The Dog that Dumped on my Doona

by Barry Jonsberg

  No. God didn’t like change. But that didn’t mean change couldn’t come. And that it couldn’t come in small ways, ways he wasn’t able to see.

  Not far from where he lived there was a mine. A mineral mine. Hundreds of people worked there. But God didn’t really care. As long as the people didn’t bother him, he was fine. And they didn’t mean to bother him. It was just that they needed somewhere to put the waste from their mine. It was an accident that the place they chose was also God’s world. It was also an accident that what they put there was poison. Not to people, true. But to bearded dragons.

  God didn’t know his world was going to die until he felt the changes in his body. Most were deep within, but there was also another change. His skin changed colour. Became lighter. Mottled. And that was very unlucky because a light, mottled skin makes bearded dragons more valuable to those who collect them.

  As chance would have it, a worker at the mine – the worker who caught God – was a reptile enthusiast. He knew that God could make him fifty dollars. He knew a breeder in the city who was on the lookout for new dragons. Reptile breeders are bound by strict laws. Taking animals from the wild is not allowed. There are harsh penalties for anyone doing so if they are caught by rangers from Parks and Wildlife.

  But it is a big desert and there aren’t many rangers. Not many at all.

  God was taken to the city and the breeder paid good money for him. He was going to use him for breeding, but then he noticed the dragon was sick. It was too late to get his money back, so he sold him on. To a pet shop. He could do that. He was a registered breeder and the paperwork couldn’t really be checked.

  So God finds himself alone in a tank, in a window, dying. He doesn’t care so much about himself. He has had a good life. But he cares about his family and his poisoned world. He needs to get back and warn his family. Move them. Maybe it is too late. Probably is for most. But some of his family might survive. If he can warn them. So he tells his story to a small and rather ugly dog that stops outside the pet shop one day. The dog promises he will help.

  But time is running out. It is running out quickly.

  ‘That’s sad,’ said Dylan.

  ‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘Which is why we need that sixty bucks.’

  Dylan finished what was in his can and then looked down the ring-pull opening as if hoping the can would magically refill itself.

  ‘I’ll have the money for you tomorrow morning,’ he said. ‘I already told you that.’

  ‘Yeah, but how, Dylan?’ I know Dylan and his family. They have no money to speak of. Church mice are rich by comparison.

  ‘Hey, man,’ replied Dylan, tapping his finger against the side of his nose. ‘That’s for me to know and you to find out. But it’s in the bag, mate. In the bag. Good as gold. I have a cunning plan.’

  I sighed. Dylan’s cunning plans normally involve rocks, huge amounts of stupidity and the breaking of glass and laws alike. I was glad he was keeping it to himself.

  ‘Can I have a closer look at the bearded dragon, please?’ I asked the guy in the pet shop.

  It wasn’t the man with the polished head and the beard you could hide a ride-on mower in. This guy was young, enthusiastic and full of energy.

  ‘No worries, mate,’ he said.

  He skipped over to the tank. I followed. We pressed our faces up against it. The guy tapped lightly on the glass. ‘He’s a beauty, isn’t he?’

  ‘Yeah,’ I said. There was a long pause. ‘So you reckon I could get a closer look?’

  The guy frowned.

  ‘Not sure we can get much closer,’ he said.

  ‘I mean, could you get him out of the tank?’ I asked. ‘Put him on your hand, or something?’

  He frowned again.

  ‘Aw, mate,’ he said. ‘Not sure about that. They can be pretty vicious, you know. I knew someone who tried to handle a bearded dragon. Lost his little finger. Not worth the risk, mate. I’m attached to my fingers.’

  ‘The other guy said they make great pets,’ I pointed out.

  ‘Mate, they do. They make terrific pets.’

  ‘Even if they’re vicious?’

  The guy mulled this over for a while. He frowned and smiled at the same time, which was peculiar to watch.

  ‘You want the truth, mate? I have no idea if they’re vicious or not. Truth is, I not only know nothing about animals, I’m scared of them. I was once savaged by a budgie.’

  ‘So losing a finger to a psycho bearded dragon? That was a lie, then?’

  He grinned.

  ‘I make it up as I go along, mate. I’m what you call eccentric, but harmless.’

  I let him return to the desk. There didn’t seem much point in continuing the conversation. I shuffled round the side of the tank and peered in. There was a tangle of branches in there, as well as a number of fair-sized rocks. I couldn’t see the bearded dragon.

  I glanced around the shop. At least it was empty of customers. I’d have felt very strange talking to an apparently empty glass tank with an audience.

  ‘Hey, God,’ I whispered. ‘I’m doing my best, man. Sorry, dragon. But I’ve got problems raising the money. Listen, I haven’t given up, that’s all I’m saying. And, one way or another, I’m going to get you out of there. I swear. Even if we have to go with Dylan’s plan involving distractions, bricks and a ram raid. So just hang on, okay, God. Have faith.’

  There are times when you just know someone is behind you. Close behind you. This was one of those times. I turned my head and the pet shop guy was right there, just behind my right shoulder. He was looking at the tank and grinning.

  ‘I’m talking to God,’ I said as calmly as I could. ‘This is a private matter between me and him. I would be grateful for some space.’

  The guy’s eyes widened.

  ‘Wow!’ he said. ‘Are you …’

  ‘Yes,’ I replied. ‘Eccentric, but harmless. Thanks for asking.’

  He gave me the thumbs up as I left the shop. Loony Tunes blood brothers.

  I’d done what I could. And I had no idea if God heard me. As far as I understood it, Blacky had to be the go-between. But somehow I felt better. Even if he couldn’t understand, I did. And I’d meant what I’d said.

  I’d stop at nothing until he was out of there.

  I nearly tripped over Blacky on the pavement. He gazed up at me with those hard, pink-rimmed eyes and cocked his head to one side.

  ‘All right, all right,’ I said. ‘I know. Time is running out.’

  ‘That wasn’t what I was going to say,’ said Blacky. ‘I was going to say that you surprise me, tosh. That for a human, you are not bad. Not bad at all.’

  ‘Will you do something for me, then?’ I asked.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Stop farting.’ The smell was disgusting. ‘Birds are falling out of trees for a radius of two hundred metres.’

  ‘Can’t you just consider me eccentric, but harmless?’

  I cocked my head this time.

  ‘Those farts aren’t harmless,’ I said.

  ‘I’ll try, boyo,’ said Blacky. ‘But I can’t make any promises.’

  The water rippled gently a few centimetres from my nose. I wouldn’t exactly call the toilet bowl an old friend, but we were certainly getting to be firm acquaintances.

  ‘Say you’re sorry, Mucus,’ yelled Rose.

  Listen. You might think me stupid for getting caught by the old hiding-in-the-laundry-cupboard routine yet again, but in my defence I should point out …

  Actually, I can’t point out anything. There is no defence. I knew she was out to get me. Truth is, I simply forgot. Mind full of pygmy bearded dragons, talking dogs and harmless eccentrics. So I had unzipped, not exactly without a care in the world, but certainly with no suspicion that an alien life form hiding in a human body was about to leap out behind me and stick my head down the bog. Again.

  ‘Say you’re sorry, Mucus,’ she repeated, ‘and I won’t flush.’

  Actually, I was praying she would
fl ush. This time, she’d waited until I’d peed.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I said. She was going to flush anyway. I thought a quick guilty plea would speed things up. I was wrong.

  ‘For what, Mucus,’ she screamed. ‘You’re sorry for what?’

  ‘For everything,’ I said. ‘For being me.’

  That wasn’t the right answer. She pushed my head even closer to the water. The smell was starting to make my eyes sting. Once again, my resolve to keep my dignity under torture lasted less than a thousandth of a second.

  ‘I’m sorry I was a loser at breakfast,’ I burbled, ‘forcing you to make a loser sign at me, thus dropping Weet-Bix down yourself, causing you to jump and pebble-dash Dad’s bald spot, and all because of me being a loser, which is absolutely not your fault.’

  She flushed anyway.

  I dried my hair and totted up the score for the week so far. Two dunkings, ripping me off for the iPod. I read somewhere that revenge is a dish best served cold. I didn’t care if it was microwaved on high for two hours.

  Rose was going to get hers.

  I might be eccentric, but I’m not always harmless.

  I couldn’t believe my eyes.

  The whole school, it seemed, was outside the gates. There were hundreds of kids milling around, as well as dozens of parents who’d come to drop their children off and stayed to find out what was happening. No one was going into the school. I could see teachers moving around the yard, surrounded by kids. Most were waving their arms around in a I-haven’t-got-a-clue-what-is-going-on fashion. I joined the crowd.

  ‘Wassup?’ I asked David, who just happened to be the first person I bumped into.

  ‘Something’s going on,’ he said, which wasn’t exactly news. You didn’t have to be a genius to work out that something was going on. The big question was what. ‘Hey,’ he continued. ‘One hundred and seventy-five dollars.’

  I groaned. The way things were going, he’d be offering me more for that iPod than he’d pay in a shop.

  ‘David,’ I said. ‘I wish you’d offered me a sensible price in the first place. I’ve sold it, mate. It’s gone.’

  ‘I was negotiating,’ he replied. ‘You should have been patient.’

  I didn’t want to think about it. It would make me too depressed. Then Miss Prentice, our Principal, appeared in the yard and I put everything else out of my mind.

  She was carrying one of those electric things that magnify your voice and it was clear she wasn’t afraid to use it.

  ‘Attention, please,’ she said, which was unnecessary since the volume was cranked up full. There were probably people thirty kilometres away who were raised from deep sleep to full attention. ‘I regret to inform you that school today is cancelled.’

  She waited for the cheers to die down. This took some time. ‘There is a problem with the electrics – a problem that is being worked on as we speak. But I have been told it is extremely unlikely the problem will be fixed before close of school today. Given that there is no power anywhere in the building I have no choice but to pass on the Director of Education’s advice that school is closed. Would all students please report to a teacher so that we may ring home and explain the situation. Finally, I have been assured that we will be open tomorrow, so please attend as normal. Thank you.’

  This was fantastic. This was just too good to be true.

  It was too good to be true.

  ‘Dylan,’ I whispered. ‘What have you done now?’

  I only found him after the crowd had thinned out. He was moving among the kids, collecting money in a big tin. When I got close, he looked up, saw me and smiled.

  ‘Explanation, please, Dyl,’ I said.

  ‘In a few,’ he replied. ‘I’ve still got some kids to see. Meet me in the park across the road.’

  It didn’t take long. Ten minutes, tops.

  ‘Explanation, please, Dyl,’ I said again.

  ‘Hey,’ he said. ‘All in good time. First, we’ve got to count this up.’ He knelt and tipped the tin out onto the grass at my feet. Coins rolled everywhere. Quite a few were gold. I joined him on my knees. For once, Dylan was right. An explanation could wait. I wasn’t even sure I wanted to hear it. I suspected it might cause me a sleepless night or two.

  Anyway, I couldn’t trust him to do the counting. Otherwise, the total would come out somewhere between one dollar and forty cents and four million. Whatever, you could guarantee it wouldn’t be accurate. So I started to divide the coins into piles according to value, while Dylan poured yet another cola down his throat.

  ‘Seventy-four dollars and fifty-five cents,’ I said finally. ‘Plus an assortment of coins from Thailand, China and – interestingly – the Ivory Coast.’

  ‘If I find out who put them in,’ said Dylan, ‘there’s gonna be trouble. Still, never mind, eh? Told you I’d get money for you. Is it enough?’

  ‘Dyl,’ I replied. ‘We needed sixty. We got seventy-four and a bit. Does that sound enough to you?’

  He frowned in concentration, so I put him out of his misery.

  ‘It’s more than enough, mate. But what I want to know is how you got it.’

  ‘A collection, Marc. Payments from grateful students.’

  I sighed.

  ‘Tell me, Dylan,’ I said. ‘Tell me how you destroyed the electrical system of an entire school and closed the place down.’

  ‘Ah,’ he said, taking another can of cola from the pocket of his jacket. ‘That wasn’t so difficult. Simple destruction, really. I’m good at destruction. Everyone says so.’

  I waited.

  That’s one thing about Dylan. He has no fear. None whatsoever.

  While I was talking to God at the pet shop, Dylan had been hiding in a cupboard at school. It was dark and cramped in that cupboard. And boring when he’d been in it for an hour and a half, despite the fact he could hear Mr Bauer marking Maths test papers and cursing loudly at the stupidity of those who had written them. The novelty of hearing a teacher swear quickly wears off, according to Dylan.

  Most people might have worried that Mr Bauer would open the cupboard in his classroom. To put something away or take something out. Most people might have worried about having to explain what you were doing there, crammed up against old exercise books and whiteboard cleaning products. But Dylan is not most people. He has no fear.

  Eventually, Mr Bauer left and Dylan emerged, blinking, into a school that was pretty much deserted. Apart from the caretaker and assorted cleaning staff, that is.

  It was Dylan’s job to avoid them while making his way to the main electrical switchboard down in the basement. Dylan knew where it was. He’d spent many happy hours down there when he should have been in Remedial Maths, so the route was locked in his brain. Along with the promises he’d gathered that afternoon. Promises of money from kids who, for their various reasons, didn’t want to go to school the following day.

  He got to the basement without any problems, but the door to the switchboard was locked, so Dyl had to double back, nip into the caretaker’s office, find the correct key hanging on the wall and retrace his steps. Not a problem for someone without fear. Eventually, he opened up the electrical mains box. Row after row of switches lay before him. And tangles of wires.

  Dylan is not a whiz at Science. He is not a whiz at anything really, if you don’t count window-smashing. But he had a certain fondness for electricity. Remember the scissors and the afro? And he knew that electrics and water don’t mix. There wasn’t any water down there in the basement. But Dylan had brought his own. After all, an hour and a half in a cupboard with nothing but five cans of cola to drink …

  Apparently, the mains box provided a brilliant fireworks display. Sparks leapt everywhere. Electricity arced. I knew more about Science than Dylan. There are termites that have a better grasp of Science than Dylan. But I didn’t like to point out to him that electricity can follow water back to its source.

  That he was very, very lucky he wasn’t the only person present at his own pers
onal sausage sizzle.

  And that was it. Apart from getting out of the building while a puzzled caretaker raced around trying to discover why all the lights had suddenly gone out. But that was easy.

  Dylan doesn’t have any fear.

  ‘Let’s go and buy God,’ he said.

  I couldn’t think of one reason why not.

  The guy with the upside-down head was back. I was relieved.

  Me and Dylan had whipped back to my place to collect the rest of the money and then gone straight to the shop. I’d whistled for Blacky, but he hadn’t shown. Probably just as well. He wouldn’t have liked being whistled. Typical, I thought. He was always hanging round like a bad smell – normally with a bad smell – but when you wanted him he was nowhere to be seen.

  Dylan carried the tin. I kept the other two hundred tucked tightly down into my pants pocket.

  ‘I’d like to buy the pygmy bearded dragon, please,’ I said.

  ‘No worries,’ said the Beard. ‘You’ve got a reptile licence, I take it?’

  My jaw hit the floor.

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘A reptile licence. You need one from Parks and Wildlife to keep a reptile.’

  My tongue seemed to have become stuck to the roof of my mouth. I shook my head.

  ‘No worries,’ repeated the Beard. ‘We can fax off an application form. You’re thirteen years old, right?’

  I shook my head again.

  ‘Worries,’ said the Beard. ‘But not impossible. What you need to do, kid, is bring a parent in to sign the form. No worries then. The bearded dragon is yours.’

  I walked out of the shop in a daze. So close and yet so far. I couldn’t quite believe it.

  ‘You should have said you were thirteen,’ said Dylan. ‘He wouldn’t have known any different.’

  He was right. I knew he was right. But I wasn’t thinking straight. It’s really annoying the way truth just seems to pop out at the worst possible moment. And now I had another barrier to get over. My parents? Signing a form to say I could keep a reptile? About as likely as Rose returning my iPod and sticking her own head down the toilet.