Dog Gone

by Carole Poustie

  Since it was still so dark, Lucky and I snuck down the side of her house and were over the fence to the cemetery in no time.

  The sky looked like my sister’s doona cover – black, dotted with stars and a misty moon in the middle. The tops of the gum trees cast scary shadows on the tombstones. It was like watching giant grey ghosts creep out of their graves, one by one.

  Selview Cemetery is surrounded by ghost gums. I bet whoever thought of a name like that for a tree was standing in a graveyard when they got the idea. And I reckon anyone who plants ghost gums in a cemetery must have a seriously sick sense of humour.

  I’d forgotten to go to the toilet before leaving Gran’s. I was busting, and the sound of the river just down past the pine trees didn’t help. I was in the middle of the cemetery and thinking about filling up one of the vases of flowers that looked a little low on water when it happened.

  I suddenly had the feeling that Lucky and I weren’t alone. My feet felt as if they were stuck in toffee. I wanted them to move but they wouldn’t. I didn’t know if I was shivering from cold or from being so scared.

  The moonlight made a tumble-down tombstone near the path ahead look like a giant hand rising out of the mist.

  Lucky’s teeth were actually chattering and his tail was so far between his legs that you couldn’t see it. If I hadn’t been so scared it would have been funny.

  Then he started growling at something.

  Or someone.

  I could hear whispering. Lots of whispering.

  Then Grandpa’s fishing rod started to shake in my hand. It shook so violently I could have sworn the rod had come to life. It jumped about all over the place and I could hardly hold it. Freaky as.

  That’s when Lucky went into a sort of trance. He was mesmerised by whatever was behind me. His neck-fur went vertical and his eyes turned glassy.

  It was the middle of winter, but I suddenly felt hot. Like a dragon was breathing down my neck. My skin went all clammy. I could hardly breathe. I had this massive urge to turn around – and to pee, actually – but then I’d see whatever it was.

  I wanted to run through the cemetery and out the back gate, down to the safety of the river. Lucky was whimpering.

  I tried to run but I couldn’t. That’s when I turned around and saw it.

  Chapter 4

  Standing on the path, next to a tombstone that had a big crack down the middle, was the shape of a man, white and swirling. The mist that was hanging over the graves nearby seemed to have been sucked into its mouth.

  I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. There was no mistaking it.

  It was a ghost.

  Lucky squeezed between my legs for protection and I could feel him trembling. The fishing rod, by now, was swishing backwards and forwards all over the place.

  The whispering sound suddenly became louder and the ghost reached his hand out to me.

  That’s all I remember. After that I felt like I was in a time warp. I don’t remember much about the rest of the morning at all. I have no idea how I unglued my feet. I must’ve gone fishing, although I don’t even remember the river. If it wasn’t for the fish in my bucket when I got back, I wouldn’t have believed I’d been fishing at all.

  ‘Molly! Come and see what your brother’s caught,’ Gran cried.

  My arm was aching so much it felt like it was going to fall off. Two enormous redfin were trying to jump out of my bucket. I put the bucket down on the veranda and looked at my hand. It was so cramped and cold it looked like a chook’s claw. Lucky put his head in the bucket and I had to push him away.

  Gran waved her arms in excitement. ‘What the devil have you got there, Ish? Redfin? Where on earth did you get those? They’re humungous! What a pity your Mum’s at the shops.’

  Molly sauntered out onto the veranda with this’d better be good, written all over her face. She was determined to get through the fifteen books she’d brought with her to read while we stayed here at Gran’s, one for each year of her life. Anyone who interrupted her, did so at their own risk.

  Gran started to hop from one foot to the other. Her eyes were nearly popping out of her head.

  Molly just rolled hers.

  Seeing Gran excited is an experience. When she laughs or gets worked up about something, she looks like a slinky. A wave action starts at the bottom roll of Gran’s tummy, and works its way up and down for the whole time she’s excited. She has a habit of flapping her arms at the same time, like she’s about to take off.

  ‘Bet no one’s seen a redfin this big come out of the Murray before. Old Henry Ironclad’s jaw’ll drop off when he sees the size of these beauties!’ Gran was nearly in a frenzy by now. ‘I wish your Grandfather were alive to see this. They’re whoppers!’

  I tried to get a word in, but Gran was on a roll. There’s no stopping her when she gets started.

  ‘Tell us how you did it, love. Were they hard to land? Look at them – they’re three times the normal size!’

  I stood there like a stunned mullet – or redfin, like the ones that weren’t very stunned in the bucket. I felt silly. I had absolutely no memory of catching the fish at all. I thought back to the ghost in the graveyard. None of it seemed real anymore, except for the redfin. ‘Um, well …’

  Fortunately, just at that moment, there was a loud crash. Lucky had knocked the bucket over and one of the redfin had wriggled down the veranda steps. The other one, still in the bucket, was rolling down the path and heading for the drain in front of the letter box. Gran let out a screech.

  I dived for the bucket, but it was too late. It hit the letter box and the redfin lobbed into the drain with an enormous splash. We watched helplessly as it disappeared from view into the underground pipe.

  We all stood with our mouths open, and stared down at the empty bucket. I ran to the veranda steps to catch the other redfin, but it wasn’t anywhere in sight.

  ‘Darned thing must’ve wriggled under the steps,’ puffed Gran, wheezing now from all the excitement. ‘Molly, you’re the skinniest – try to crawl under and see if it’s there. Ish, get the bucket. She can pass it out to you. Quick!’

  ‘Eee-yeew! I’m not touching a fish,’ squealed Molly. ‘And I’m not crawling under there. No way. There might be spiders.’

  ‘Oh, come on, don’t be like that. You’d be out of there in a jiffy.’

  ‘I’d be out of there in a body bag if I got bitten by a redback!’

  ‘Don’t exaggerate, Molly. Go on, love.’ Gran gave her a little pat on the shoulder.

  Molly pushed her hand away, glaring. ‘No way! Ish can. He’s so thick-skinned, a spider wouldn’t have a hope of biting him.’

  I was just about to have a go at my sister when Mr Ironclad from next door came out onto his porch. At that moment, Lucky appeared from under the steps. As soon as he heard Mr Ironclad’s door, he was off – with the fish in his mouth.

  ‘Quick, after him,’ shouted Gran. She was determined not to let this one get away. ‘Ish, bring the bucket!’

  It was like a scene from one of those TV comedy shows. All it needed was the funny music. Lucky bounded up to Mr Ironclad, then darted off again before Mr Ironclad could catch him. Then Lucky ran off down the street with me, Molly, Gran and Mr Ironclad running behind.

  Fortunately, right at that moment, Mum rounded the corner in her car. She pulled over when she saw our procession charging towards her. She opened her door and yelled out to Lucky. He stopped for a minute, looked up at Mum, did a sort of fish-in-the-mouth half-bark, as if he were deciding what to do, and kept going.

  Gran, Molly and I started after him again, but we couldn’t keep up. He disappeared around the corner at the end of the street and was out of sight. By the time I reached the corner, he was nowhere to be seen.

  ‘Where’d he go?’ Molly puffed, as she caught up to me.

  ‘He’s disappeared. I don’t know where he is. Do you think he’s gone into someone’s house?’

  ‘Could of,’ said Molly.

 
Gran’s face was burning red by the time she joined us. ‘Has he still got the fish?’

  ‘We don’t even know where he is,’ Molly and I chorused together.

  ‘Let’s split up,’ I said. ‘Molly, you go up that side of the street and I’ll go up this one. He can’t be far.’

  ‘What’s got into Lucky?’ Mum called out, through her open window. Mr Ironclad was now sitting next to her.

  ‘The little devil’s taken off with the fish,’ wheezed Gran. ‘Come on, Rube, the three of us can look for him in the car. Quick – before he eats tonight’s dinner!’

  Chapter 5

  We looked until lunchtime, when Gran and Mum insisted we have a break. Except it was a useless idea because I wasn’t hungry. Then we looked until it was dark.

  We went to the dog pound and the police station, where we left a description of Lucky. He was a brown and white kelpie cross with a white tip on his tail. He had one brown and one white ear. We explained where we’d last seen him.

  The people were very polite, saying they’d let us know if they heard anything or if anyone brought him in. But they wouldn’t send out a car to look for him. They said they had too many other important jobs to do.

  I felt empty inside when we went home and Gran drew the curtains for the night. To me, it seemed as if she was shutting Lucky out as well as the cold night air.

  It was no good. I couldn’t bear being inside with Lucky out there somewhere. I switched on the back porch light and went outside. Even though Gran and Mum tried to tell me Lucky would be back in his own good time, all I could do was kick my basketball against the fence to get my anger out. I wanted to kick the ball through the fence.

  I’d been outside for about half an hour when I heard footsteps next door.

  ‘Ish? Is that you out there, lad?’ Mr Ironclad’s head appeared over the top of the side fence. ‘That ball won’t have any surface left on it by the time you’ve finished.’

  ‘If the pound man and the police had sent out cars, we might’ve found Lucky by now.’

  ‘Why don’t you come over? We can make some posters to put up in the morning, in case Lucky doesn’t come back tonight.’

  That was what I liked about Mr Ironclad. He was practical.

  Gran didn’t have a computer. She still lived in the Dark Ages. Fortunately, Mr Ironclad had a scanner and a good photo of Lucky. We’d nearly finished when Mum came to the door to tell me tea was ready.

  ‘But, Mum, the posters haven’t finished printing. And besides, I’m not hungry.’

  ‘Go on, Ish,’ said Mr Ironclad. ‘I’ll bring them over first thing in the mornin’. Go and have something to eat.’

  I didn’t feel like eating any dinner at all.

  ‘Come on, Ish. You not eating is not going to bring Lucky back. Have some of Gran’s pie. It’s delicious.’ Mum stuffed a forkful of meat pie into her mouth as if to prove it wasn’t poison.

  I couldn’t imagine how anyone could possibly have an appetite after what had happened. I stabbed at a pea and buried it in the mashed potato.

  ‘Leave him be, Ruby, he won’t waste away. The boy’s worried sick about that dog. He’ll be hungry in the morning.’ Gran took my plate away before Mum had a chance to argue. ‘Now if you’re going to catch that plane tonight, you’d better get a move on.’

  ‘Are you sure you’ll be all right, Ish? You don’t mind me going?’

  ‘Of course he’ll be all right, Rube,’ Gran cut in, ‘we’ve already been over it. The dog will be back tomorrow. Mark my words.’

  ‘How do you know that, Gran?’ Molly asked. ‘Been to a tarot reading, have you? I thought you didn’t believe in all that.’

  ‘Molly! For goodness sake, give it a miss for once, will you?’ Mum stood up and put her plate in the sink. ‘You know there’s no internet access where I’m staying and the travel agent said the mobile phone coverage was pretty dodgy, too. I’m worried about Ish.’

  ‘That’s right! It’s always Ish. Ish, Ish, stinks like a fish. What about me? You never worry about me. I told you I wanted to come to Mongolia instead of Sylvia. Can you imagine her on a smelly old camel and sleeping in a tent? She won’t even stay in a cabin in a caravan park!’

  ‘Molly, your mother needs this holiday. She’s been through a lot over the past twelve months.’ Gran put a cup of tea in front of Mum and gave her shoulder a little rub. ‘It will be good for her to get away with a friend.’

  ‘What about me? I’ve been through a lot too, remember? My father deserted me at the crucial age of fifteen, and now I’m going to be damaged for life!’ Molly banged her hand down on the table for emphasis, spilling Mum’s tea. ‘And anyway, I deserve to go because it was my idea to go into the competition at the Mind and Soul Exhibition.’

  ‘Yes, but who paid for us to get in?’ I interrupted.

  Molly was about to say something else when the doorbell rang. I just about fell over my chair in an effort to get to the front door. I could hear everyone else following on my heels. When I opened the door, it was Mr Ironclad, holding the pile of posters. No one said hello. We all stood there waiting for him to speak.

  Mr Ironclad’s smile disappeared when he saw the disappointment in our four faces. ‘Er, I get the feelin’ you were expecting someone else?’

  ‘Come in, Henry,’ Gran finally managed. ‘We thought it might be someone bringing Lucky back. Ruby, you’d better get on the road.’

  It felt empty in the house when Mum left. When I watched her drive off, I tried to tell myself that Gran was probably right and Lucky would soon be back – especially when he got hungry. But as Mum’s car disappeared from view, I had a feeling in the bottom of my stomach that I couldn’t explain.

  A bad one.

  With Mum gone, the awful feeling of worrying about Lucky was even worse. I didn’t feel like going into the kitchen and chatting with Mr Ironclad. I didn’t feel like chatting with anyone. I shut myself in my room and got out my journal. I read through all the poems I’d written about Grandpa, what he was like, the things he did with me.

  That’s what I’d do. I’d write a poem about Lucky.

  Surprise before bedtime

  It’s what dogs do

  bury bones

  they can’t help it

  Molly is screaming

  her head off

  it must have happened again

  she thinks it was me

  but I’ve seen him do it

  Lucky buries his bones

  under her pillow

  sometimes the bone

  is a dead bird

  full of maggots

  or my dirty jocks

  Mum’s gardening shoe

  or a muddy footy sock

  I wonder what it is

  This time?

  I laughed when I thought about how he loved to bury things.

  I looked at Grandpa’s handwriting on the inside cover of my journal. He would have liked that poem. He loved Lucky.

  If only he were here now.

  Chapter 6

  My dog was gone.

  Gone!

  I kept looking over at his empty bed.

  No. Dog.

  My mind went back to the cemetery, seeing the ghost. How I’d felt Grandpa’s fishing rod swinging around wildly in my hand, heard the whispering, felt the heat on the back of my neck.

  And for the first time, I dared to say something I had been afraid to even think. I said the words out loud, to Lucky’s empty bed. ‘The ghost – was it Grandpa?’

  I’d only caught a quick glimpse of the ghost, but thinking about it now, there was something familiar about it, something that made me think of Grandpa. We’d never had a chance to say goodbye. Had he waited to see me one last time?

  I’d kept the whole Ghost Incident a secret. I felt sure no one would believe me. But now, with Lucky missing, one thought kept hammering at me. If the ghost was Grandpa, maybe he’d help me find Lucky.

  I couldn’t sleep. My brain kept re-running everything on a TV
screen attached to the inside of my eyelids. Where was Lucky? How could he vanish like that?

  I lay in bed trying to piece everything together. I had to try and find the ghost.

  That evening, at the dinner table, I had a new problem. My sister wanted to come fishing with me the next morning. She’s never shown an interest in fishing before, which has suited me just fine. In the summer, we’d often go down to the river together for a swim. That was okay. But fishing was different. It was my special time to sit by the river and listen to the birds waking up. How could I do that with Molly ordering me around and telling me how I should bait my line and where I was allowed to fish? And how would I explain if Grandpa’s fishing rod started wobbling around all over the place like it had at the cemetery?

  I reluctantly agreed to let her come, because I knew she was trying hard to help take my mind off Lucky.

  I hoped Gran wasn’t also going to insist on joining us, because she suddenly seemed to be developing a renewed interest in fishing as well. Between mouthfuls of Shepherd’s Pie, she was telling us about the days when Grandpa had tried to teach her how to fish. I couldn’t imagine them actually catching anything. Gran and Grandpa would have squabbled so much, the fish would have swum away in fright.

  ‘Maybe I should take up fishing again, hey, Ish?’ Gran said, a spot of potato stuck to her chin.

  I groaned inwardly and tried to think of something to put her off. ‘You wouldn’t cope with all the flies by the river first thing in the morning,’ I told her. ‘There’s a plague of them. I read about it in the paper. They’ve come down from New South Wales.’

  Gran gave me a doubtful look and said it was strange to have flies in winter. Henry Ironclad hadn’t said anything about a fly plague, and he should know.

  Henry Ironclad had been Grandpa’s fishing mate for about twenty years. Henry’s always had a soft spot for Gran, and, since Grandpa died, he has been dropping by almost every day to check on her. Gran calls him a ‘silly old codger’. Some of his excuses for visiting are unreal. And some of the compliments he pays her are hysterical. The other day I heard him say he liked her new hair style and she looked just like Mrs Stevenson’s poodle. You should have seen the look on Gran’s face! Then he told her she smelt better than a zucchini. I could write a book about them. I’d call it ‘101 Pick-Up Lines for Old Codgers’.