Wattle Creek

by Fiona McCallum

  ‘Damien?’

  ‘Sorry, but I heard your dad was here. He’s a vet, isn’t he? Well … I found this and …’ Damien lifted a layer of hessian slightly to reveal a pair of tiny brown glossy kinked ears.

  ‘Yes. You’d better come in,’ she said, staring at the bundle as she opened the door fully and stepped aside.

  ‘He’s in the kitchen. Go straight through and to your left,’ she added over her shoulder as she closed the door.

  ‘Mum, Dad, this is Damien McAllister,’ she said, catching up with Damien who was standing in the kitchen doorway.

  ‘Philip Havelock. Pleased to meet you, son,’ Jacqueline’s father said, rising from the table and offering his hand. Damien rearranged the bundle and returned the handshake, then nodded a greeting to Eileen.

  Jacqueline had no idea what to do. They were in the middle of lunch and it was hardly appropriate to invite him to eat, yet she couldn’t ask him to leave now he was inside. She should have been firmer at the front door, but he’d said he needed a vet.

  ‘Why don’t you join us?’ Philip offered, pulling a chair out from the table.

  ‘Oh I …’ Damien started, glancing at Jacqueline and shifting from one foot to the other.

  ‘Have you eaten?’ Eileen asked. ‘There’s plenty here.’

  ‘I’ll get you a plate,’ Jacqueline offered.

  Suddenly Damien seemed to regain his senses and remembered the bundle and the reason he’d called. ‘Um … Mister Havelock. I was wondering … can you take a look at this?’ he said, nodding at the small bundle, which suddenly began frantically wriggling.

  ‘Oh, right. What have we got?’ Philip asked. Obviously more relaxed, Damien sat down and began unwinding the folds of hessian on his lap. Gradually the head and then the body of a puppy appeared.

  ‘Ooh, aren’t you a cutie,’ Eileen cooed at the tiny chocolate, white and tan Jack Russell terrier perched on Damien’s lap.

  ‘Has he been hurt?’ Philip asked, reaching for the small quivering creature.

  ‘I’m not sure. This sack was by the road. I don’t really know why I stopped. The other three were already dead, so I left them. I guess they’ve been dumped,’ he added and shrugged. ‘Don’t know why whoever put them there didn’t just dong ‘em instead of letting them suffer. Pretty cruel.’

  Jacqueline cringed at the casual reference to death. It seemed quite common out here and something that would take a bit of getting used to. But she’d have to if she was going to be here for a while. ‘How old do you think it is, Dad?’ she asked.

  ‘About eight weeks – just ready to leave its mother. And it’s a little boy,’ he said, turning the pup over. ‘Well, no bones seem to be broken. Actually, he looks pretty good considering his ordeal,’ Philip said, handing the puppy back to Damien who carefully returned him to the sack.

  ‘What are you going to do with him?’ Jacqueline asked tentatively, not sure she really wanted to hear the answer.

  ‘Well, I was hoping you’d help me out,’ Damien said shyly, blushing slightly and looking down at the wriggling mound on his lap.

  The last thing Jacqueline wanted was a pet. ‘Um … I’m not allowed to have pets in this house,’ she said apologetically. ‘Rules, you know,’ she added.

  Damien looked pleadingly at Philip and then Eileen.

  ‘Sorry, we’ve already got a houseful,’ Philip said regretfully.

  ‘Why can’t you keep him?’ Eileen asked.

  ‘He’s an inside dog, so no use to me. Anyway, the work dogs’d have a fit. They’d probably eat him.’

  ‘So what’s wrong with having a house dog?’ Jacqueline asked, hoping she didn’t sound as naïve as she felt.

  ‘Dogs that work earn their keep. Just the way it is,’ he shrugged.

  ‘He’d be great company,’ Jacqueline offered. She’d read heaps on the benefits of pets as therapy. It was something she was secretly hoping to get into one day.

  ‘He wouldn’t eat much. He’ll only grow to about triple his current height judging by the size of his feet,’ Philip added.

  ‘Well, perhaps you could give him a home while you look for someone else to take him?’ Eileen offered.

  Damien shrugged. ‘Suppose I’ll have to.’

  ‘How about we let him outside to run around while we finish our lunch?’ Philip said, standing and taking the bundle from Damien.

  ‘I’ll get him some water,’ Jacqueline offered.

  Over lunch Jacqueline couldn’t help noticing Damien always had one eye on the puppy frolicking on the other side of the glass door, despite chatting easily with her parents while he tucked into his food.

  She was surprised and pleased with how at ease he seemed, but couldn’t help wondering how long the news she’d entertained a client – well he was sort of a client – at her home would take to get back to Doctor Squire. Too late now, she thought wryly.

  Jacqueline was also amused at how taken her parents seemed to be with Damien. They even accepted his invitation to take a drive with him around the farm next time they visited. Did they think they were an item? She couldn’t say he was a sort of client because that would embarrass him.

  When the lunch dishes were being stacked in the sink, Philip announced they’d better get on the road. Sensing his welcome was about to run out, Damien said he’d also better go and get the little fellow some real food and settle him in.

  After thanking them for lunch and expressing his general gratitude, Damien said his farewells, urging them to stay put, he could find his own way out. But Philip insisted on showing the young man and his small bundle to the door, and Jacqueline was surprised to see him with a fatherly arm draped across Damien’s shoulders.

  ‘I want to hear all about his progress when we come up next,’ Philip said. ‘And we’re certainly going to take up your offer of a guided tour of the farm,’ he added.

  Jacqueline smiled at her father’s words floated back down the hall.

  ‘What a nice young man,’ Philip said when he returned to the kitchen.

  ‘Mm,’ Jacqueline agreed.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Damien got into his ute outside Jacqueline’s house feeling good. They’d all been so nice to him, especially considering he’d interrupted their lunch, he thought as he settled the puppy on the passenger’s seat beside him with the hessian bag open. The puppy glanced at him before curling up and going to sleep.

  As he turned the key in the ignition he looked back at the house and gave Philip Havelock, who was still standing at the door, another wave. He felt weird, sort of sad, like he was saying goodbye to his own father or something. He really did hope he’d see them again. Jacqueline’s dad had seemed serious about taking a drive around with him, hadn’t he? Oh well, he’d just have to wait and see.

  Damien glanced at the bundle beside him and sighed. What he really didn’t need was a yappy, useless mutt to get in the way. What had he been thinking? But he knew he couldn’t have just left it to die. That wouldn’t have been fair, there was an order to the way things went.

  He stopped at the supermarket to get the little guy some dog food, hoping he wouldn’t tear the interior of his vehicle apart while he was gone. When he got back the puppy was sitting to attention on the seat. When he got in, it began wagging its tiny tail, causing its whole body to wriggle.

  ‘I hope this is to your liking,’ he told the dog as he leant down to put the two tins of puppy food on the passenger’s side floor. As he was leaning down, the puppy began licking his ear. Damien laughed.

  ‘Thank you, yes, I like you too,’ he told the dog, and pushed it aside. The dog curled up again in the folds of the hessian bag. He thought he was really quite well behaved considering it was so young, and started the engine for the journey home.

  At home Damien settled the tiny dog in a box in the laundry with food and a bowl of water. It really wouldn’t be fair to expect him to hold his own with Bob and Cara.

  ‘Just till I find you another home,’ he told the do
g. Jesus, now he was talking to it. Actually, he thought the dog was pretty cute.

  ‘Stop looking at me like that. This is a temporary arrangement, so don’t get used to it. And don’t think I’m going to fall for that look.’

  Damien wondered how much dogs really understood.

  ‘Suppose you’ll want your own name? How about Squish? Because that’s the sound you’ll make if you don’t learn to keep out of the way of feet and wheels. And stop following me around everywhere.’

  Damien deliberated over leaving the dog in the house but the little guy was too quick as he left the room, slipping out the door before he had a chance to shut it.

  ‘Oh alright, if you insist. Come on, we’ve got work to do.’

  Damien thought about leaving Bob and Cara shut up. But they hadn’t been out all day for a run. Squish would just have to take his chances. The sheep dogs were overjoyed to be let out and even more excited to find they had a new plaything. Damien watched them for a few moments before leaving them to it and going into the shed by the house to do some tidying up. He was only moving a few things around because it might keep his mother off his back for a while. Half an hour later he went to get a pair of pliers out of the toolbox in the ute and found Squish asleep in the shade underneath the vehicle.

  ‘If you’re going to fall asleep, you’d be better off inside the ute than under it.’ He picked the tiny body up and put it inside, leaving the door open. Jeez, Damien thought, maybe he was turning soft, and heard a quiet voice in his head.

  Yep, you’re a soft cock. Told you so …

  He was distracted from dwelling on it when suddenly the two large sheep dogs were beside him, scrabbling around for attention.

  ‘And don’t you two get any funny ideas. The ute seat is definitely not for work dogs. Don’t ask, let’s just leave it at being a double standard.’

  Damien thought it was a lucky thing dogs weren’t in a union. He’d be in a right pickle then, with three of them.

  Damien took a quick evening drive around the sheep just on dark, fed the big dogs and shut them up for the night, and went into the house. He heated up the last of a dish of casserole he found in the back of the fridge – God only knew how long it had been there – and ate it on toast in front of the telly. He had to turn it up a bit louder to drown out Squish’s whining about being shut behind the sliding door in the laundry. But he couldn’t have the dog roaming all over the house during the night, pooping and weeing everywhere. At nine-thirty Damien called it a night and went to bed. The Jack Russell had too, and was finally quiet.

  The next morning Damien woke at dawn to find Squish sitting on his chest licking his face.

  ‘Eeuwww! Jesus, Squish!’ He pushed the dog off and wiped his face with the sheet. ‘Yuck.’ How the hell had he got out of the laundry? Must have sussed out the sliding door. Damien found himself grinning at the expression on the dog’s face that said it was very pleased with itself. He gave it a series of pats. Ah, what could you do? The dog had no idea it had done anything wrong. There was no point being upset.

  After both Damien and Squish had finished breakfast he called the dog to him.

  ‘Come on, mate. Big day today. The troughs need to be checked, then you and I are off to McDonalds’ auction.’

  Poor bastard, Damien thought. McDonald had survived forty odd years of drought, flood and countless average years only to get into trouble trying to upgrade his machinery to match the Joneses next door.

  It was damn hard for farmers not to hate banks and he couldn’t imagine how tough it would be being a local bank manager. There was always the chance they’d make friends, or their wife and kids would, with clients they might one day have to foreclose on.

  Damien thought foreclosure auctions were almost as bad as funerals, with everyone standing around scratching their balls, kicking the dust and avoiding talking about what was really going on. But out here you had to support your mates – that was the only reason he was going.

  Bert McDonald and his wife, Muriel, had been family friends of the McAllisters forever. It had been old Bert who’d got everyone together to reap their harvest the year Damien’s dad died, not to mention eight years before that when he’d first got crook. This was the only thing they could do for the McDonalds now, and by God they bloody well would.

  Apart from the obvious sadness and frustration for everyone involved, the foreclosure auction was an interesting business. The auctions could generally go one of two ways. The first would see the farmer manage to buy his land back for a fraction of its value, as the bank only ever wanted to recover what was owed.

  Pretty simple to organise, really. Word was sent around that he wanted to buy back in and everyone would agree to show up but keep their hands in their pockets at the critical time. Some unrecognisable bloke, an out-of-towner, would come and do the bidding, or sometimes a mystery phone bidder would be arranged. Bingo, everyone wins.

  Because Bert had decided to throw in the towel, the second option of selling for the highest price possible would be employed. Being well into his seventies, he wanted to retire to a large block in town and join Muriel in a bit of gardening, going fishing, and generally taking life easy. There was a rumour circulating that they’d been spotted in Port Lincoln looking at caravans. Each to their own, Damien thought.

  Damien was joining around a hundred and fifty other blokes ready to push the bidding up to help the old fella grow his nest egg. The auction wouldn’t take more than half an hour. Damien really didn’t have time to be there even that long, but it was important to show support and provide a reasonable crowd to make it all look kosher. Anyway, he’d be home by lunchtime. They’d already agreed upon who would chuck bids in here and there, but the only serious ones taken would be from any city slickers wanting to try something new. There were always two or three who thought they could do in five years what a farmer had spent a lifetime trying to achieve.

  To avoid any conflicts of interest the bank always sent a city desk jockey to preside over things. They tended to use a local auctioneer to save costs and be seen to be doing the right thing by the town. Of course all the collusion wouldn’t work if the auctioneer wasn’t a mate of the commissioned real estate agent.

  These shenanigans had been going on for decades, and no one ever seemed to catch on. Damien thought that after all these years they’d have to be wondering why some properties got passed in without a bid and others, quite often the crappiest piece of dirt, fetched ridiculous prices. Whatever, the system was foolproof when the locals stuck together.

  There had been an occasion years ago when someone had decided to play dirty and bought the property when the farmer wanted it. But he’d soon come unstuck when he couldn’t get shearers, stock supplies or manpower even though he’d lived in the district for forty years. As far as Damien knew, it had only happened the once. He shook his head, marvelling at how some blokes had no idea that being a mate was about more than buying them the occasional beer and hiding them from the missus until she’d calmed down.

  Out bush it was sometimes a case of downright iffy behaviour, even verging on illegal. But you did what you had to do. So today, as far as Damien was concerned, the country bumpkins were going to do battle with the banks and win.

  Damien congregated with a group of men under the huge peppertree. It was only eight-thirty and it was already pretty warm.

  ‘Who’s your mate, Damo?’ Bill Cabot asked.

  ‘Squish. Found him yesterday.’

  ‘Yeah, heard you were looking for a home for a house dog,’ Stan Burton said.

  ‘News travels fast. Decided to keep him, instead.’

  ‘Be a pain in the arse, I reckon,’ John Stening said, prodding the snuffling Squish with his boot.

  ‘He hasn’t done anything to you, John, leave him be,’ Bill said.

  ‘I reckon a man needs a mate, especially living out in the sticks all alone,’ Barry O’Donnell said in his quiet, thoughtful way.

  ‘So, what’s the go?’ Dam
ien asked as he picked up his new mate before he got squished under someone’s Blundstones or RMs.

  ‘Target’s seven hundred and eighty grand. That’ll give Bert a good start in town,’ said John. He was always the self-appointed organiser when anything like this needed doing.

  ‘Righto. Any idea if there’s a buyer?’ Damien asked, and repositioned the wriggling Squish.

  ‘Can’t you tell?’ John asked, using his head and a thumb to indicate to the left of where they were standing.

  Over by the fence was a nervous-looking bloke in brand-new get-up of stiff moleskins, sky-blue checked shirt, dust-free stock agent-style Akubra and RMs so shiny the powdery dirt wouldn’t even stick to them. Holding his hand was a good-looking sort in a flowery dress and white open sandals. She waved flies away and tried to shake the ants off her vulnerable toes. Damien thought she didn’t exactly look thrilled with being there. He wanted to feel sorry for her – they were about to be done like a dinner – but Bert had been a mate far too long and, anyway, you never knew when you might be in Bert’s position.

  Damien realised the poor little dog had run out of puff. He couldn’t hold him for the next half hour or so, especially if he got wriggly. He checked his watch. There was just enough time to take him back to the ute.

  As he put Squish’s water and food bowls on the floor and wound down the window, he marvelled at how quickly the little bloke had already become part of his life. He watched for the few moments it took Squish to get settled and go to sleep and thought he couldn’t imagine being able to give him up now if he wanted to. Those longing gazes were special. It was kind of nice to be appreciated, even if it was only for a bit of tucker and a pat. He was Squish’s only source of life, unlike the work dogs. They could always jump into a trough or find an old roo leg to gnaw on.

  He returned to the peppertree and was pleased when the auction started just a few minutes later. Right on time for once. As they’d planned, it went well for Bert. After the bank’s cut, he would have just over half a million to get his retirement under way. Everyone involved was off to the pub for lunch to celebrate. Damien had way too much to do and, anyway, Squish had had enough for one day and he didn’t have any more food for him. He gave his apologies and wandered back to the ute.