The Winter Sea

by Morrissey, Di

  The vet chuckled. ‘I don’t think so. His paws aren’t worn as though he’s spent a lot of time walking. But he’s not a dog I recognise. Young dog, about two years old, I’d say. A kelpie cross, good working dog. Not microchipped.’

  ‘He seems to know a few things. Or he’s just smart,’ said Cassie. ‘I’d look after him for a bit. But . . .’

  ‘I know. You don’t want to get attached if the owner turns up,’ said the vet. ‘I’d keep him here, but it wouldn’t be any fun for him.’ He rubbed the dog’s ear and the dog relaxed.

  ‘I’m down at the cabins by the lagoon. I don’t know if they allow dogs but as I’m the only one there so I guess I could look after him . . .’

  ‘Yes, Pelican Cove. How long are you staying?’

  Cassie paused. ‘I’m not sure. I’m taking a sort of break here.’

  Michael Phillips stroked the dog’s back. ‘You chose a good place, good time of year. The winter here is a well-kept secret.’

  Cassie nodded. ‘It’s lovely. So he seems healthy enough?’

  ‘I’ll give you some worm tablets. Buy him some tucker and give him a decent brush. Take him for a run on the beach, he’ll be as happy as Larry, I’d say. Perhaps you could put an ad in the local paper to try to find the owner. Call me if you have any problems. Just play it day by day.’

  ‘Just the way I’m living my life,’ said Cassie breezily.

  ‘Nothing wrong with that. And this is the right place to do it.’ He lifted the dog down, opened the door and walked with her to the front desk.

  ‘You have a great view from up here,’ said Cassie.

  ‘Yes. When I was a kid, I used to love watching the fishing fleet heading out to sea at night. Most of the boats are gone now.’

  ‘You’re a local then?’ said Cassie.

  ‘This was my grandfather’s home. Okay, no charge for today,’ he said to the receptionist. ‘Leave your number with my receptionist and if anyone comes looking for a dog of this description, we’ll give you a call,’ he told Cassie.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Cassie.

  ‘I think he’d better thank you,’ said Michael Phillips as he patted the dog. Then he smiled at Cassie, nodded goodbye and picked up the file for the next client.

  ‘Well, I guess you passed,’ said Cassie to the dog, who followed her outside with his tail arched, pointing skywards.

  *

  Cassie put an ad in the local paper, thinking that if it brought no response she’d put up some handwritten posters around town, though she figured in such a small place anyone missing a dog would look in the paper or call the vet anyway. She had no idea what she would do with a dog, so she was determined not to become attached to him.

  She told him firmly, ‘I’ll look after you while you’re here. But I’m not going to bond with you and have you take off one day when your owner turns up on the doorstep. Of course, they must have been pretty sloppy people to lose you in the first place. Or did you run away? Are you on the lam, kid? What mischief did you get up to, eh?’ As she spoke to the dog, she was pleased to hear her own voice in the small cabin.

  The dog listened attentively, head cocked to one side, giving an occasional encouraging shake of his tail. At the word ‘mischief’, he lay on the floor, looking contrite.

  Cassie couldn’t help laughing. ‘What an actor you are!’

  She’d given him some food, including a bone, which he chewed on the porch. He gave it his full attention, equal to that of a school examination paper. At sunset they went to the lagoon and she threw sticks for him to retrieve. Then they went for a brisk walk along the beach before returning to the cabin as darkness fell. She put his dinner on the porch next to his water dish while she lit the fire and started cooking her meal. It felt good to have someone else to do things for and to share the evening with.

  ‘No more lounging around and reading all day. I expect you’ll want to get up and get going in the morning,’ she said cheerfully, as the satiated dog licked and cleaned his paws before settling down in front of the fire, scraping the old beach towel into a sort of nest for himself.

  ‘I suppose you think that’s your place,’ said Cassie.

  She ate her dinner. Then read more of her book, had another glass of wine and then, feeling drowsy, took the dog for a quick walk before bed.

  After brushing her teeth she put another log on the fire. The dog, curled on the old towel, took no notice.

  Cassie snuggled into bed feeling more contented than she had in a long time. She felt relaxed. The disturbed and emotional nights of the past year were over. She felt she was doing the right thing, ending her marriage, quitting her job, and changing her life. The emotions of those long, dark nights when she’d cried herself to sleep were still a little painful to recall, but they were behind her now. For the first time in a long time she had utterly no commitments, except for this dog.

  Cassie slept soundly, undisturbed by the high winds and intermittent rain. She did vaguely register a sudden thump on the bed as the dog jumped up and wiggled his way up beside her. Half asleep, she reached out and patted his head. It was comforting to know the dog was there. He made her feel safe and not alone anymore. With a sigh, the dog curled up on the doona and slept.

  Still dozy in the morning, she leaned over and stroked the dog, who began to nuzzle her hand. Cassie jumped out of bed.

  ‘Don’t you try and con me. Outside, Mr Dog. Do what you have to do. The day has begun.’

  As the dog sniffed the wet grass, Cassie looked at the brilliant sunrise and felt invigorated.

  ‘I’m so glad I’m here. I wish I could stay. I have a whole life ahead of me. But what am I going to do with myself?’

  The dog took no notice so she went inside and made herself a pot of tea and toast. All the while her mind was churning. After feeling that her life was going nowhere, Cassie felt as if a switch had been turned on. She was full of energy and enthusiasm. She couldn’t remember feeling this happy in a long, long time. She wanted to make plans. She felt ready to get going. She needed a project.

  The dog scratched at the screen door to come inside.

  She laughed and opened it. ‘I guess you’re my project for the moment. Come in, you smart thing.’

  He sat neatly, feet together, tail curled, and watched her chew every mouthful of toast.

  Cassie shifted in her seat so she couldn’t see his pleading eyes.

  While it would be months or even longer before the divorce was final, and the apartment would have to be sold and money divided, Cassie knew she was now in a better place than she had been. She had regrets but she knew that the years with Hal, and working in the law firm, had not all been wasted.

  She carried her plate to the sink and the dog’s eyes followed her. She picked up the last tiny bit of toast crust and stood in front of him. He didn’t move though his nose twitched.

  ‘C’mon. Sit up.’

  He cocked his head and looked a bit confused, but quickly he understood what she wanted. Sitting on his haunches he lifted his front paws. Cassie held the toast tantalisingly close to his snout.

  ‘Take it gently, mister. Slowly, like a gentleman.’

  The dog delicately took the morsel.

  Cassie clapped her hands. ‘Excellent. Good dog.’

  The dog now bounced exuberantly, happy he’d pleased her, and looked around for more toast.

  ‘No more. I’m getting dressed and I think we’ll go for a drive and explore the district. I have a good feeling about today.’

  The dog wagged his tail, happy to go along with whatever she planned.

  The dog was not sure about getting into the car until Cassie sat on the back seat and encouraged him to join her. She spread the old beach towel onto the seat and got him to hop in beside her, but as soon as she got out of the car, he leapt up to follow her.

  ‘Listen, mate. Obviously you don’t know about cars. Trips in cars are fun. You go to nice places. Behave yourself and you get to come along. Are you more used to the bac
k of a ute or didn’t you get any outings?’ Cassie asked the puzzled animal.

  Finally she got him settled, but as soon as she sat behind the wheel the dog wriggled into the front seat. She pushed him back and held up a finger. ‘Stay. Sit and stay.’

  This time the dog did as he was told and, looking miserable, he watched her every move. After a while, as the car headed out to the main road, he lifted his head and sniffed the wind blowing in through the top of the window. Cassie turned on the radio and sang along to an old David Bowie song.

  Leaving the sea behind her, she headed towards the green hills of the hinterland and began driving past lush paddocks of fat cattle. English-looking cottages, smoke spiralling from their solid chimneys, stood surrounded by country gardens and deciduous trees. Occasionally, on some properties, there were moss-covered dry-stone walls instead of fences. Cassie felt she’d moved into a different country in just a few kilometres.

  When she had walked into Whitby Point that morning, the newsagent, who now introduced himself as Ron, had told her about the historic estate of Coolangatta. It was the first European settlement in the district. According to Ron, Alexander Berry and his partner Edward Wollstonecraft had taken up ten thousand acres on the south coast in the 1820s and developed the land into a thriving business.

  ‘Berry was Australia’s first millionaire and he founded the dairy industry. The village he established has been restored. It’s definitely worth a visit,’ Ron assured her. ‘Very popular place with tourists and foodies from Sydney. It’s got a restaurant, function centres for conferences and it does weddings. We occasionally go there for Sunday lunch. My wife loves the place. They get booked out year round, you know.’

  ‘I might go for a drive. Maybe I could check it out.’

  ‘If you don’t want to go there, you could always go on to Berry. It’s a gorgeous little town. It’s not far. Bit more than an hour,’ said Ron.

  So Cassie headed up the highway and through the traffic of Nowra. After the low-key, unhurried pace of Whitby Point, this busy city near the naval base made her realise just how peaceful Whitby Point was, certainly at this time of year. She saw the turnoff for Coolangatta, but decided to continue driving on to the township of Berry. Just before she got there, Cassie spotted an elaborate sign pointing to a winery and suddenly decided to visit it.

  The winery driveway was lined with rosebushes, all pruned and awaiting spring. A tourist coach was parked at the cellar door, so Cassie stopped at the far end of the parking lot. The dog seemed relieved to get out of the car.

  ‘We’ll have to christen the lead I bought you this morning. Now stick with me and we’ll just take a bit of a stroll through the garden area at the back. We’ll keep a low profile, in case dogs aren’t allowed to roam here,’ Cassie told the dog.

  The vineyards were situated in a pretty spot at the foothills of a mountain range. From the buildings and gardens it looked to be a newly established estate. The tour group from the coach had left the tasting room and were now settled in the restaurant so Cassie tied the dog to a convenient post outside the cellar door and walked in. She picked up a brochure and a wine list from the counter as a young man cleared away the used tasting glasses.

  ‘Want to try anything in particular?’ he asked.

  ‘I’m driving, so I can only try a mouthful. I like sauvignon blanc. What is your speciality here?’

  ‘Crisp whites. We grow some grapes for reds but don’t blend them here, we send them to one of the bigger estates. But we do have an excellent range of whites, which we make ourselves: pinot grigio, verdelho and sav blanc.’ He took a bottle from the fridge and poured a small amount into a glass for Cassie to try. ‘Good light colour, hint of green, nice herbaceous touch. Crisp and dry. We also have a semillon–sauvignon blanc blend.’

  ‘This is delicious,’ said Cassie, after she had taken a small sip. ‘Could I try a little of the verdelho as well?’ He poured. She sipped. ‘That’s really nice too. I’ll have two bottles of each.’

  Cassie knew that she sounded as though she was in a rush, but she didn’t want to leave the dog for too long. Just as she was about to go, she saw a brochure advertising the Coolangatta Estate. ‘I saw the signs pointing to that place. It’s big,’ she exclaimed as she opened out the brochure. The map in the brochure showed different accommodation buildings, function rooms, a restaurant, a space for garden dining, croquet and tennis courts, a pool and a golf course surrounding the heritage buildings. ‘It looks like a whole little township!’

  ‘Yes, even in the early part of the nineteenth century, it had a mill, workshops, blacksmiths and a lot of convict labourers. The estate had a huge business exporting thoroughbred horses to India, red cedar to Europe and cattle, tobacco, cheese and wheat to Sydney. Was quite the showpiece. Then it began to be run down and by the 1940s it was neglected and falling into ruin.’

  ‘Who restored it? What a great thing to do,’ said Cassie.

  ‘Yeah, a farmer’s dairy cows used to wander through the dilapidated estate and he got the idea of restoring it all. He started in the early seventies. Saved all those old convict buildings. Restored the whole lot. Now it’s a popular place. Here’s the menu for the restaurant, if you fancy stopping there for a meal. People go to eat or stay over. We get a lot of their guests coming in here.’

  Cassie ran her eye over the menu. ‘This menu sounds pretty impressive. I’m surprised that a place serving food like this does well on the south coast.’

  ‘That’s the point. People like to get away for the food, the wine and beautiful countryside. We run wine and food appreciation evenings here and you’d be surprised at how quickly they sell out.’

  ‘Very interesting,’ said Cassie thoughtfully. ‘I’ll have to bring my mum down here.’ She paid for the wine, bought a bottle of water for the dog, untied him and headed back to the car. She poured the water into a bowl, which she’d borrowed from the cabin, and watched him drink before she settled him down again on the back seat and drove out.

  ‘I think it’s getting a bit late if I’m going to take you for a run on the beach,’ Cassie told the dog. So as soon as she could, she turned off the highway, skirted around Nowra and meandered back towards Whitby Point along a scenic route that twisted its way back towards the coast. When they came to a stretch of open land she pulled over and let the dog run about as she sat on a boulder and looked at the hills, wondering if she could hike up one of them. None of them looked as big as the unusually shaped Pigeon House Mountain, which rose inland of Whitby Point and was named, she’d been told by Ron the newsagent, by Captain Cook because he thought it looked like a pigeon house. ‘Perhaps I’ll take the Pigeon House challenge,’ she told the panting dog, now resting by her feet.

  When she got back to Whitby Point in the late afternoon she took the dog to the beach and let him leap into the surf to retrieve sticks in a stretch of relatively calm, shallow water. They were both quite exhausted as they trudged back over the dunes and through a patch of she-oaks following the track back into town.

  Cassie hoped that the small supermarket was still open as she needed some dog food. Then she decided to buy a small chicken for herself to roast and make stock from the carcass, which she would use for soup for the next few days. As she stood at the pet food section, she heard a voice behind her.

  ‘Hi, Cassie. Planning dinner for your pal?’

  She turned around to see Michael Phillips holding a shopping basket. ‘Yes. But I don’t know about this processed dog food. It doesn’t seem healthy to me. What do you think?’

  ‘I’m sure that young bloke would eat whatever you put in front of him. But as I can see you’re a discerning gourmet, you could get fresh meat and beef bones. Don’t know how you feel about ’roo meat, but it’s lean and good for dogs. Cook it or give it to him raw. I have some excellent dry food back at the surgery. Bit pricey, but worth it. I see you have a chicken there, raw necks are good. You know never to give a dog cooked bones, don’t you? They can splinter and pier
ce the intestine. Not nice.’

  ‘Yes, I know that. But thanks for the advice. I’ll get some of that dry food from you,’ said Cassie.

  Michael hesitated as if wanting to say more, then smiled and headed towards the deli section.

  *

  The next day, Cassie did little except cook for the dog and take him for a long walk on the beach south of Whitby Point, which they had to themselves. Later in the afternoon, as she was sitting on the front porch reading a book, the dog stood up and gave a low growl. She heard a car door slam and someone walking beside the cabin. The dog bounded down the steps barking with his hackles raised but then stopped barking and began wagging his tail as Michael Phillips came around the corner carrying a plastic bag.

  ‘He’s changed his mind about you,’ said Cassie, smiling, surprised to see the vet. ‘Maybe it was that flamingo top.’

  ‘Dogs know that the smell of the surgery isn’t a happy sign,’ he said cheerfully as Cassie came back out onto the porch. ‘How are you getting on with your new mate?’

  ‘Just fine. We’ve had a lot of fun, haven’t we, boy?’

  The dog looked at her and cocked his head.

  ‘That’s actually why I’ve come,’ said Michael. ‘I know who owned him.’

  ‘You do!’ Cassie was suddenly frozen to the spot, shocked at the impact his remark had on her.

  ‘Yes. I’ll tell you the story.’

  Cassie pulled up a yellow painted bentwood chair from inside for Michael and settled herself back into the wicker chair. Michael placed the plastic bag at his side and looked at the dog lying comfortably across the step.

  ‘He’s Tom Woodward’s dog. Tom lived on a property some way out of town all his life. Ran some cattle and kept a few milkers. Last few years he took to growing roses. Used to bring them into town to the florist till she got married and took off. Anyway, Tom hadn’t been seen for a bit, so his nephew went over to check on him. He found that poor old Tom had died in his sleep. Easy way to go, I guess. Animals were in a bit of a state. And the dog was missing.’ He smiled at the dozing black and tan dog. ‘Tom always had smart dogs, he taught them well. The nephew thinks the dog had gone looking for food. He came to see me to see if anyone had brought a stray in. I realised straight away your dog was Tom’s dog. I told the nephew you were dog sitting and he was pleased.’