Beach Buddies

by Rebecca Johnson

  Contents

  CHAPTER 1 Vets never stop being vets

  CHAPTER 2 Vets need to be kind to all animals

  CHAPTER 3 Vets can’t be afraid of the dark

  CHAPTER 4 Vets need to teach others

  CHAPTER 5 Sometimes vets need to be a bit sneaky!

  CHAPTER 6 Vets are always learning

  CHAPTER 7 Vets need to know how to follow a trail

  CHAPTER 8 Vets have to be good in an emergency!

  CHAPTER 9 Sometimes vets need to think fast

  For my Neil,

  for always being there.

  XX R

  ‘Come on, Juliet, or we’ll be setting up the tent in the dark!’

  I can hear that Dad’s starting to lose his cool.

  ‘Coming,’ I call as I try to stuff a couple more things into my vet kit that used to be Dad’s fishing box. I manage to snap one clip closed but the other just won’t budge.

  I stagger out the front door with my load, and the look of horror on Dad’s face says it all. The car is packed to the roof in the back and there’s not much room left.

  ‘No way! You are not bringing all that with you,’ says Dad, shaking his head.

  My best friend Chelsea is on her way over from her house next door. She’s coming camping with us and we’re so excited. She’s got a neat little backpack that takes up about a quarter of the space mine does, but most of my gear is vet equipment. You never know what emergencies might come up on a trip, so I have to be prepared for anything.

  ‘Don’t worry, Dad,’ I say soothingly. ‘It can all go under our feet. I like having my feet up in the car.’

  ‘And where’s the dog going to sit?’

  ‘On my lap, of course!’

  ‘Juliet, it’s a four-hour trip. The dog is not going to just lie on your lap happily the whole time.’

  ‘He can sit on mine, too,’ Chelsea pipes up helpfully.

  ‘And mine,’ says Max, trying to open a lollipop and hold three dinosaurs at once.

  ‘Fine, suit yourselves. But I don’t want to hear any whingeing.’

  ‘Who’s whingeing?’ says Mum as she pulls the front door closed.

  ‘No one, yet . . .’ grumbles Dad.

  We haven’t even made it out of our street before poor Curly breaks wind. It must be the excitement of coming on holidays with us. I look over at Chelsea and I can see her eyes starting to water as she desperately tries to breathe through her shirt.

  Max howls with laughter. I’ll never really understand the way boys think.

  We start playing I-spy and the alphabet game, but we’re sick of that after twenty minutes.

  ‘Did you bring your grooming kit, Chelsea?’

  ‘Of course,’ says Chelsea, patting the bag at her feet. ‘Although I’m not sure there will be many animals to groom at the beach.’

  ‘I guess you can always practise on Curly.’

  Max has fallen asleep sucking a lollipop. His mouth is hanging open and the lollipop is in danger of falling out, so I place one of his dinosaurs under his chin to prop it shut. Curly is panting in my face and wagging his tail in Chelsea’s, so it’s getting pretty squashy. Every now and then Dad looks into the back at us and we try our best to look like we are having a very comfortable time. I can see he’s just waiting for us to whinge, but it’s not going to happen.

  ‘Did you bring your vet kit, Mum?’ I say.

  ‘No, honey, I didn’t. I’m on holidays and there will be vet surgeries nearby if an animal’s in trouble.’

  I look at Chelsea and we both shake our heads and I roll my eyes. Mum should know better. A vet never knows when an emergency is going to happen.

  Curly eventually lies down and goes to sleep and I’m able to reach my Vet Diary from my bag. Chelsea and I start to make a list of the animals we might see on a beach camping holiday.

  When we finally drive into the campground it’s well after lunch. It’s taken us longer because Max threw up (Mum thinks he overdid it on the lollies) and Dad kept stopping to let Curly out to see if he needed to go to the toilet after a few too many really bad smells.

  I can see Chelsea is nearly weeping tears of joy when Mum says we’re here.

  ‘Don’t go wandering off too far, or near the water,’ says Mum. ‘We’ll need you to help us carry all the stuff into the tent once we get it set up.’

  The best thing is Curly gets to sleep in the tent with us. Our tent is really big and has two separate rooms. Chelsea, Max, Curly and I have one room, and Mum and Dad are in the other.

  We race off to explore. The camping ground is amazing. We’ve only just arrived and I could already fill a whole page with the animals we’ve seen. I can’t wait to explore the rock pools and beach this afternoon. Vets need to know about all kinds of animals because vets are vets, even when they are on holidays.

  We set our beds up in the tent. Chelsea’s going to sleep on the air bed in the middle between Max and me. She spends ages making her bed really neat and even has a little cushion and some soft toys. Max hasn’t got his sleeping bag out yet, but he has arranged his dinosaurs all around the edges of the tent.

  ‘They’re going to get in the way, Max,’ I say, swiping a few aside.

  ‘Hey!’ whines Max. ‘Don’t hit them!’ He crawls straight over Chelsea’s neat bed to pick them up.

  ‘Why did you have to bring so many dinosaurs anyway?’ I grumble.

  I make room for my vet kit, my emergency rescue pack (this has some extra things for special situations that I wouldn’t normally carry in my vet kit, like Grandad’s old binoculars), and my pet carrier, which I also brought in case of an emergency.

  When we’re all set up and Chelsea has re-made her bed, it’s time to go to the beach. We take off, running down the track and leaping over the dunes onto the soft, white sand below.

  It’s late afternoon and there’s hardly anyone on the beach, but I can see a couple of fishermen standing out in the surf. Curly is going crazy running up and down the beach, grabbing sticks and bringing them back. Dad throws them way down the beach and Curly charges off after them. Mum and Dad start walking and we follow along behind, but we keep stopping to look at all the interesting stuff that’s washed up.

  ‘Hey, check this out,’ yells Max. He’s found a large piece of coral that is bleached white from the sun.

  We’re almost in line with the fishermen now and I can see that they have a bucket sitting up higher on the sand. Chelsea and I have a look to see if there’s anything in it. There are some long red worms. They must be going to use them for bait.

  ‘I think they are beachworms, Chelsea. I read about them once. The fishermen drag a rotten fish over the sand to catch them. The worms pop up and they grab them for bait.’

  I feel a bit sorry for the worms as they slide around in the bottom of the bucket.

  Chelsea looks sad and turns away from them.

  ‘Oh no,’ she says. ‘Look at this!’

  A small tidal creek is flowing back into the ocean and some little fish are trapped. They are flipping about in what is quickly becoming less and less water.

  ‘We’ve got to save them!’ I gasp, looking around for something to put them in. There are far too many to carry in our hands and we would drop them on the sand.

  I see the fishermen’s bucket and wonder if they would mind us using it. It’s an emergency, after all!

  I run down to the water’s edge and try to call out to them. The wind throws the noise of the waves and my calls back into my face and the fishermen don’t turn around.

  Chelsea looks really worried when I run back up to her. I can see she’s getting upset.

  ‘Juliet, I think they’ll die if we don’t get them to the water very soon.’

  ‘We�
�ll have to take the bucket and get some water,’ I say, grabbing it and racing down to the surf. Mum and Dad and Max are way up the beach now, and we don’t have time to get them.

  We get to the water’s edge, and I gently tip the bucket to the side to let some more water in. The bucket is now a quarter full and already the worms look a lot happier.

  ‘Just a bit more,’ I say, tilting the bucket forward just as a huge wave hits. The bucket is bowled over with us and I look up just in time to see the worms happily heading off in every direction.

  ‘Whoops!’ We look out at the fishermen who still have their backs to us.

  ‘Perhaps if we put the bucket back when we’re finished they won’t even notice?’ giggles Chelsea, and we grab it and race up the beach.

  We quickly scoop each and every little fish into the bucket of water. They dart around looking for a way to escape.

  ‘It’s okay,’ I say soothingly. ‘We’re going to save you.’

  We lug the bucket to the sea then slowly tip it. The tiny fish leap into the ocean.

  ‘There,’ says Chelsea. ‘Already it was worth coming camping.’

  We put the bucket back where it was and charge up the beach to tell Mum. We leave out the bit about the worms.

  Curly runs up and tries to pass Dad his most recent treasure – a dead mullet.

  ‘Oh that is gross!’ laughs Max.

  The fish has been dead for a while and is stiff from the sun, but Curly is overjoyed by his find. He keeps pushing it into Dad’s leg to get him to throw it.

  ‘Yuck, no, Curly!’ Dad yells as the dog chases him around on the sand. Dad grabs the fish by the tail and hurls it into the ocean. Curly starts to whine and looks out to sea, but his treasure is lost in the waves. Curly looks very sad.

  Dad is now rubbing his hands in the sand, trying to get the smell off his fingers. He keeps sniffing them and pulling faces that make Max laugh even more.

  We turn around and head back for camp. I can’t wait to light the fire and start toasting our marshmallows. Up ahead we can see the fishermen coming out of the surf and heading towards their bucket.

  Chelsea and I look at each other.

  ‘Wow! Look at this shell, Mum!’ I say.

  ‘And this one, Mr Fletcher,’ says Chelsea.

  We keep Mum and Dad occupied for a while and glance up at the men. One is peering into the bucket and the other is scratching his head and looking around on the sand. After a while they pick up the bucket and head off.

  ‘We can look for more shells tomorrow,’ says Mum. ‘It’s time to go up for a shower now.’

  Chelsea and I race ahead.

  On the way, Chelsea and I hear something that sounds really big in the long grass beside the path.

  ‘What’s that?’ said Chelsea, grabbing my arm.

  I try to sound very scientific and brave, but the noise does sound like something big.

  ‘It’s probably just a feral cat or something. I’ve got a page about them in my Vet Diary,’ I say, and we both sprint for the safety of the camping ground.

  ‘Honey, what happened to those leftover sausages that were beside the barbecue?’ Dad looks at Curly suspiciously. Curly wags his tail. Dad shakes his head.

  ‘That’s odd,’ says Mum. ‘Curly has been sitting here with me the whole time. You’d think we would have seen him. Perhaps it was a kookaburra?’

  We all look up into the trees as the sun begins to set. Dad is not convinced.

  ‘Can we light the fire now?’ I ask.

  ‘Toasted marshmallows are the yummiest things I’ve ever eaten,’ says Max, licking sticky goo off his fingers as we all sit around the fire a little while later. The warmth on our faces and the way the flames flick up into the air makes me feel all cosy and happy.

  ‘That might do you for tonight, Max,’ says Mum, as he reaches for another marshmallow, ‘or you might be sick again.’

  We go and clean our teeth then crawl into our sleeping bags. I’m exhausted and fall straight to sleep, but not for long.

  As soon as Mum and Dad lie down, Curly starts to bark. He isn’t used to the sounds of the bush. Dad snaps at him to be quiet, but he doesn’t stop.

  Dad unzips our side of the tent and comes in. ‘Oww!’ he yelps, as he steps on one of Max’s dinosaurs.

  ‘I told him not to put them there,’ I say, ‘but he never listens.’ I shine the torch on Max. He’s asleep with a dinosaur sitting on his chest.

  We finally get Curly to settle down, and I drift back into a deep sleep.

  ‘Juliet, wake up!’ Chelsea has the torch shining in my face and she’s shaking my shoulder. ‘Wake up. I can hear something and so can Curly.’

  I rub my eyes and try to focus.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I can hear something outside the tent. There’s something moving around out there.’

  I look over at Curly. His ears are pricked up and he’s growling in a low, deep rumble. I pat him and try to calm him down so he doesn’t start barking again.

  The reflection of the torch on the sides of the tent makes Chelsea’s eyes look huge and very worried.

  ‘It’s fine, Chelsea. I’ll go and have a look.’

  ‘No!’ she yelps, grabbing my arm. ‘I’ve been thinking about this. We heard something big in the grass today, now some meat has gone missing so . . . there is something big out there that eats meat! Juliet . . . it might eat you!’

  Chelsea’s lip starts to quiver and she looks a bit teary. I consider waking my mum, but vets have to be brave sometimes, so I decide to unzip the tent just a tiny bit to see if I can see anything.

  Curly, as usual, is very enthusiastic. He tries to shove his nose through the small space and starts sniffing like mad. It takes all my strength to pull his head back out of the hole. ‘Can you hold onto him, Chelsea? The last thing we need is him waking Dad up.’

  I lie down on my stomach and peer out through the gap. I can’t see anything at first, but then a movement catches my eye. There is something out there!

  ‘Can you see it?’ Chelsea’s croaky whisper makes me jump. Curly licks my ear. I hold up my hand in a stop sign and take another minute to look. I grab the torch and shine it in the direction of the movement, and then I see it!

  I turn to Chelsea and put my finger to my lips, then I slowly unzip the tent and start to crawl out quietly. Curly squeezes out beside me. Chelsea is still holding onto his collar. Dogs are not very patient at times. I must write that in my Vet Diary later.

  We finally all manage to squeeze out of the tent and I shine the torch up into the tree beside our camp site. There, huddled on a branch and peering down at us, is a ring-tailed possum with a gorgeous joey next to her. The three of us sit quietly and watch them watching us. Curly’s used to possums, because we raised some babies in our home after a big bushfire.

  I sweep the beam of light around the other branches, looking to see what other nocturnal animals are around.

  ‘Look at that!’ Chelsea points to a branch up higher. There is a large owl sitting on it and staring down at us.

  ‘That’s a barn owl!’ I say.

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘I can tell from its heart-shaped face and the creamy underparts, and those black spots on its wings. They’re common all over Australia and eat small rats and mice. That’s why they like campgrounds. People leave food around, so rats and mice come.’

  ‘You really are nearly a vet, aren’t you?’ sighs Chelsea. ‘But can we go back to bed now . . . before the rats and mice turn up?’

  We’re all a bit tired the next morning. There were so many different sounds outside our tent last night that poor Curly just couldn’t relax and spent most of the night barking to protect us. Dad says Curly’s the one that’s going to need protection if he barks like that again.

  But nothing can spoil our mood as we head to the beach for a swim after breakfast, then on to explore the rock pools. They are crystal clear and filled with life. Each one is like a little garden underwater. W
e see starfish, crabs and colourful little fish darting from one rock to another. If you sit really still without your shadow over a rock pool, after a while, all the creatures come out from their hiding spots. Chelsea and I sit for ages near one with Mum and she helps us add more creatures to our list.

  ‘Yuuuuuccccck! What is that?’ Max and Dad have headed closer to the sea on their rock pool exploration. ‘It looks like a giant underwater sausage!’ says Max.

  Mum, Chelsea and I hurry over to them to see what it is.

  Mum laughs when she sees what all the fuss is about. ‘It’s a sea cucumber, Max. Look, you can pick them up.’ She reaches in and carefully lifts the soft, brown, cucumber-like creature from the water. Curly sniffs at it curiously. As he does, it squirts long strands of white, sticky glue from one end. We all scream and jump back. Curly barks at it.

  ‘In some countries they eat these as a special treat,’ says Dad, and Mum nods in agreement.

  I glance over at Chelsea who looks a little pale and is backing away. ‘We’re not going to eat it, are we Mr Fletcher?’

  ‘Of course not, Chelsea,’ I laugh, ‘but this guy is getting his own page in my Vet Diary!’

  I am still sitting working on my ‘sea cucumber’ page when I hear a low rattling sort of sound behind me. I look around the rocks, but I can’t see where it’s coming from. Chelsea is a little way off, still recovering from the thought of people eating sea cucumbers.

  ‘Did you hear that, Chelsea?’

  ‘Yeah, what was it?’

  We are both quiet and listen again for the sound between the waves lapping on the rocks.

  ‘It’s coming from over there,’ says Chelsea, pointing to the shelf of rocks behind me.

  We carefully creep towards the sound and find ourselves holding hands as we peer over a large rock. There, half in a rock pool, is a pelican, and it’s in a lot of trouble!