The Dog that Dumped on my Doona (9 page)

And she shut her bedroom door in my face.

I stood outside for a minute or two, thinking of how wonderful it would be to hold Rose's head down a toilet bowl. Then I went and let Dylan in the back door. It was only a quarter to four and Mum and Dad wouldn't be back from work for another hour and a half. It was time to do some serious thinking. We hadn't come this far just to give up when all we needed was a signature.

Dylan sat in a kitchen chair close to the open back door. If Rose came downstairs he could slip out. She wouldn't think twice about dobbing me in to Mum and Dad about Dylan. She'd probably dob me in about the bearded dragon as well. Just goes to show how desperate I was to ask her.

‘Any ideas, Dylan?' I asked.

‘Sure have,' he replied.

‘It doesn't involve a brick, does it?'

His face fell. ‘Might do.'

‘Look, Dyl,' I said. ‘We are really close here. A signature away. Why on earth would we smash a window, steal an animal, risk getting caught by the police, when all we need is to find someone over thirteen to sign a form?'

Dylan opened up a can of cola.

‘It's more fun?' he suggested finally.

If there was thinking to be done, it was down to me. I should've known that all along. So I ran through a list of possibilities, while Dylan drank his cola and daydreamed of smashed windows and police sirens. A teacher at school? No way. Too much explaining to do. An older kid? I didn't know any well enough. I even thought about Mrs Bird across the road, but I knew it would take me four days to make her understand what I wanted. That really only left Mum and Dad. Maybe I should come clean, explain that Blacky was a dog that could talk to me, that he had given me a mission to rescue God, the pygmy bearded dragon, so that he could be released into the wild while there was still time to warn his family about the mine's poisoned waste dumping.

I could imagine Mum's face as she rang to book me into the loony bin.

Dylan's brick was becoming more attractive all the time.

‘Get here. Now!' The voice filled my head and I jumped up, scaring Dylan who nearly spilt his cola. It took a moment or two for me to realise the source of the voice. I formed the question in my head and shouted it as loudly as I could.

‘Where, Blacky?'

‘The pet shop. Now.'

It took us ten minutes to get there, running all the way. And when we did arrive there was no sign of Blacky. We stood outside the shop window, scanning the streets.

‘Where the hell is that hound?' I said. ‘He calls us here like it's some kind of emergency and then disappears.'

‘He's not the only thing to disappear,' said Dylan.

‘What?'

Dylan just pointed to the window. I looked. The tank wasn't there. The tank containing God. Instead there was a hutch with a long-eared rabbit. I took a second look, though it seemed unlikely the rabbit was suddenly going to shrink, develop scales and a long thin tail. My brain tried to sort out the problem, but it wasn't up to the task. I flung open the shop door and rushed up to the Beard.

‘Where's the bearded dragon?' I yelled.

‘Ah,' he said, dragging a finger through the mop on his chin. ‘You've just missed him, kid.'

‘What?' I said. ‘He's popped out for a cup of tea and a scone? Back in five?' I could feel the anger starting to gather.

‘No,' said the Beard. ‘Sold him. Ten minutes ago.'

‘
Whaaat
?' I couldn't believe this was happening. ‘But you said you wouldn't sell him. You knew I was coming back here. “No worries,” you said.'

I have noticed in the past that when people are completely in the wrong, they get all nasty and try to put the blame on someone else. Normally the person who's pointed out they were wrong. This has happened to me many times with Rose. In fact, she was the person who'd drawn my attention to this fact in the first place. I remembered about a year before, she'd dropped my mobile phone down the toilet. Obviously, she had a thing about toilets. Anyway, when I'd pointed out that she had been careless with my property – property I hadn't given her permission to use – she'd got really mad.

‘It's your own fault anyway, Mucus,' she'd said.

‘How do you figure that?' I'd asked.

‘You always leave the toilet seat up, you festering little boil. If you didn't do that, it wouldn't have fallen in. I can't believe you can be so careless.'

The way she'd argued it, I was lucky she hadn't demanded compensation for emotional upset.

I hated Rose.

But not as much as I hated the Beard at that moment.

‘Listen, kid,' he said. ‘You said you'd be back. You weren't.'

‘Hello?' I said, indicating my body. ‘What's this, then? A hologram?'

‘Oi. You need to watch your lip, kid,' he said. ‘I'm sorry, all right? But you said you'd be
right
back. That was hours ago. And someone comes in with the money in the meantime. What am I supposed to do? Turn down a sale? On the off-chance you might front up? I'm running a business here.'

‘You are a selfish creep. I hope your beard develops a bushfire.'

Actually, I didn't say that. Even in my anger and frustration, I realised he had a point. I should have put down a deposit. Too late now.

‘Who did you sell it to?' was what I really said.

‘No idea,' he said. ‘Some guy. We don't ask for photo ID here. This is a pet shop.'

‘But you must have asked if he had a reptile licence.'

‘Yeah. He did. End of story.'

‘So you saw his name on it.'

‘Yeah.' The Beard was starting to get slightly irritated now. It didn't happen like this in detective stories. Put pressure on and witnesses normally coughed up valuable information. ‘But I don't remember the name. Look, kid. You buying something? 'Cos if not I've got work to do. Hey, you! Stop doing that!'

It was Dylan. He'd grown bored with the conversation and had wandered off to look at some of the tanks. The reptile tanks. And, given it was Dylan we're talking about, he'd also decided to open one. The Beard rushed out from behind the counter just as Dyl grabbed a dark snake from its tank and held it up to the light. It wasn't a huge snake. About half a metre. But it was lively. Its head twisted back and forth looking for something to bite. Dylan's arm seemed a likely target.

‘That's a jungle python,' screamed the Beard. ‘It'll bite you.'

‘It bites me, I bite it back,' said Dylan. He would too. I had no idea if the snake was poisonous, but I felt fairly sure Dylan was.

‘Put it down,' yelled the Beard.

‘Okay,' said Dylan, dropping the snake onto the floor where it immediately writhed under the row of tanks and disappeared into the darkness.

‘Oh God,' wailed the Beard, dropping to his knees and peering into the shadows. We left the shop. I was tempted to wait a while. There was an outside chance the snake would latch on to the guy's nose. Or lose itself in his facial hair. But I was too depressed to bother. This mission had been difficult to start with. Now it was becoming impossible.

We wandered along the mall. I didn't have any idea where I was going. I even kept a lookout in case I spotted some guy sitting at an outdoor cafe with God on his lap.

The mall, however, was God-less.

But it wasn't dog-less. Blacky came running up through a crowd of pedestrians. He was panting.

‘I give you a simple job,' he said. ‘And you blow it. You, tosh, are a complete waste of time and space. Just my luck that of all the people in the world, you are the only one within hundreds of kilometres who can communicate with animals. What are the chances, hey? Of being an animal communicator
and
a complete dipstick at the same time?'

It seemed like everyone was having a go at me today and I wasn't in the mood.

‘Yeah, well,' I replied. I think I put my hands on my hips. ‘It isn't my fault he was sold before I could buy him. And I didn't ask for this job. In fact, I resign. That's it. Over. Done. Finished. Find someone else to insult.'

I tried to turn on my heel and walk away, all cool and determined. But Blacky sank his teeth into my shoe. I nearly fell. I tried to wrench my foot away, but the dog had the pulling power of a Falcon ute. I hopped a few paces, but couldn't get loose.

‘Look, mush,' said Blacky. ‘You
have
to do this. You can't just walk away.'

He was right there. I couldn't. It was strange gazing down at the dog's jaws clamped around my footwear and hearing his voice in my head. I wished he would move his lips when he spoke. It would give me a chance at a getaway. ‘Unless,' he continued, ‘you really want to be like the rest of your race. Give up. Not your problem. Good on destruction, bad on construction. It's only a dumb animal, after all. Not worth bothering with.'

‘I know what you're doing,' I said. ‘This is just emotional blackmail.'

‘Yeah,' said Blacky. ‘Is it working?'

Unfortunately, it was. I was still angry at the unfairness of it all, but I remembered those facts and figures I had looked up on the internet, the information written down in that pamphlet, and I knew I couldn't leave God to his fate. Not until I had done everything in my power to help.

‘All right, all right,' I said. ‘Let me go. I'll try, if for no other reason than it looks like the only way to get rid of you. You
will
go when all this is over?'

‘I'm not here for your stimulating company,' said Blacky, releasing my foot. ‘Get this job done and I'm outta here.'

‘Promise?'

‘I swear.'

‘Shake on it?'

‘I told you before. Put one finger near my paw and it's the last you'll see of it.'

‘Why do you have to be so horrible to me?' I said.

‘I don't
have
to be,' he replied. ‘It's just more fun this way.'

I scratched my head.

‘Okay,' I said. ‘But I have no idea where God's gone. This is a big city and he could be anywhere.'

‘You are forgetting one thing,' said Blacky. ‘Me. While you and your sad apology for a friend here were chatting to that bushpig of a pet shop owner, I was actually getting something done. I followed the human who bought God. I know where he took him. I think it might be a very good idea if we left this place and I showed you where he's gone. Particularly since you seem to be getting quite an audience.'

It was true. I looked around and found myself the centre of a crowd. A couple of little kids were laughing. Some of the adults were, too. Others appeared worried about me. I suppose it wasn't often that they saw someone having a one-sided conversation with a dog. I felt myself blush.

‘He's a listening dog,' I muttered to no one in particular.

‘Yeah,' said Dylan. ‘And a talking one too.'

I know Dylan only tries to help, but sometimes I wish he wouldn't.

‘Oh great,' I said. ‘That's all I need.'

The three of us stood outside the gates and gazed up at the building.

‘Are you sure this is where he is?' I continued.

‘I don't make mistakes,' said Blacky. If this dog was any more snotty he'd be a four-legged booger. ‘He's in there, all right. And you have less than twenty-four hours to get him out.'

I sighed.

I'd assumed God would have been taken to a house. I had no idea how I'd get him out of a private house, mind you. Maybe just talk to the person who bought him, appeal to his better nature, offer to buy God back for the same price, maybe even fourteen dollars and fifty-five cents more. Whatever. I certainly thought I would have only one or two people to deal with.

But God was in a place with hundreds of people.

He was in a school.

Rose's school, to be precise.

I looked at the blank, deserted windows. He was behind one of those but I had no way of knowing which. And I had to get him out before the end of tomorrow. This was going to be tricky.

Not even Dylan and his brick could help me now.

The night brought me neither sleep nor answers.

So I wasn't paying attention when the conversation started over breakfast the following day. I shovelled in cereal, but my heart wasn't in it. Neither was flavour. It was like eating cardboard chunks in low-fat milk. I kept my head down.

‘Are you listening, Marcus?' said Mum.

‘Huh?'

‘I was just saying you have to be on your best behaviour tonight.'

‘Why?'

‘I wish you'd pay attention, Marcus,' said Mum. ‘It is the first night of the school play tonight. Remember? The play that Rose is in?'

I'd forgotten for the very good reason that this was completely forgettable news. But it was also bad news. I knew I'd have to go along and see the sad thing. There'd been loads of excitement in the family a while back when Rose found out she'd landed a leading role in her school's drama production. Not from me, obviously. But Mum and Dad put up streamers, released a hundred snow-white doves and organised a forty-five minute fireworks extravaganza. Well, no. They didn't. But they were bursting with pride. As far as I knew, Rose couldn't act her way out of a wet paper bag, except for pulling the wool over the eyes of our doting parents, so I reckoned there had to be some other reason for her getting the part.