My silent teacher
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My earliest memories of compassion towards animas stem back to living in a Veterinary clinic in a small country town. Mum and dad ran the practice and worked 24/7, my brothers and sisters were all much older and, at the age of around 3, I was pretty much left to occupy myself. My parents had little time for me and I quickly adopted the animals as my surrogate family.
One memory that stand out was a day when dad was out on call and mum was on her own in the clinic. A woman came in looking very distraught and told mum she had a vicious Rottweiler in her car that needed to be put to sleep. Mum assisted the woman to put the animal, which was yellow eyed and foaming at the mouth into one of the kennel rooms and told her the dog would be euthanized as soon as my father got back to the clinic. Mum went about her work and I, a curious 4 yr old could hear the animal pining, my heart was heavy as I could hear the pain in its cry. I could relate to its loneliness and feelings of not being wanted around and decided a chocolate biscuit might make it feel better. I went into the staff room, carefully climbed up onto the bench using the autoclave for balance, and reached up to get the nurses coveted biscuit barrel. I crept quietly through the green and white swinging doors and headed down towards the kennel room. As I opened the door the massive animal snarled and threatened me. I stood quietly and gazed directly at its feet, just as I had been taught in order not appear threatening to him. He quietened down and slowly my eyes made their way up to meet his. As our eyes locked, I could see the pain and sadness within him, if he could he would’ve been shedding tears. I reached out and offered him a biscuit. He grumbled and cautiously sniffed my hand before taking the gently offering. I moved closer and closer and he eagerly kept eating the biscuits. It wasn’t long before I was sitting, snuggled up and man-eater sharing the food “one for you, and one for me” I kept saying. I heard mum coming, obviously she had heard the conversation coming from “death row” and understandably panicked. As she opened the door slightly, the dog lunged at her, aggressively preventing her entry, there was nothing she could do but quietly beg me to come away, “come to mummy“ she pleaded. “No” I responded innocently. I knew that I was the only thing preventing this animals demise and I wasn’t going anywhere! Dad soon arrived and after many discussions it was decided to phone the owners and ask to keep him. We did and for the next couple of years “Rocky” never left my side and I never got a smack!!!!
When I was 7 mum and dad decided to move to a farm and Rocky was given to family friends, it was a very sad day but I knew they would love him as much as I did.
My father was a hard man who found my love and compassion a little too sickly sweet, he and mum often argued about it , whenever this happened Id escape to the solitude of a quiet creek that ran through the thick scrub that adjoined our farm. One day I fell asleep on the edge of the water and awoke to feel an eerie presence, I looked up and saw the most majestic creature staring straight into my soul, its golden coat glistening in the sun, its muscles prominent and powerful, the hair on its back was standing straight upright and it was poised on its toes, ready to run. The animal made a sneezing sound that astonished me, certainly not a sound I had ever heard from a dog before - what on earth was it? I attempted to reach out to touch it but it ran away, vanishing into the dense bushland, gone as quick as it had appeared . It was nearing dusk and I headed home, my parents, as usual, had not even noticed I was gone. That night I smuggled one of dads wildlife books into bed with me and began to research the strange creature. Too big to be a fox, a wolf perhaps? No, there are no wolves in Australia. Then, on the next page, I saw it - a dingo. I had heard of them before but dad had always insisted that they were just “mangy feral dogs“. I had not just been with a mangy wild dog - that animal I encountered was as majestic as the grey wolf of Alaska, more so in fact, and Its expression looked as though it had seen a thousand lifetimes. Determined to find him again I set out the next afternoon to the same spot and waited, after two hours I was ready to give up, when all of a sudden there he was, standing proudly on top of a rocky ledge. He looked down at me with his wise topaz eyes, then tipped his head back, his ears resting on his shoulder blades and howled to the setting sun. Every hair stood up on the back of my neck - I had always taken everything father had ever told me as gospel, but I was sure this time he was wrong - the dingo was by no means just a feral dog, no way, I felt compelled to learn all I could from this elegant animal.
I continued to visit my new friend, and although he spoke no words he taught me a lot about the bush. I never touched him, I could tell thousands of years of human persecution prevented him from allowing that. But we explored together and he always walked me home, disappearing back into the bush just before I arrived at my families fence line. Not once had he ever shown signs of aggression towards me until one day as I approached our special meeting place he flew out of the scrub and knocked me to the ground, growling at me. Fear raced through my body - I honestly thought he was going to bite me, then I saw what I had nearly stood on, a king brown snake, coiled up and ready to strike - at me. I sat motionless on the ground, not daring to move, my heart in my throat, breathing fast and shallow. The dingo circled quietly but confidently behind the snake and as fast as the blink of and eye he pounced again, this time his aggression was not directed at me, he grabbed the snake at the tip of its tail and pulled it away from me, then with one powerful bite killed it. I was still shaking with fear and sat, motionless as he walked up to me and sniffed me, almost as if checking to see if I was ok. I got up slowly, dusted myself off and headed home. That night I wanted desperately to tell my parents of the heroic dingo that resided next to our property, but didn’t as I knew my father would never believe me and would punish me for telling lies. Even if he did believe me, I knew I would be condemning the dingo to death , as my father was not only the town vet but also a sheep farmer and hated all “vermin” with a passion. If only he knew how many bullets my dingo friend had saved him by killing the many foxes and rabbits in the area. But dad was an old man, cold hearted and set in his ways, so I kept quiet.
One night as I lay in bed, I heard my friend howling, a much different howl than he usually made in the evenings or the mornings and much different to the song he used to sing to greet me. “shhhhhh” I said to him quietly in my head “ If dad hears you out there he’ll kill you”. I don’t know if it was a coincidence or not but he quietened down quickly.
I didn’t get a chance to visit him for a couple of weeks but I often heard him calling to the setting sun and occasionally caught him looking into our property from the safety of the bush. He never once stole our sheep, there were enough foxes, and rabbits feed on out there and he did a great job at reducing the numbers.
Finally I was able to get away to visit him one Saturday afternoon but couldn’t find him anywhere. After an hour of searching, I decided to attempt to call him in his own language. I tipped my head back, and did my best to imitate the mournful cry I had heard so often whenever I was late for our visits. Within minutes I heard a familiar rustling in the bushes and there he was, looking happy the see me, but as fast as he appeared he was off again playfully running away and returning to me like a small puppy. Was he trying to get me to follow him? It certainly appeared that way, so I did. Not nearly half as agile as he, I clumsily picked my way over rocks, up steep hills and through the harsh scrub. Finally I caught up, and there he stood, almost smiling, I was still confused until I heard it, squeaking and yapping coming from within a large hollow log, I bent over and peered in, two yellow, protective eyes glared back at me, warning me to look but do not touch. From under her forearms emerged three fluffy faces, curiously checking me out from the safety of their mothers den. I was in awe, they were just beautiful, but I knew I had to respect their privacy so after a quick peek I moved away. I never thought for one minute that there was a whole family of dingoes out here - I looked up at my friend, quietly congratulated him and left him to proudly stand over his new family. I left them alone for a while, only occasionally visiting and never approached unless invited by the male, even then I sat quietly by the den sketching drawings of the family and sharing baring my soul to my non-judgemental friend, who sat silently by me listening intently.
One morning dad woke me early to help him bring in the sheep and their new lambs. We put on our boots and jackets and jumped into the Ute and headed out to the sheep. We pulled up at the gate and I began to open my door in order to get out and open the paddock for dad to drive through. “Don’t move” he said. H silently reached behind the drivers seat for his gun. I didn’t know what he was talking about and strained my eyes in the direction he was looking. Far across the paddock I saw it - “my” dingo, casually trotting through the paddocks on his way home from a hunt with a big hare hanging from his mouth - “NOOOO DAD” I screamed, realizing what was about to take place. But it was too late, my father fired his gun with his usual confidence and accuracy and my spiritual friend collapsed to the ground, laying motionless. He was still clutching the hare in his mouth, most likely a first meal for his puppies. I ran to him, my eyes burning, tears steaming down my face, I could barely see and stumbled heavily before reaching his side. I threw myself down to him, and, for the first time ever, touched his cheek gently, holding his head as he gazed, heartbrokenly into my eyes before passing away in my arms. By now dad had almost made his way to me the dingo, shouting obscene abuse at me to get away from the mangy savage before it ripped my throat out. Normally I would’ve hidden my love for the dingo in front of my father but this time I just couldn’t hold back. I stood up and pummelled my dads chest with clenched fists and screamed “No dad, you’re the savage, he wasn’t anywhere near your stupid sheep - he was just trying to feed his family and ……”
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Although I was uncontrollably shaken up I knew I had said too much and dropped back down to my knees and pined over the dingo as his mate would’ve had she been with him. “Stupid child, it’s a dingo, nothing but a mindless killer, get up and stop being ridiculous.” Dad grabbed me by my right arm and dragged me back to the Ute, I cried all the way, struggling to free myself from my fathers cold hearted grip, but he was too strong and forced me violently into the Ute. I couldn’t look at him and said not a word all the way back towards the house. As soon as we pulled up I leapt out of the car and ran through the house almost knocking my mother off her feet as I made my way to the sanctuary of my bedroom - my den. I locked the doors, threw myself onto my bed and took out my sketchings of my beloved friend. Gazing at them I remembered how he had saved me from the brown snake, and how, I was unable to save him in return. That day, my innocence, love, and respect for my father died alongside the dingo, I felt nothing but contempt for the man and never looked upon him the same again.
The next morning I could hear mum and dad arguing in the kitchen. “You killed the creature and it wasn’t doing anything wrong? - What the hell is wrong with you?” I could tell mum was just as angry as I was, but she knew better than to lose her temper with dad. He muttered something too quiet for me too hear, and I strained my ear against the plasterboard walls in an effort to pick up the occasional word - I was able to pick out a single word and my heart almost stopped, - “puppies“. “Oh no you don’t “ I growled quietly under my breath. There and then I made a promise to my passed over friend that I would protect his family. I heard the backdoor slam and dad leave for work. I then heard mums footsteps coming up the hall “are you ok darling?” she said kindly through my locked door. “GO AWAY” I shouted. I knew mum hadn’t done anything wrong, in fact she had sided with me earlier during her argument with dad, but my contempt was directed towards more than just my hypocritical father, I felt hatred toward the entire human race at that point. She turned and went back into the kitchen without a word and I quietly began packing a small bag with a small side of beef I had stolen earlier from the meat locker, scissors and some water. I climbed quietly out my bedroom window and snuck carefully across the paddocks as not to get caught. I HAD to save the puppies. I arrived at the den and was greeted by three, now quite big, boisterous, but now very skinny bundles of joy. I looked for their mother. There she was, sitting on top of a large ridge, looking silently out across the landscape for her mate, a sadness in her eyes, almost like she knew what had happened but was refusing to accept it. It was obvious that both she and the pups were doing poorly, she hadn’t eaten and her milk supply was running low. I knelt down on the ground and opened up my bag. I cut the meat up as best I could with the scissors and shared it out amongst the ravenous pups, saving a large portion for their mother who was still sitting motionless on her lookout, her nose twitching occasionally to sniff the air for her mates scent. I decided to play aunty for her pups and baby-sit for a while to give the grieving mother a break, I had read that in larger packs the last seasons adolescent pups often did this to allow the mother to go hunting and figured I wasn’t interfering too much by doing so. As with most young animals, they tired quickly and soon retreated back into their den for a nap. I then cautiously climbed up to the female, my eyes fixed on hers, not daring to go any closer than she allowed. I got within 6 feet of her, produced the left over meat and placed it nearby her in small bite-sized pieces and moved away again, leaving her alone. I knew dad often laid poisonous baits for the foxes near the creek and figured that this would be what he would do to kill off the rest of the dingoes now that, because of me, he knew they existed. So off I went, checking all the usual spots he usually put them in - but found nothing. After an hour of searching I decided to go back to the den, collect my bag and go and check one other area. I was half way back when SNAP “ARGHHHHHHHHHHHH” I screamed. My leg burned, I looked down and there was my leg, trapped firmly in the jaws of my own fathers steel dingo trap. I felt dizzy and nauseous, my world started spinning and I blacked out………I came to in more pain than before, so much so that I couldn’t even scream, I tried to open the trap but I just ended up tearing away more of my own flesh. I struggled again and then gave up, flopping down and closing my eyes. Suddenly I felt a soft wet nose poke me in the side of my face. I opened my eyes, and there she was, the mother dingo, kindly and maternally checking me over. She had always been very distant and aloof with me, but I guess she must’ve appreciated the help I gave her with her pups earlier. She licked my face, almost cleaning me as she would for her pups after a feed and then disappeared back in the direction of her den. I was getting dark and the cold winter night air was settling in. The owls were hooting, and I could hear all the nocturnal native animals waking up and beginning to go out foraging. I was in excruciating pain, freezing cold and very scared. I jumped as I heard fast moving noises coming towards me. It was quite dark by now and I could barely make out the shadows by the light of the moon. Suddenly my heart lifted, there out of the dark, coming to me were two dingo pups, ears flattened back, lips “smiling” and there bodies excitedly lowered in what I had come to learn as a dingoes greeting amongst loved ones. “Hi guys” I said weakly, pleased for the distraction from the agonising pain of the steel that dug further and further into my leg each time I moved. “ where’s your mama?” I asked them, stroking their soft fur. Just as I had spoken I heard her coming, then saw why she was so far behind the two pups - number three, the littlest pup had obviously not wanted to go on this evening excursion and she was carrying him in her mouth the whole way. She plonked him down nearby and came over to me and licked my face again, she smelt of roast beef “good” I thought, “she’s finally eaten. The pups, obviously not used to being up so late, had already begun to make themselves comfortable, snuggling up next to me for their first ever “camp out”. Without warning their mother did the same, fawning in close and laying her head across my abdomen. Our bodies generated so much warmth, and, considering it was the middle of winter, and I was in shock from my injuries, I was surprisingly comfortable and warm. I laid my head down against one of the pups and a tear ran down my cheek, in appreciation for these animals compassion. Dawn soon came and the pups woke early, full of energy and desperate for food and play, but their mother had other ideas. She got up and bowed, stretching her body slowly before shaking and moving off down the track, the pups tried to follow but she snapped at them, clearly telling them to stay behind. They cried but with my coaxing soon returned to my side, I occupied them as best I could, throwing leaves and sticks into the creek for them to chase. The morning sun was beginning to get some sting to it. I looked around for my hat, but it was gone “damn” I thought, I figured the pups must’ve run off with it whilst I was resting again. A couple of hours passed and I was beginning to worry, my leg still bleeding quite a lot and I couldn’t move my toes, I had to attempt to free myself. Futilely I tried once more attempted to open the jaws of the trap, but yet again, it was of no use and only made things worse. All of a sudden, the mother dingo came flying down the dusty bush track at the speed of light, stopping briefly to give me a look of honest friendship before disappearing along with the pups back to the safety of their den up the hill. “Cooooo-eeeee” I heard, it was my fathers voice. “This way” I called. “near the creek crossing” I added. I could hear the footsteps by now and they were getting louder, heavier and faster as my father got closure. He rounded the bend and I saw him, with a wrinkled face of worry - carrying my cap. “where’d you get that?” I asked, I was sure I had taken my cap with me the day before when I had snuck out of the house. “Uh, a dingo brought it up to the house” he started, barely believing his own words - “your mother recognized it was your cap and stopped me from shooting her and then…. oh my god, your leg” He cried. My father looked guilt ridden, as he broke me free from the jaws of his own trap. “I’m so sorry.” he began. “Its not me you should be saying sorry to” I said softly. He bowed his head in shame. “we’ll talk about this later, but right now, you need a doctor”. Dad picked me up and threw me over his shoulder, and picked the trap up with his spare hand. We were silent the whole way back to the farm and barely said a word to each other over the next week in which I was stranded in bed with my leg bandaged up. One afternoon, dad came home early with the trailer piled high with of fencing supplies. “What’s he doing?” I questioned mum. “Why don’t you go and see yourself” she replied smiling to herself. I struggled to my feet with the help of my crutches and made my way outside. I said nothing to the man but just watched from a short distance. Mum came up behind me and startled me as she placed her hand on my shoulder. “Your fathers decided to re-build the fences in the sheep paddocks so the dingoes cant get to them, but he’s leaving the front open so they can get to the front dam for water when the creek dries up in the summer” she whispered in my ear. I was speechless, I beamed from ear to ear and felt my eyes welling up with tears of joy, I threw down my crutches and hobbled over to my father as fast as I could and threw my arms around him. He kissed the top of my head and held me close before pulling away to retrieve something out of the back of the Ute, it was the trap, he threw it on the ground, reached back into the Ute and retrieved another item, a large sledge hammer - before I could say anything he swung the hammer high above his head and with one almighty blow smashed the trap into pieces. “now,” he said smiling, “lets go check on those pups”. I leapt into the Ute, still in shock at the complete transformation of my father, we drove toward the edge of the forest and then got out, slowly making our way towards the den. I stopped, tipped my head back and howled to them to announce my arrival, within seconds a reply was heard and the three pups came flying through the scrub to greet me and my father. We arrived at the den to fin their mother sunbaking with one eye open, back to her aloof self, looking as healthy as ever. Her tail flickered a subtle wag of pleasure of seeing me. My father and her locked eyes, a non-verbal, parent to parent exchange of gratitude and also of apology. We sat and watched the pups chasing lizards and butterflies for a while and my father not once spoke, except to occasionally utter “magnificent” I smiled, we bonded that day, we finally saw eye to eye.
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