresh air. The alarmist, a boy, was in the middle of a whimper and struggling to lift his head and look up. His eyes stared wide with fear when he saw his rescuer, so Billy took off his hat. The pup’s head fell back in relief.
There were another two boys, both trying to look at Billy but their eyes kept rolling into the back of their heads. There was a little girl too, smaller than the others.
She looked dead already.
He carefully reached in and pulled her out.
She hung limp and lifeless in his hand.
He felt for a pulse.
Nothing.
He blew into her mouth.
Nothing.
He listened for a heartbeat.
Still, nothing..
It was hard to hear at the tip so he blocked his other ear and tried again.
A heartbeat! He thought? He wasn’t sure but it was enough to give him hope.
Water.
He scooped up the other pups, juggling them in his arms while scrambling from the pile. He grabbed his shoulder bag and spears, and then ran like a waiter with too many plates for the signs of a creek he’d seen not too far away.
Low–lying scrub scratched at his skin so he shielded the pups and bolted for a line of green trees alive with birds. They scattered noisily as he burst through the bush and stumbled down the creek’s embankment. Clear ankle–deep water trickled around the roots of shady green trees. Billy lowered the pups into the cooling water gently, and felt their relief as he watched them exhale.
Except for the girl — she didn’t react at all.
He lay the boys along the water’s edge with their heads on the bank and got to work on the girl. He really liked her. She had soft features that tore at his heart.
“Come on, Honey.” He didn’t know why he called her Honey. He just liked having something to call her.
He noticed the strongest boy watching him so he reached over and gave him a pat on the head. It was the first time he’d patted a dog. He didn’t even know you could pat a dog. He just did it. And was rewarded with the wag of a tail. It was only the tip, but it was enough to tell him that he was friendly. Not wild and savage like the dogs of the bush — the dingos.
Cobar told him how Aboriginal tribes usually kept dingos for hunting, for warmth in winter and as a backup food source rather than starve to death if the hunting was particularly bad. However the clan never had any need of them as the Wollemi was full of game. It didn’t stop Billy wondering what it would be like to have one though.
He noticed the other boys coming back to life, looking around and getting their bearings. The alarmist gave them a lick, which excited them into licking him back and whimpering together. Billy lay Honey between them all, hoping they’d bring her around. They licked her face and howled in her ear. Still, she didn’t move. He drizzled water into her mouth and did the same for the boys. They lapped at it thirstily but even that tired them out so they lay their heads down to recover.
Billy knew how they were feeling, having suffered severe dehydration and heat stroke himself on one occasion. He was caught out in the open on a long journey between watering holes. He tried every trick he knew to find water but a scorching hot summer had turned every catchment into concrete. He couldn’t even squeeze a drop to drink from animal droppings. By the time he finally did find a trickle of a spring–fed creek, his head was pounding with the worst headache he had ever known. Not to mention how sick in the stomach and lethargic he felt. He crawled into the muddy wallow of a pig and lay there for two whole days. Recovering and hunting at the same time.
A cool gust of wind drew his attention from the plight of the pups to the sky. Dark storm clouds were moving in with flocks of birds flying low and fast in straight lines. He checked the ants. Sure enough, they were already hard at work building tall funnels around their holes to keep the water out. Some were even abandoning their holes altogether and climbing the trees.
“Bad storm coming, boys.” The alarmist looked at him as if he knew exactly what he was talking about. He was recovering well, Billy noticed. His ears stood tall and alert and he tilted his head inquisitively. “You smart little fella aren’t you?” Billy said with a pat. His whole tail wagged this time. “We gotta find shelter.”
Billy walked out of sight of the pups to climb a tree in search of a good spot to set up camp, however as soon as he disappeared from view, the alarmist panicked with urgent calls to come back. Billy did and gave him another pat to calm him down.
“It’s OK, I’m not gonna leave you.”
The pup didn’t seem convinced because he dragged himself over to Honey and howled in her ear again. The other boys did the same, sensing the urgency.
Billy checked her heartbeat again. It was still horribly weak, but it did seem stronger.
All the boys were watching him now when it suddenly hit him why they looked so familiar. Their tiny heads were an exact, yet immeasurably cuter version of the Roman–nosed Bull terrier in the back of the old man’s ute. That mongrel old man must have put them in the barrel to die! Billy couldn’t believe it — how anyone could be so cruel. Especially to such cute little dogs. He wanted to storm around and object to someone. To yell at the old man. To make him pay for such an abuse against nature. He wanted to tell Cobar. His father. All his family! To warn them about the whitefella who had done such a terrible thing.
“Ruff,” the alarmist barked with a concerned tilt of his head.
Billy jumped in surprise. All that really mattered at the moment was getting them better.
******************************************************
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
A life was slipping away.
Billy panicked and dug with an urgency he’d never felt before. Shorts, shirts, dresses and hats. Bags and bags and bags of clothes ready for distribution. It was endless.
Finally, deep within the pile he hit something hard and hollow. It was a blue drum. A forty–four gallon plastic drum. He cleared the clothes around it and discovered what looked like a way in — a big lid. He pulled at the handle but no matter how hard he tried, it just wouldn’t come off. He didn’t know to unscrew it.
Then he heard another voice. There were two of them inside! And the second one sounded even weaker than the first.
In a panic, he stopped thinking about what he was doing and twisted the lid instead. It worked! It came loose quickly and unexpectedly, popping right off in his hand.
Steaming stale air rushed out.
At the bottom were four white pups.
They were soaking wet with sweat and opening their mouths wide with each intake of cool fresh air. The alarmist, a boy, was in the middle of a whimper and struggling to lift his head and look up. His eyes stared wide with fear when he saw his rescuer, so Billy took off his hat. The pup’s head fell back in relief.
There were another two boys, both trying to look at Billy but their eyes kept rolling into the back of their heads. There was a little girl too, smaller than the others.
She looked dead already.
He carefully reached in and pulled her out.
She hung limp and lifeless in his hand.
He felt for a pulse.
Nothing.
He blew into her mouth.
Nothing.
He listened for a heartbeat.
Still, nothing..
It was hard to hear at the tip so he blocked his other ear and tried again.
A heartbeat! He thought? He wasn’t sure but it was enough to give him hope.
Water.
He scooped up the other pups, juggling them in his arms while scrambling from the pile. He grabbed his shoulder bag and spears, and then ran like a waiter with too many plates for the signs of a creek he’d seen not too far away.
Low–lying scrub scratched at his skin so he shielded the pups and bolted for a line of green trees alive with birds. They scattered noisily as he burst through the bush and stumbled down the creek’s embankment. Clear ankle–deep water trickled around the roots of shady green trees. Billy lowered the pups into the cooling water gently, and felt their relief as he watched them exhale.
Except for the girl — she didn’t react at all.
He lay the boys along the water’s edge with their heads on the bank and got to work on the girl. He really liked her. She had soft features that tore at his heart.
“Come on, Honey.” He didn’t know why he called her Honey. He just liked having something to call her.
He noticed the strongest boy watching him so he reached over and gave him a pat on the head. It was the first time he’d patted a dog. He didn’t even know you could pat a dog. He just did it. And was rewarded with the wag of a tail. It was only the tip, but it was enough to tell him that he was friendly. Not wild and savage like the dogs of the bush — the dingos.
Cobar told him how Aboriginal tribes usually kept dingos for hunting, for warmth in winter and as a backup food source rather than starve to death if the hunting was particularly bad. However the clan never had any need of them as the Wollemi was full of game. It didn’t stop Billy wondering what it would be like to have one though.
He noticed the other boys coming back to life, looking around and getting their bearings. The alarmist gave them a lick, which excited them into licking him back and whimpering together. Billy lay Honey between them all, hoping they’d bring her around. They licked her face and howled in her ear. Still, she didn’t move. He drizzled water into her mouth and did the same for the boys. They lapped at it thirstily but even that tired them out so they lay their heads down to recover.
Billy knew how they were feeling, having suffered severe dehydration and heat stroke himself on one occasion. He was caught out in the open on a long journey between watering holes. He tried every trick he knew to find water but a scorching hot summer had turned every catchment into concrete. He couldn’t even squeeze a drop to drink from animal droppings. By the time he finally did find a trickle of a spring–fed creek, his head was pounding with the worst headache he had ever known. Not to mention how sick in the stomach and lethargic he felt. He crawled into the muddy wallow of a pig and lay there for two whole days. Recovering and hunting at the same time.
A cool gust of wind drew his attention from the plight of the pups to the sky. Dark storm clouds were moving in with flocks of birds flying low and fast in straight lines. He checked the ants. Sure enough, they were already hard at work building tall funnels around their holes to keep the water out. Some were even abandoning their holes altogether and climbing the trees.
“Bad storm coming, boys.” The alarmist looked at him as if he knew exactly what he was talking about. He was recovering well, Billy noticed. His ears stood tall and alert and he tilted his head inquisitively. “You smart little fella aren’t you?” Billy said with a pat. His whole tail wagged this time. “We gotta find shelter.”
Billy walked out of sight of the pups to climb a tree in search of a good spot to set up camp, however as soon as he disappeared from view, the alarmist panicked with urgent calls to come back. Billy did and gave him another pat to calm him down.
“It’s OK, I’m not gonna leave you.”
The pup didn’t seem convinced because he dragged himself over to Honey and howled in her ear again. The other boys did the same, sensing the urgency.
Billy checked her heartbeat again. It was still horribly weak, but it did seem stronger.
All the boys were watching him now when it suddenly hit him why they looked so familiar. Their tiny heads were an exact, yet immeasurably cuter version of the Roman–nosed Bull terrier in the back of the old man’s ute. That mongrel old man must have put them in the barrel to die! Billy couldn’t believe it — how anyone could be so cruel. Especially to such cute little dogs. He wanted to storm around and object to someone. To yell at the old man. To make him pay for such an abuse against nature. He wanted to tell Cobar. His father. All his family! To warn them about the whitefella who had done such a terrible thing.
“Ruff,” the alarmist barked with a concerned tilt of his head.
Billy jumped in surprise. All that really mattered at the moment was getting them better.
******************************************************
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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