Dog Gone

by Carole Poustie

  Gran kept on about the idea of coming fishing all evening.

  Fortunately though, when she came to say goodnight, she told me that I’d find the big nappy bucket, which Mum used to use, by the gumboots on the veranda.

  ‘Just in case,’ she said. ‘And I put the fly repellent in your backpack.’

  I hoped this meant she’d dropped the idea of coming.

  My brain still whirred. Phew! So many questions about Lucky, the ghost, Grandpa’s fishing rod – and I wasn’t coming up with any answers. I would have been better off counting sheep.

  I looked at the empty bed on the floor next to mine. My dog wasn’t called Lucky for nothing. I remembered how Dad and I saved his life when we first got him. Lucky would come back to me. He had to. I decided to write a poem about him every day until he did.

  I opened my journal and started writing.

  Day 1 - Lucky

  Just me and Dad

  in the bush

  no houses for miles

  watching the sunset

  by a river

  something limps out

  from behind a log

  it’s a puppy

  about six months old

  same number

  as my boy years

  I could count his ribs

  if I wanted

  he’s lucky we found him

  says Dad

  yes

  I say

  he’s Lucky

  I laid the journal open on the floor next to Lucky’s bed and watched the moonlight shimmer on the wall opposite. I always slept with the curtains open in this room.

  Tonight was a full moon and the patterns on the wall were spooky.

  Chapter 7

  ‘Ish! Wait for me! I’m coming, too.’

  Darn! I thought I’d managed to sneak out without waking my sister. If I was going to walk through the cemetery and try to make contact with the ghost, how was I going to do that with Molly hanging around? ‘Well if you’re coming, you can carry the bucket.’ I tossed it over to her as she came out onto the back step wearing Gran’s overcoat and beanie.

  ‘I’m not carrying that! I need to keep my hands in my pockets to keep them warm. They’ll freeze off in this frost!’

  ‘What about mine? If you want to come, you have to help carry the gear.’

  ‘I might help on the way back, if it’s warmed up a bit. Anyway, you’re not the boss.’

  Molly could be so infuriating sometimes. She stepped over the bucket and jumped down the steps and was out the gate before I had a chance to argue. I picked up the bucket and trailed along behind, cursing under my breath. I wished I was going fishing with Lucky, not my sister. I called after her, ‘Watch out old Arnott doesn’t see you.’

  ‘She can’t hurt me! She’d have to catch me first,’ Molly shouted back at me.

  ‘Don’t bank on it! She might be old, but she’s fast.’

  I was always careful to sneak down the side of Nelly Arnott’s house, without her noticing. On most occasions I succeeded. Molly, on the other hand, was just as likely to ring her doorbell or tap on the window to lure her out.

  This morning we seemed to be in luck. Molly headed straight down the side, to the back fence. No problem.

  It wasn’t until I was halfway down the path that my luck suddenly dived. I heard Nelly Arnott’s front door open, then slam shut. Footsteps behind me. I froze. It was getting light, so there was nowhere to hide.

  As soon as she rounded the corner, she saw me and started yelling. ‘You get off my property! Get off my property you little trespassing piece of slime! No respect for the law, you and your delinquent sister! Wait till I tell your grandmother about this. I’ll prosecute the lot of you!’

  Arnott was running down the path towards me and I only just made it over the fence. For an eighty-year-old, she could run pretty fast.

  Molly was sitting on a log, grinning, when I jumped down beside her. ‘Bit close for comfort, eh?’ she smirked. ‘Come on, let’s go before she climbs over the fence.’

  Arnott was squawking, ‘I can hear you, you no good little brats! You little criminals! Your dog killed my lemon tree!’

  Molly grabbed my arm and started running through the cemetery. She yelled over her shoulder, ‘Shut up, biscuit-face!’

  Sometimes I wished I had the guts to be as rude as my sister. But I did feel a bit sorry for old Arnott. Lots of kids used her place as a short cut, knowing it upset her.

  Molly and I were both puffing by the time we made it to the river. So much for my plan. If I was going to have any chance of meeting up with the ghost, I’d have to work out a way to come here on my own.

  When we got back, Mr Ironclad’s voice was booming from the kitchen.

  Molly disappeared to her room.

  ‘Hello there, Ish,’ Mr Ironclad said. ‘I came to see if there was any news of Lucky. I’m sure he’ll turn up. Probably still tucking into that enormous fish he got away with. He’ll be home when he gets hungry.’

  ‘Yes.’ I said the word, but I wasn’t sure I believed it.

  ‘No fish today, lad?’

  ‘Nah. They weren’t biting.’ They didn’t get a chance to. My stupid sister took over and kept reeling the line in every two seconds. ‘Maybe I’ll try later.’

  ‘So it’s cereal and toast for you two, is it?’ Gran put a piece of bread in the toaster. ‘Where’s Molly?’

  ‘Reading, probably.’

  Hearing Mr Ironclad mention Lucky made his disappearance seem even more real. While I’d been out fishing, I’d half expected him to appear from behind a log, like he had the day Dad and I found him when he was a puppy. I thought about his name and the reason we’d given it to him. Lots of times my dog really had been lucky.

  When Lucky was a puppy, he got into Gran’s chook yard and killed five chooks. It was lucky Gran didn’t kill him. He also chased Gran’s cat, Splat, who had a big white patch on her back that looked like a paint spot, out onto the road just as a car was coming.

  Lucky lived up to his name. So did Gran’s cat.

  Things were a bit strained between Gran and us for a while after that. She nearly banned Lucky forever. But Mum convinced her to let him come. I was like a lost soul without that dog, Mum had said. Thankfully, Gran had given in.

  As if Mr Ironclad had read my thoughts, he let out a huge sigh. ‘All the same, I couldn’t sleep last night for thinkin’ about that old pooch.’

  ‘I keep telling you, Henry. He’ll be back. I know you love that dog almost as much as Ish.’ Gran buttered the toast and put it in front of me, next to my cereal.

  ‘I do, Maggie. I hope you’re right about him comin’ back.’

  When I’d finished breakfast, I went to my room. I had to think of a way to find Lucky. I sat next to his bed and picked up his teddy. It was pretty mangled from all the tugs-of-war. I closed my eyes and let my mind go back to the time me and Lucky and Dad went camping …

  Day 2 - A Bad Bite

  Lucky lies on the vet’s table

  he’s breathing

  like a steam train

  puff puff puff puff

  I pat his damp brown fur

  with long slow strokes

  an hour ago

  we were building a campfire

  the tiger snake was still

  in its hiding place

  I closed Grandpa’s poetry journal and hoped with all my heart that Lucky would live up to his name this time.

  Chapter 8

  ‘Run to starboard,’ growled the voice.

  I was trying to, but I could only run in slow motion. This was particularly frustrating, because I was trying to find Lucky and I was in a lot of danger. I was in the middle of a wild storm, out at sea. Any minute I was going to be washed overboard, and Lucky was being kept prisoner on the boat.

  Panic was eating into my chest. Starboard. Which way was starboard? It was times like this I wish I’d paid more attention to interesting facts. Why didn’t I store them away in a labelled file in
my brain like my sister did? Mine were chucked in a box labelled ‘Sort Later’. Port and starboard – which was which? Why didn’t the voice call out ‘left’ or ‘right’?

  Another voice was calling now. It sounded like Gran’s. ‘Beware of the cyclone! Are you alone?’

  And that bell – I wish it would stop ringing –

  ‘Ish! Answer the phone!’

  I opened one eye. The sun was boring through my window like a laser.

  ‘Ish, are you awake? I’m in the shower. Molly?’

  I’d slept in. I couldn’t believe it! My opportunity to go fishing on my own and to give myself another chance of meeting up with the ghost had been gobbled up in dreams.

  I threw back the covers and saw Lucky’s bed. It was now the third day since he’d gone missing, and, for a short moment, I’d forgotten he wasn’t there. I ran down the hall to the phone. The panic was still in my chest and even heavier at the thought of him gone. The polished boards under my feet felt like the slippery deck in my dream.

  ‘Hello?’ My voice sounded like someone else’s.

  ‘Ish, is that you?’ It was Sylvia, Mum’s friend. There was a lot of crackling on the line, and I could hardly hear her voice. ‘Ish, I need to talk to your grandmother. I can’t talk for long.’

  ‘She’s in the shower,’ I said. Why was Sylvia ringing and not Mum?

  The phone kept crackling. Underneath the crackling were words I could barely make out. ‘Ish, I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news.’ More crackling.

  My heart began to race.

  ‘Your mum …’ A lot more crackling. ‘… but they think she’ll be all right …’ Crackle. ‘… hospital until she can …’ Crackling again. ‘… can’t come home for a few weeks. I can ring you again tonight.’ Crackle.

  Then silence.

  I stood holding the receiver. I felt numb and suddenly alone. Hot tears streamed down my cheeks. I replaced the receiver into the cradle of Gran’s old phone. What had happened to Mum? I suddenly wanted Dad. I wanted to talk to him, tell him about Mum. He’d know what to do.

  I heard the shower turn off. I wiped my face on my pyjama sleeve and tried to think. Dad was miles away in Sydney and besides, he always changed the subject when I talked about Mum.

  ‘Who was that on the phone, love?’ Gran stood at the end of the hallway in her dressing gown and a towel around her head. ‘Ish – are you okay?’

  I thought I’d done a good job with my sleeve, but Gran has an in-built emotion detector. Some people are mind readers, but Gran is a heart reader. She can tell a well-hidden feeling a mile off.

  She started down the hall towards me. When she was close enough for me to see the softness in her eyes, more tears came gushing. ‘What’s the matter, love?’ Gran put her arms around me. She smelt of baby powder. ‘Who was on the phone?’

  ‘Sylvia,’ I blubbered. ‘Some … some … thing’s happened to Mum.

  Gran took my face in her hands. ‘What do you mean, love?’

  ‘Sh-she’s in hospital.’

  ‘Heavens! Is she all right?’ The towel had been gradually slipping off Gran’s head and now suddenly fell to the floor.

  I bent down to pick it up for her. ‘It was a bad line but I heard her say she’d ring back tonight.’

  Gran took my hand and led me down the hall and into the kitchen. ‘I’m sure it won’t be anything too serious,’ she said, throwing the towel onto the back of a chair.

  ‘Can we ring Dad?’ I blurted. ‘How will we find out about Mum?’

  ‘Let’s wait and get all the news from Sylvia tonight, love. She said she’ll ring. Pop the kettle on while I get dressed, then we’ll have some breakfast.’

  Dad had taken a job in Sydney at the end of last year. It was more money than his old job, he’d explained to me. It wouldn’t be forever. I wanted to go with him, but Mum had said no. Sydney was only a phone call away from Melbourne, Dad had said. I desperately wanted to hear his voice now. ‘But, Gran, can’t we ring Dad? Please.’

  ‘Maybe. I know you miss him, love, but he’ll be busy at work. Let’s get the news update tonight and then you can phone him.’

  I sat at the kitchen table while Gran went off to dry her hair and get dressed. Poor Mum. Her and Dad were both so far away. I thought of what it was like when we all lived together. And I thought of how Lucky seemed to understand how I hated them fighting. I scribbled a poem on the back of Gran’s shopping list. I’d write it in my poetry journal later.

  Day 3 - A Fight

  Mum and Dad are in the kitchen

  shouting

  I’m under the pear tree

  I don’t want to hear the words

  neither does Lucky

  he’s got his head on my knee

  his ears down

  Gran is one of those people who makes you feel better just by coming into the room. When she came back and I’d sobbed out a few more concerns and she’d made us both a piece of toast, the whole situation didn’t seem quite so bad. We decided the only thing we could do was wait for Sylvia’s phone call that evening. Gran said it was no use worrying over milk we weren’t even sure had been spilt. But I could tell she was worried. As she left the kitchen to go and get dressed, she put the empty milk carton in the fridge and tossed out the fresh one. She didn’t even notice when it thumped to the bottom of the bin.

  Chapter 9

  Yesterday dragged on for so long, it felt like the sun had got stuck up in the sky. Another day without Lucky and waiting for the evening – the time Sylvia said she would ring with more news about Mum – was agony. I couldn’t settle to do anything. Not even the book of jokes Mum gave me for Christmas could keep my mind off her. And Gran cooked one of my favourite meals – meatballs in tomato sauce – for dinner, but I hardly touched it.

  Then Sylvia didn’t even ring. All that agony for nothing. I went to bed at eleven o’clock. Gran wouldn’t let me stay up any later, even though I begged her.

  ‘I’ll let you know if we get any news,’ she said. ‘Go to bed and get some sleep.’

  Yeah, Gran – as if.

  I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep thinking about Mum. And it had been four whole days since Lucky went missing. I’d been back to the police station and the pound every day. At two o’clock in the morning my thoughts were darker than the night outside and my chest ached from loneliness. I tried to think of something funny to cheer myself up, and wrote a poem about the Muffin Incident.

  Day 4 - Afternoon Tea

  I arrive home from school

  to a cinnamon smell –

  Mum’s in the kitchen

  going nuts

  Lucky’s in the corner

  ears flat

  tail between his legs

  Mum’s best plate

  is in pieces

  on the floor

  and there’s no sign

  of the muffins

  The night seemed even longer than the day. I’m sure I was awake for most of it and, when I wasn’t, I dreamt about telephones in all sorts of strange places, ringing so loudly I woke up a couple of times with my heart pounding.

  And in the middle of the night, the silence in our hallway was unbearable.

  That’s why, when I heard the first bird chirp before dawn, I knew I had to get to the river. I needed to get away from the worry of waiting for the phone to ring.

  The river, first thing in the morning, is like magic. The dewdrops on the grass and leaves remind me of mini-suns, with their white light glistening from rainbow centres. I love to breathe in the air that still has some of the night smell of river mud and eucalyptus left in it. When I’m at home in Melbourne, sometimes I lie in bed with my eyes closed and imagine this exact spot. I conjure up the morning river smell and it brings me here when I need to come.

  When we came up for Grandpa’s funeral I spent ages at the river, sitting on my favourite log – the one Grandpa and me used to fish off – thinking about him and Dad and watching the water.

  I don’t think G
ran and Mum ever noticed how long I was away. Mum was too busy helping Gran organise Grandpa’s funeral, and they spent a fair bit of time talking about Dad going. Gran’s a good listener. Maybe she was like a river for Mum. Molly would just sit up in the peppercorn tree with her book.

  This morning my favourite log was cold and damp under my legs. The weak winter sun was hardly up yet, and didn’t have much warmth in it. When I sat here with my fishing rod, time seemed to stop. Sometimes I didn’t think of anything, but strangely, when it was time to leave, I felt like all my thoughts were sorted.

  I had to come fishing this morning. I should’ve told Gran, I know. But I didn’t think she’d appreciate me waking her up so early, especially after waiting up for Sylvia to ring.

  I needed some time on my own to think. So much had happened. How was Mum? Was she all right? Where was Lucky? It felt strange here without him. I tried to block a dreadful thought out of my mind, but it kept coming back. What if Nelly Arnott had done something to him and it was all my fault? What if she’d hired someone to kidnap him and drown him in the river because he’d dug up her lemon tree so many times he’d killed it? I was the one who had first introduced Lucky to her backyard when we started taking the short cut through her place to the river. Whatever was under that tree must have been really yummy.

  It was awful without Lucky. He was always with me. Even if I wanted to go somewhere on my own, he’d find a way to scramble under the gate to follow me. Sometimes it was annoying, especially if I was late for school and I’d have to turn around and take him home again. He’s such a scatterbrain, always getting under your feet in his excitement to be with you. I wished he was under my feet now.