Standing at the edge of the creek, seeing the tyre dangling on the rope and the drums sitting in a line, reminded Danny of his perfect score of ten.
He smiled and called to his brother. ‘Hey Sam, remember . . .’
Sam turned his back and started walking away. ‘Yeah I know, you got a ten from Thommo when you did that bomb.’
Danny beamed. ‘You remember it, then?’
‘You won’t let me forget it! You mention it every time we come here.’
Sam waddled off to sit on a drum. There was a stone in his boot. He walked funny.
Danny’s dad was pulling at a rotting post. The wood crumbled in his fingers and a writhing mass of white ants was sent into a blur of panic. He danced around them. Some of them ran over his hands. He flicked them away and kicked the post. An explosion of dust, grit and splinters flew to the air.
Tippy barked.
Danny’s dad jumped back. He brushed his sleeves feverishly and tugged at his shirt.
‘What is it, Dad?’ Danny asked.
‘I saw a spider,’ his father replied. He spun about brushing himself madly. ‘I hate spiders running over me.’
Danny was surprised. He didn’t think his dad was afraid of anything.
‘It’s going up your leg, Dad!’ Danny cried.
Danny’s father did a little jump and shook his leg violently.
Danny pointed and laughed. ‘Just kidding.’
His father pushed his hat from his brow and glared. ‘That’s not funny, Danny.’
Danny disagreed. It was hilarious.
Tippy picked up a piece of the crumbling post and dropped it at Danny’s feet. He stood back, panting and eyeing his new stick, waiting for Danny to throw it. He obliged. Picking it up, he made it spin like a boomerang. Tippy took off, ears pinned back, tiny muscle-bound legs a blur. He darted through the dry grass.
Danny stared at him, watched his every dodge and weave. With an overzealous skid he scooped the stick into his mouth and came trotting proudly back. The stick was returned again and again.
Danny was happily playing with Tippy when, out of the corner of his eye, he suddenly sensed his father moving slowly toward the drums. Puzzled, Danny watched him.
His dad pulled at his hat and craned his neck. His brow furrowed and his gaze was intense.
Danny tracked his father’s gaze to Sam, who was still sitting on the drum. He had one shoe off and was looking down as if he’d dropped something. Danny heard a soft rumble from within the drum. So did Sam.
He froze.
‘Don’t move, Sam!’ their father called, as he quickened his approach.
Sam sat staring curiously at the drum beneath him. ‘Why not?’
Then they all heard the sound again – shuffling and writhing. There was a rusty hole at the base of the drum. Sam’s weight had been enough to push the drum down and block the hole.
Their dad broke into a gallop. He pointed sternly at Sam. ‘Stay on the drum!’
Sam’s fingers clutched at the drum. He glanced uncertainly from his father to the drum and back to his father again.
Danny stood, mesmerised. The fear he had felt in his hide-out the day he’d run away from home came flooding back. Goosebumps prickled across his shoulders and down his spine.
Danny’s father raised a flat hand at Sam. ‘Just keep still, son!’ he urged. ‘Okay?’
Sam could see the concern in his father’s eyes. ‘What, Dad?’ he said. ‘What is it?’
‘Just do what I tell you. Stay on the drum.’
Danny moved forward to run with his father. Danny’s dad grabbed him and with a grasp as fierce as Danny had ever felt from his father he was thrown backwards.
‘You stay right where you are.’
‘But what’s wrong, Dad?’
‘I said, stay there!’
‘Why?’
‘There’s a snake under the drum!’
‘A snake!’
Sam’s eyes darted frantically, searching the base of the drum. ‘Help me, Dad.’
‘I’m coming. Don’t move.’
Danny stood transfixed. The warm breeze brushed his terrified face and made his wide-open eyes water. His father approached the drum. Sam reached for him and moved to jump.
‘No!’ his father snapped. ‘Don’t stand!’
Danny looked at Sam and wished he were there with his brother. When Tippy came and dropped his stick at Danny’s feet, Danny ignored him.
Sam suddenly screamed. ‘I’m getting off, Dad!’
Sam didn’t wait for his father’s response. He pushed himself from his perch only to lose his footing and stumble to the ground, his frantic feet kicking up dust. Onto his knees he fell. His hands were clawing clumsily at the ground and his feet – one of them without a shoe – kicked desperately. Danny mirrored the terrified look on his brother’s face.
Danny’s dad lunged at Sam and grabbed him. He flung Sam out of harm’s way with his strong arms.
Sam scrambled to his feet.
Their dad quickly kicked the drum as hard as he could. It spun through the air and rolled away. Over the edge of the cliff it went, rumbling and banging into the creek. Every cockatoo for miles around seemed to take flight.
Danny stood looking through the cloud of dust drifting around his father. It was like watching a dream. Then Danny yelled, ‘Snake, Dad! Look out!’
Danny’s dad lost his footing on a stone and fell onto his back. He sat up quickly and froze. His hat was on the ground, upside down, the Africa stain unseen.
He had always told the boys that when they saw a snake all they had to do was keep still. Do that and it will go on its way.
He did just that. He sat perfectly still.
Danny was in awe of his father’s bravery. He was convinced it was the leaping vampire snake set to defend itself, just as it had been when in Danny’s tree. It was afraid too.
A second of stillness and uncertainty increased the tension. So much so that Sam panicked. He thought the snake was too close to his dad. He couldn’t stand back and watch. He picked up a long branch and charged like a knight wielding a sword.
Danny couldn’t believe it. They’d always been taught never to approach a snake. ‘Stop, Sam!’ Danny cried, grabbing at his brother’s arm. ‘Dooooon’t!’
Sam pulled away and charged. Danny’s father screamed at him. ‘Get back, Sam!’
Sam would not retreat. He swung awkwardly at the snake with his weapon. He missed and struck the ground with the impact of a small exploding bomb.
Clods of earth flew into the air. The snake whipped itself round. With speed impossible to see, it flew at Danny’s father, who pulled his legs back. Incredibly, the snake missed. Sam sliced the air again with his pathetic weapon.
The snake turned to him. Sam was clumsily fumbling with his branch like a soldier in battle trying to reload his gun. Something sharp pricked the foot without a shoe. He was off balance.
The snake turned to its attacker, ready to strike. At the height it was hovering, its fangs would sink into the top of Sam’s thigh, perhaps even the groin – a deadly strike. Danny’s father was on his backside on the ground. Danny’s heart sank when he realised there was nothing he or his dad could do.
Suddenly, the startling blur of a small black and white figure snarled from the shadows and dashed through the dust. Danny stared in disbelief.
‘Noooo!’ he hollered. ‘Tiiiippppy! Noooo!’
The small dog leapt ferociously into battle. Danny’s dad dragged himself away and rose to his feet. Sam didn’t dare attack for fear of hitting Tippy.
Danny’s dad reached out to Sam. ‘Give me that stick,’ he growled loudly. ‘And get back to Danny.’
Tippy stood barking incessantly.
Danny’s dad called desperately to Tippy. ‘Leave it, Tippy! Leave it, boy! Leave it!’
Tippy would not pull back. He was growling and snarling, daring the snake to take up the challenge.
Tippy circled and the snake, still poised to stri
ke, tracked his movements. Tippy crouched, just as he did when waiting for Danny to throw his stick. He showed his teeth in a snarl, ready to pounce.
‘Tippy!’ Danny hollered, thumping his fists desperately to his knees. ‘Tippy! Come here! Now!’
Tippy had never been very obedient.
There was a flash of movement and dust rose above the fierce tangle of the frenzied fighters. Danny watched in horror. Tippy’s snarling head was shaking and whipping. His body, twisting and jumping, was a blur lost in a tiny tornado. Amid the snarling came a shrill yelp that pierced Danny’s heart.
Tippy did not give up the fight. He flew snapping at the snake. He took it in his jaws and tossed his head violently. The snake’s body was a blur in the dust. Tippy shook it violently again and again and again.
All the while, three desperate voices called to him.
‘Tippy! No! Leave it! Come here, boy! Come now!’
But the fierce little dog wasn’t letting go. Not until he was sure he’d won. He growled and snarled determinedly.
In the terrible minutes that followed, Tippy’s wild movements slowed.
The snake too, with its torn flesh, was weak. Once he knew he was safe, Danny’s dad moved in to finish it off. Tippy was staggering. Danny ran to him. Danny’s dad took the snake and tossed it, spinning, into the creek.
Danny scooped up the little dog into his arms. ‘Good boy, Tippy, you’re all right. You’ll be all right now.’ Danny looked to his dad for reassurance. ‘Won’t he, Dad?’
Tippy was panting hard. He wagged his tail and smiled. His coat was dusty and speckled with the splash of brilliant red blood.
Danny tried to wipe some of it away with his hands. A shadow loomed over him. Danny’s dad squatted beside Danny. ‘He’s a little hero, that dog,’ he said, ruffling Tippy’s ears.
‘He’ll be all right, won’t he, Dad?’ asked Danny desperately.
Danny’s dad didn’t answer as quickly as Danny was hoping he might. Danny’s face buckled. ‘Won’t he?’ he pleaded.
Danny’s dad gently stroked Tippy’s head with his rough hands. ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘I can’t see where the snake got him.’
‘How do you know he got him at all?’ asked Sam hopefully. ‘He might have missed.’
‘Yeah,’ chirped Danny. ‘He’s just tired after the fight.’
Danny pushed his cheek next to Tippy’s snout.
Danny’s dad looked into Tippy’s eyes. ‘Hold him and keep him as still as you can, Danny,’ he said quickly. ‘Let’s get him home, then we can take him to Port Bilton. The vet will know what to do.’
Danny’s dad drove the tractor back to the house faster than he should have. Danny nursed Tippy, who began panting harder and faster, all the way home. And all the way to Port Bilton Danny talked to Tippy, saying things like: ‘When the vet fixes you we’ll take you home and you can rest. Mum will give you cakes and biscuits. Tomorrow I’ll throw more sticks for you and you can come over to the hall and watch me climb the lookout tree. You can pee on the soldier’s foot. We can even chase chickens if you like. You little bully!’
Tippy’s response became less and less natural. Danny was as afraid as Tippy.
When they charged into the veterinary clinic the little dog was hanging on by a thread. The vet quickly examined the now-unconscious Tippy and shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, Danny, I can’t help him.’
‘Can’t you just give him an injection to make him better?’ Danny said. ‘Do something, anything, please!’
The vet shook his head again.
Tippy died under the gentle stroke of Danny’s hand and the sorrowful sound of his inconsolable weeping.
That night Danny couldn’t sleep for the redness of his eyes and the hurt inside that was so bad he felt it would never go away. Images of Tippy scattering chickens, begging for food, running with the tractor, chasing a stick and peeing on the soldier statue’s foot in front of the Mundowie Institute Hall kept appearing. As he tossed and turned they wouldn’t leave him. If only tomorrow could be yesterday and all the memories would be real again. If only the warm patch at the end of his bed were there.
Danny held his pillow and lay awake listening to Vicki sobbing and his mother singing softly to her. Tra, la, la, la, la, dee, dah. Across the room he heard Sam snuffling.
Late into the night light from the tractor shed filtered in through his window. The tractor had started clunking noisily on the way back from the creek. Danny had begged his dad not to stop, so he hadn’t. And now he was hard at work trying to fix whatever had gone wrong. He would need the tractor the next day. The fence by the creek still hadn’t been mended.
Danny spent the following day wandering aimlessly. He climbed his lookout tree and sat on his branch dangling his legs. In the afternoon he stood by the creek throwing sticks like boomerangs, but they never came back.
Later in the week, he took Tippy’s collar from under his pillow and went to the creek to put it in his secret place with the other treasures. This time, he remembered to wear his boots.
Just over a week after Tippy died, on a Friday evening just before sunset, Danny’s dad arrived in the truck with Mr Thompson. Danny was sitting on the front step. He was throwing little sticks and stones at the chickens to make them scatter.
His dad climbed from the truck and came walking through the gate. There was something moving under his arm, hidden under his hat. Danny’s dad wasn’t much good at wrapping presents. Mind you, this one would have been impossible to wrap.
Danny took little notice until his dad called him. ‘Danny, come and help me, please?’ He motioned down to his moving hat. ‘I’m going to drop this in a minute.’
Danny rose to his feet, puzzled as to why his dad was wrestling with his hat. He approached cautiously. His dad had played tricks on him before. In fact, he was a lot like Sam in many ways.
‘What is it, Dad?’
Danny’s dad didn’t get time to answer. Danny saw it. He knew what it was.
His heart skipped a beat when he caught sight of a tail flicking happily from under the hat. The secret was out. Danny’s father flung his hat away like a magician revealing the wonder of a successful trick.
Under his arm, squirming and wriggling, was a small white pup. Danny ran to hold him.
The pup went crazy and so did Danny. ‘Sam! Vicki!’ he bellowed. ‘Come out here, quick!’
Danny’s father ruffled his son’s hair. ‘I had planned to get a sheep dog a while back, anyway,’ he said. ‘But since I don’t need one any more, I thought it best to get a little dog.’
Danny was too excited to take much notice of what his dad had said. He was too busy laughing and fending off the little pup’s boisterous affection. ‘Ha, ha, keep still for a minute.’
Danny wrapped his fingers around the pup’s middle, lifted it and held it at arm’s length in front of his face. The tail never stopped. He was a soft ball of fluff with a pink belly. His nose was stubby and his bent ears flopped over his forehead. His tail curled cheekily onto his back. Danny put him down at his feet. The little pup didn’t walk; he bounded around playfully, looking for a game. Then he saw Danny’s shoelaces and lunged at them, taking them in his sharp little teeth and tugging.
Grrr.
‘Hey, get off!’ Danny chuckled as he reached down and pulled him away.
‘What do you want to call him?’ his dad asked. ‘What about Tippy the second?’ he suggested.
Danny thought for a minute. Tippy was a good name, but there would never be another Tippy. As far as Danny was concerned there should be a statue of the little hero next to the soldier in front of the Mundowie Hall.
‘No,’ he answered. ‘I couldn’t call him Tippy.’
Sam and Vicki flew through the front door and off the verandah. They saw the pup, laughed and made a lot of noise. The little fellow seemed to like it. He yapped and spun about.
Sam and Vicki dropped to their knees. Sam set off on all fours and walked with the pup. ‘What are we goi
ng to call him?’ he asked.
At that moment the pup snapped a biscuit from Vicki’s hand. ‘Ow! You’ve got sharp teeth!’ She was pouting as she looked at her dad and said, very loudly, ‘He shouldn’t snap like that.’ She pointed at the puppy. ‘You are a silly-billy,’ she scolded.
‘He is,’ grinned Danny. ‘Hey! That’s it!’ he said. ‘Billy. Let’s call him Billy.’
There were loud cheers of agreement. Vicki forgot about her biscuit. She smiled and clapped. ‘I thought of it, didn’t I, Danny? I was the one who thought of that name.’
‘Billy it is then,’ said their dad, pushing his hat from his forehead.
Danny looked at his dad. ‘Where did you get him?’
‘Mark Thompson saw an advertisement in the Port Bilton Times. He told his dad and his dad told me.’
‘Mark Thompson?’ said Danny.
Danny’s dad nodded. ‘Yeah, that’s right. Mark misses Tippy too, you know. He loved him. His dad said that he’d never seen Mark cry as hard as he did the day he heard about Tippy and the snake.’
Danny was stunned. Mark Thompson had cried?
‘He loved that little dog of yours, you know,’ his dad continued. ‘When you weren’t here spoiling him he was over at the Thompsons’. Mark liked having him around. He used to feed him doughnuts and let him rest on his bed. He wanted a dog of his own, but his dad didn’t want one once they sold the farm and thought they might move to the city.’
‘But I didn’t think Mark and his dad were moving to the city.’
‘Well, they’re not sure yet, he’s got the truck, but who knows?’
Danny frowned. ‘But Mr Thompson hates the city.’
‘Hmm, I know.’
He gazed at his dad.
‘Like you; you don’t like the city much, do you, Dad?’
Danny’s dad looked away. ‘Not really,’ he sighed. ‘But I guess you get used to it.’
Danny nodded pensively. He wasn’t sure he could.
Before Danny could drift into deeper thought, Billy took hold of his shoelace again.
Grrr.
Danny Allen Was Here Page 10
