Part 4 (2/2)

The next morning, very early, Patsy knocked on Nancy's door and told her, 'You won't believe this, Nance, but the Cribbages have gone.'

It was true. They had left their jobs without notice, and without collecting their pay. Their allotment was now a bare rectangle of brown concrete in the middle of a scruffy lawn and a couple of badly tended flower-beds. It looked most strange.

'I feel terrible,' said Patsy, later. 'We've gone and run them out of town. It's not exactly what you might call civilised, is it?'

'It's too late to regret it now,' said Nancy, 'They've gone. No-one's going to miss them either.'

'All the same,' replied Patsy, 'I don't feel too good about it.'

It was true; their victory had a bitter taste, and even Red Dog did not seem to derive much pleasure from it. He went looking for John one more time, hitched a lift to sweet Adelaide on a semi-trailer and came back two months later on a road-train. By the time he next scratched on Nancy's door there were new caretakers and new rules.

For all of us there comes a time when the luck runs out. Fate stops smiling, and we have to face our last struggle. Some of us are physically alone when we die, and some not, but whether or no, it is not possible to travel in company through that last dark tunnel at the end of life.

Red Dog was only eight years old, but he had had a tough existence, riding all over Western Australia looking for his lost master, getting in fights, eating too much some of the time, too little at other times, getting shot at, falling off the backs of utes and lorries, freezing at night and roasting by day. His dark-red muzzle became flecked with grey, his limbs stiffened and sometimes he felt just a little too tired to chase the shadows of birds on the oval. When he travelled in search of John he sometimes had to be helped into the vans, cars and trains that he wanted to board. Worst of all, though, was the casual malice of some of the human beings who crossed his path. n.o.body knows why it is that some people derive satisfaction from acts of cruelty; all we know is that such people exist, and that quite often their chosen victims are animals.

One day Nancy was grooming him, when she found bullet holes through his ears. That was one more of his narrow escapes, but then one Sat.u.r.day in November Peeto was driving in his ute from Karratha to Dampier, when out of the corner of his eye he thought he saw something dark red in the stones at the side of the road. Whatever it was, it was lying on the ground, and it was quivering.

He backed up and got out. He looked down in horror for just a moment, and then realised that he would have to do something. The trouble was that Red Dog was writhing and twisting so much that Peeto couldn't keep a hold on him. It was as if Red had gone mad, or was completely out of control. In his amber eyes was an expression of terrible pain and desperation. 'Oh jeez; oh jeez,' Peeto muttered to himself as he struggled to keep the dog still and lift him into his ute. It was hopeless. Red Dog was heavy, solid and still very strong.

Fortunately for Peeto, Bill the policeman drove by shortly afterwards, and he spotted Peeto's car at the side of the road, with Peeto apparently struggling with something next to it. Bill and Peeto had never really got along since Bill had charged Peeto with drunk-driving whilst coming home with Red Dog from Port Hedland all those years before, after Red Dog had been shot. They were near neighbours, it is true, but it is hard for policemen to enjoy a normal social life when sometimes they have to impose the law on their own friends.

Bill thought that he had better stop, however, in case Peeto was in some kind of trouble. This is the code all over rural Australia, and everyone observes it. In this case it was only a moment before he and Peeto had forgotten their differences altogether.

The two men battled to get Red Dog into the back of the ute. It was frightening to have to try to control an animal, who was also an old and well-loved friend, who was thras.h.i.+ng about in their arms as if possessed by a devil. Peeto and Bill swore and winced as Red Dog's claws raked across their faces, and swore all over again when Red began to vomit.

Finally they heaved Red Dog into the vehicle, and stood back for a breather. 'What the h.e.l.l is it?' asked Peeto, gesturing towards the suffering animal.

'It's poison, mate,' said Bill. 'Strychnine. I've seen it before. They get these convulsions that last for hours, and then they die.'

'Who'd give Red poison, for G.o.d's sake? He's everyone's pet dog.'

Bill pursed his lips and shook his head knowingly. 'The things I've seen since I was a policeman, you just wouldn't believe. I'll tell you, mate, there's no animal lower than us in the whole d.a.m.n world.' He looked at Peeto and said, 'We'd better get him to the vet, mate.'

They looked at Red in his agony, and Peeto said, 'Let's take him to the copshop, and call the vet out. I don't reckon it'll do him any good to have to go all the way to Roebourne.'

So it was that Red Dog was driven to the police station and laid down on the table, where Bill tried to hold him still whilst Peeto called the vet. He spoke urgently into the phone, and then came back looking grim.

'The vet's away,' he said. 'I've left a message, but they don't know when he'll be back.'

Peeto took over from Bill in the battle to hold Red Dog still. He grasped Red Dog by the upper forearms, and then looked sideways at the policeman. He said, 'There's only one thing we can do. We can't let it go on. I can't b.l.o.o.d.y bear it.'

'You're right,' said Bill, 'but I don't want to.'

'You've got to, mate,' said Peeto softly. 'If he carries on like this he's going to break his own bones. You can't look at him like this and think there's any hope.'

'I've got to account for every bullet,' said Bill. 'I don't know if I'm supposed to be putting down dogs.'

'Listen, we'll all back you up. No-one's going to give you a bas.h.i.+ng for helping out a poor old dog.'

'Yeah, well, I guess you're right,' said Bill. 'I guess you're right. But even so ...'

'You've got to, mate. Red would thank you for it.'

'We'll take him outside,' said Bill. 'We can't do it indoors. I know that much.'

Between them they picked up the convulsing dog, and carried him out into the suns.h.i.+ne. They laid him on the red earth. A squad of tiny pigeons called to each other in a nearby palm tree, seeming to mock each other. Bill unbuckled the flap on his holster. He took out his pistol, loaded the chamber with two bullets and stood silently for a moment. Peeto saw that his eyes were filling with tears.

He knelt down and stroked Red Dog's head with the back of his hand. 'I'm sorry, mate,' he said, 'I don't want to do this, and you've got to forgive me.'

Red Dog was too raddled with the poison to know what was happening, let alone to understand or forgive. It was as if the poison had removed his personality and his ident.i.ty. He was nothing but a living heap of contorting pain.

Bill knelt down and put the muzzle to Red's forehead, between the eyes, but could not hold the gun steady because the dog was convulsing too much. 'We've got to hold him still,' said Bill. 'Otherwise I can't do it.'

'I can't hold his head,' said Peeto, desperately. 'He's moving around so much, I might get shot in the hand.'

Just then, Red Dog fell still for a moment, and Bill put the gun to his head once more. He took up first pressure on the trigger, and closed his eyes. Peeto bit his lip, looked away and awaited the report of the pistol. Then Bill sat back suddenly on his heels. 'I'm sorry,' he said, 'I can't do it. I just can't do it.'

Thus it was that Peeto called up Red Dog's friends, and they arrived one by one to take it in turns to hold onto him and quell the convulsions during the long hours until the vet's arrival. No-one held out any hope for Red Dog's survival, and as they drank tea in the crowded little police station they reminisced about their old friend whom they were about to lose.

'I remember once,' said Nancy, 'I went to the Miaree Pool with my family, and we had the cat in the back, for some reason, and anyway, when we arrived, there was Red fast asleep on a mudbank. The trees were full of white c.o.c.katoos, and the water was just right for bathing. It was really lovely. We spent the day lying around in our bathers, swimming, picnicking, all the usual, and then when it was late we got ready to go home. That was when Red decided he wanted a lift, and he tried to jump in the back. We shoved him out again, 'cause we thought it wasn't fair on the cat. You know Red liked to chase cats, apart from Red Cat at the caravan park. It was difficult, 'cause we knew Red would need a lift, and we felt bad about shoving him out.

'Anyway, you know that track to the pool is pretty rough, so we drove away slowly, like you do, and then after a while we realised that Red was trotting along beside the car, still asking for a lift, so we told him to go away, but he still wouldn't give up.

'Finally we stopped the car, and we said, ”OK, Red, we give in, but you're not coming in here unless you leave the cat alone.” So Red jumped in, and he sat there as good as gold, with his head out of the window, all the way back to Dampier, without giving the cat any gyp at all. And the funny thing is, the cat wasn't bothered a bit.'

'He was obstinate all right,' said Patsy. 'I remember one time Red missed the bus into Dampier, so he ran out in front of the car and stopped me instead. I thought I'd take him back to my place, but when we got there, he wouldn't get out. Just sat there looking at me sideways, with the whites of his eyes showing. So I got back in and chased after that bus, and I caught it near the terminal. I told Red to get out, but he wouldn't. I suppose he wanted me to take him all the way to the mess. Anyway, I went up to the bus and knocked on the window, and I said to that driver, ”Do me a favour, I've chased you all the way from Karratha, and I've got a meal to cook. Can you get that dog out of my car?”

'The driver put his hand in his mouth and whistled, and Red jumped out, good as gold, and went and sat behind him in the bus, and that was the last I saw of him until nine o'clock that night, when there's a scratching at the door. You guessed; after all that trouble, he only decided to come and stay with me after all.'

'I picked him up once,' said Ellen. 'It was two in the morning, 'cause I was picking my girl up from the disco. He wouldn't get out at Poon's Camp, and then he wouldn't get out at Dampier mess, and we were getting pretty tired and fed up, I can tell you. Finally we took him to Hamersley Iron single-quarters, and he hopped out. As he jumped out, he did a really filthy smell, like it was some kind of a thank-you!'

'His guts were always a liability,' said Peeto. 'You know, once when he tried to pull that cadging-lifts trick on me, we put him in the boss's ute and just left him there. The boss still don't know who did it. He wasn't too pleased with that stink when he opened the door.'

'I remember,' said Bill, 'when he used to come in the patrol car when we were testing it out for speed after a service. He didn't care how fast I went. He just stuck his head out of the window as normal, with the wind whistling through his ears.'

'Yeah, but he wasn't stupid,' said Vanno. 'One day I see this drunk driving along, weaving all over the road, with Red in the pa.s.senger seat, and the drunk stops for a leak, you know, he does it in public 'cause he's so far gone he doesn't care, and Red just jumps out of the window and trots into the bush. Then he comes out and begs another lift from the car coming after. That's one bright dog.'

'Everyone's got a Red Dog story,' said Jocko. 'Someone ought to write them down.'

They all sat in silence for a while, taking it in turns to control Red Dog's las.h.i.+ng and shaking. By the time the vet arrived the following morning, they were all hollow-eyed with exhaustion and pity.

The vet listened to Red's heart through a stethoscope and shook his head. 'It's strychnine,' he said, confirming Bill's diagnosis. 'I guess he must have eaten dingo bait.'

'There aren't any dingoes here,' said Peeto. 'Leastways, I've never seen one.'

'People leave out poison anyway,' said the vet, sighing. 'The stationmen blame wild dogs and dingoes for just about everything, and nowadays you've even got people who put out poison for cats, 'cause they're not a native species. It makes me sick. It's me who has to cope with the consequences.'

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