Tigger (13 page)

Chaos reigned in the house for some time afterwards. It seemed that a move of a few miles was harder to accomplish than a move from another continent. Our new house was smaller than our old one – it was all on one level, no stairs, no ‘Rose & Crown' – so it wasn't easy to fit everything in. Some pieces of furniture never made it in from the big shed and, frankly, I never missed them. I think humans own too many things.

The new house was actually very old. It creaked and the walls, which were various shades of muddy water, soared high up to ceilings shrouded in cobwebs. Could there be bats nesting in the gloom up there? Impossible to tell from where I stood, but an intriguing possibility nonetheless.

My family bravely set to with paint brushes, hammers and nails until the rooms emerged in lighter colours, revealing – alas – no wildlife. It would have been too much to ask. Tammy and I were constantly being moved from one napping place to the next. No sooner had we settled down on a pile of soft curtains or warm coats than someone came to take them away. It was very unsettling, and it took ages; much longer than on previous moves.

I have to hand it to them, though: when at long last they had finished tinkering with everything, the house was comfortable. It had a cosy sitting room at its centre, which warmed up nicely on cold winter nights when a black box similar to the one we had had in America crackled into action, and a bright and airy kitchen and family room, where big windows allowed lovely views in several directions. Sitting on the worktop while Mum cooked, I was able to look down through the crowns of big trees into the deep folds of the valley below, and across to the hills on the far side.

Caroline and Emily had been allowed to decorate their own rooms: Caroline's was sunshine yellow with pretty blue butterflies chasing each other up the walls, while Emily's was a soft, creamy shade that looked delicious, but sadly tasted quite disgusting. As an afterthought, she added a thin pea green border. It might have been wider had she not spilt most of the paint on the carpet. But she moved her bed to cover the stain, and no-one ever noticed it after that.

Robin's room was all panelled in timber and smelled of the forest. From its ceiling dangled an array of aeroplanes that circled overhead when the breeze moved them. His desk was bathed in sunshine in the afternoons, when we did his homework and occasionally nodded off together in the blissful warmth. It was a tiny room; he really struggled to fit in all his toys without the large expanse of the ‘Rose & Crown' at his disposal. The train set had to stay in the big shed, where it was soon covered in dust, cobwebs and bird droppings.

If we lacked space in the house, we certainly had plenty of it outside. There appeared to be no end to the land we owned. On my first walkabout with Mum, I discovered another pond, a big old tree with a tire swing, a ring of pretty red toadstools and a huge rabbit burrow.

At the top of the hill stood a big old stable full of irresistible nooks and crannies. Straw covered the floor and bits of rotting wood and rusty iron lay scattered about in a mysterious muddle. My nose immediately picked out the scent of entire colonies of rodents who had lived here undisturbed for years; I would be more than busy! Huge cobwebs draped themselves across the rafters like dusty veils. Spiders the size of Mum's hand waited drowsily overhead in the cool breeze for their next snack. It was an enchanting place; I planned to return at night if I possibly could. As it turned out, the dog would actually do me a favour in that regard: due to its roaming habits, it was eventually put on a long lead by its kennel at night, which meant that Tammy and I were free to hunt after dark.

Dad installed a cat door which led out on to the wide veranda that wrapped itself around the house, so we would stay dry in all weathers when stepping outside. It was far from the dog's kennel; we had a clear getaway between dusk and dawn.

I know Mum would have preferred to keep us in at night so we wouldn't hunt for wildlife. But she realized the dog was a nuisance to us outside during the day, so she relented. We had the most wonderful times hunting rats, of which the rat house provided an unlimited supply, mice, bunnies, bats and even the odd sugar glider and bringing them inside for our family to find in the morning. They never failed to be impressed and became quite good at prising bats and sugar gliders off the curtains, to be released back outside for another time. Early in the morning of Mum's birthday, Tammy and I killed a bunny and arranged it on the kitchen floor for her to find first thing in the morning. Tammy even placed a lovely weed next to it as a finishing touch – she has quite a flair for that kind of thing. Mum was thrilled. It was her best present, actually; everything else she got looked pretty useless to me.

Tammy got lost in our new home just as she had done in our old one. On our very first night, she ran off and slept outside in the cold and damp. She looked and smelled filthy when Mum found her in the morning; white is a terrible colour to be. A short while later, she somehow managed to climb up to the roof of the house – nobody ever worked out how – and couldn't get back down, so she called for me through the skylight. I could see her little face peering down at us while the wind flattened her ears and rain dripped off her nose. Mum and the children were just getting ready for school, and in the chaos I had a job to make myself heard to alert them to the emergency. Dad had to get the ladder out and rescued Tammy in the pouring rain.

The dog loved our new home. The fences and gates were all old and mostly broken, so it was able to escape easily whenever it felt like roaming, which was often. I'm afraid the old dog run turned out to be quite useless at restraining it. It simply jumped the fence and was off. That was absolutely fine with me and Tammy. We hoped it would get lost and never return, but no: it would be out for hours and hours, then come bouncing back full of excitement, usually with blood and a few feathers hanging from its drooling mouth. When one of the neighbours mentioned that almost all of his chickens had been killed by something, Mum and Dad made valiant efforts to put a stop to the dog's expeditions. It was harder than they imagined; the dog was very inventive and kept finding new escape routes.

Tammy and I were peacefully dozing in the armchair by the window in the family room; Dad was away somewhere with his suitcase; Mum had just started a new job and the children were at school. The dog was quietly howling in its kennel, where it belonged. Things were good; we were getting back to normal.

Through half-closed eyelids, I saw a strange car draw up outside our gate; a man got out and checked out our house. He walked up and down the fence for a bit, waving and calling. Fully awake by now, I waved back at him, but he didn't seem to see me. To my surprise, he then boldly opened the gate and drove his car down our drive. There was another man in the car as well. I went to the back door to see what they wanted.

The back door was locked, and the dog was sitting just outside. The men drew up and got out of the car. The dog, all teeth and noise with us, trotted over to greet them with a wagging tail as though they were old mates. The men had been apprehensive at first sight of the dog, but now they relaxed and patted it. One of them rummaged about in the car and produced a bone, which the dog received with delight and slunk off to gnaw, all thoughts of guarding our house forgotten.

The men lifted some heavy tools from their car and came up to the back door. First they tried to open it with a number of keys from a large bunch. When that didn't work, they smashed the glass with a hammer. Glass flew everywhere. A gloved hand pushed in through the jagged-edged hole and groped for the lock inside. I thought about scratching that hand – how dare these people damage our house! Then I thought better of it. It was the dog's job to protect us; why should I risk life and limb? My family might as well see what a hopeless guard dog it was. I turned and ran back to the family room, woke Tammy from a deep sleep and bustled her out of the cat door just as the men burst into the room in their heavy boots, shouting at each other in gruff voices. We fled across the lawn and raced up one of the cedar trees, from where we observed through the windows what the men were doing in the house.

It was very scary to watch. Tammy whimpered next to me, and my own heart was pounding in my chest. The men stomped all over the house, opening cupboards and drawers and throwing things out. Everything our family had only just put away was roughly pulled out and scattered all over the floor. We heard the sound of chairs and ornaments crashing to the floor, of doors banging and glass breaking. The men emerged from the front door, carrying armfuls of our belongings over to their car. We saw the TV and the computers disappear, Mum's jewellery box, Dad's leather jacket, Robin's precious hunting knife – just about everything they could carry was taken away. We were beside ourselves, yet completely powerless to stop them.

Meanwhile, on the far side of the house, the dog was happily gnawing at its bone, quite oblivious of the abomination to our property. I hoped the bone was poisoned. I had never seen a more pathetic guard dog.

When the men had taken everything they could, they drove off, leaving the gate wide open. The dog never gave them a second glance. Once it had finished its bone, it went to investigate the back door, where it cut itself on the broken glass. Blood dripping from its nose, it came to settle down at the foot of our tree to wait for Mum. It didn't look so happy now. I think it finally realized something very bad had happened. Still I detected no trace of guilt, just pain and worry about its nose. Tammy and I were so frightened by what we had seen, we stayed on our perch in the tree for the rest of the day. The light was already fading when our car drew up at the gate – at last we were safe!

Mum and the children had a terrible shock when they saw the broken back door. Robin started crying and Mum's face went white. They went through the house, looking at the devastation the men had left behind. Tammy and I crept down from the tree and ventured back inside. Mum was relieved to see we were all right. Then she set about bathing the dog's nose with camomile tea, while the girls tried to tidy up and Robin continued to cry. I didn't think she needed to rush to tend to the dog. After all, what had that dog done to help?

Mum made several phone calls. Soon a man came along to fix the back door, and the police called to look at the mess in the house. All evening Mum and the children tidied up and made lists of what the thieves had taken. I was relieved to find they had not stolen our bowls or any of our food. Nevertheless, we all spent a restless night thinking about the men rifling through our things.

The next day was Caroline's birthday, but it turned out the thieves had taken away all her presents. She was very brave, considering, and Mum promised to buy more presents as soon as possible. Still, it wasn't a happy birthday, and we all felt sad for her.

Dad came back with his suitcase later in the day. Over dinner, we decided that something needed to happen to make our new property more secure. A sturdy new gate and a big padlock were first on the list. Then the children mentioned the dog and the sorry role it had played in the burglary, at which they were able to guess even though they had not been here to see it. I sat on the dining table, in the centre of the family counsel, in order to put my opinion across, which was to get rid of the dog in the face of so much uselessness.

I'm sorry to say my voice of reason was not heard. I expect I should have known my family better; they were infuriatingly stubborn. Having accepted the dog into our family, they were not going to send it away now, however badly it behaved. My objections fell on deaf ears, and the whole family closed ranks on me. Search me why. I was sorely disappointed and left them to it, in order to think things through in my armchair. If the dog was staying, I needed a battle plan.

Later on, when all was quiet, I went outside and sat down near the kennel to observe the enemy. If I was going to solve the challenge of the dog – and clearly, nobody else was going to – I had to get to know it better. I realized I probably should have done this before, but I had never been that interested in the dog, having naively assumed it wouldn't be around for long, given its bad habits.

In the course of the family council, I had learnt that the dog was a female, and that her name was Mishka. I had not even been interested in that much information before now. She was lying outside her kennel, attached to a lead, her twitching nose resting in the forked branch of a small shrub. She was surveying the night-time garden with a self-satisfied expression, her slanted eyes half-closed, probably plotting her next bad deed. She didn't look like a female to me: she was big, strong and very determined. Her thick, grey coat looked as though no claw of mine could ever penetrate it, and her mouth, when she opened it wide to yawn, was big enough to swallow Tammy whole. There was no doubt about it: she would be a tough nut to crack.

Just then, the breeze dislodged a large seed pod from a nearby tree, which landed on the dog's nose with a plop. It was a hard, knobbly pod and came down at some speed. With a yelp of pain, she jumped up and fled into her kennel, her tail between her legs. There she cowered, whining quietly to herself and peering fearfully at the black pod that lay innocently on the ground in front of her. She watched it for a long time, and when it did not move, she relaxed and settled down to sleep. But she did not come out of her kennel again until the next morning, when Dad let her off her lead. Even then, she kept Dad between herself and the seed pod and gave it a wide berth for the rest of the day, until Mum swept it away when she tidied up.

I returned to my armchair, much reassured by what I had witnessed. My nightly vigil had been well worth it. The dog had a weak spot, after all (how could I have overlooked the nose?), and she was a coward. Maybe there
was
hope for me.

Unfortunately, I had not reckoned with my family's next wild decision, which was, unbelievably, to get a second dog: one that was fierce enough to drive any thief away.

It won't surprise anyone to hear that they succeeded: soon we were joined by a streamlined, turbo-charged, razor-toothed killing machine by the name of Max. At the first sign of a visitor at the gate, Max was there and stood up on his hind legs, which made him easily the height of most humans. If anyone was foolish enough still to venture in through the gate, he took their hand in his mouth and marched them up the garden path to the front door, ready for inspection by Mum or Dad. By then, most visitors looked ashen-faced and pleaded with us to let them into the house quickly, while they still had both their hands.

The arrival of Max certainly solved one problem: we were as safe from intruders in our home as we would ever be while he was patrolling our fence line. The down-side for me and for Tammy was that this dog's brain was hard-wired to kill anything that moved, including us, and consequently we were no longer able to go outside unless he was firmly on his lead. While Mishka had been a bumbling nuisance, Max was a very real threat to our lives. Together, they were a pack of wolves, not to be trusted. After several scary experiences and a couple of near misses, even Tammy managed to remember that there were dogs outside, and a long period of self-denial began for us. We effectively became prisoners in our own home during the day and could do little except sleep and eat. The year basically shrank down to two seasons for us: sleep-by-the-fire season and sleep-on-the-veranda-right-by-the-cat-door season.

This seemed to suit Tammy fine. No amount of eating and sleeping made any difference to her long, skinny legs and lithe body. I, on the other hand, only had to look at a bowl of food to put on weight, and my regular nightly visits to the rat house required too little energy to make any difference: the rats were so plentiful, they practically ran into my mouth. And so I became even rounder than before. My family started calling me ‘plumpkin' and other unkind names I won't even repeat here, when really my predicament was all their fault.

Luckily for us, the dogs were not allowed into the house. This definitely gave us an advantage on cold, wet days. Mishka didn't mind those: her coat was thick enough to withstand even the worst weather. But Max would have much preferred to be warm and dry. On bad weather days, he sat wet and bedraggled on the veranda and gazed longingly at us through the floor-to-ceiling window of the family room as we rested cosily in our armchair by the crackling black fire box. Often, Tammy and I played a chasing game around the room especially for his benefit. He became quite excited watching us.

Max was given his own kennel by the back door, next to Mishka's and, to start with, the two dogs seemed to get on wonderfully well. They played wild, snarling games on the grass while Tammy and I looked on aghast from the safety of a windowsill. They chased each other all over the place. They attacked a large and extremely venomous eastern brown snake and pulled it apart in front of our very eyes. This should have been the end of both of them, but somehow they got away without being bitten. They escaped together for entire days, leaving the whole family worried sick about what they might be up to out there. In short, they were a menace.

Our family had many discussions about the dogs, and I listened with interest to see just how far their good natures could be stretched. Quite far, it seemed. They started taking the dogs to training classes – to little effect, as far as I could see. Dad ran an electric wire along the top of our front fence to stop them from escaping, and it worked: once zapped by the electricity, they never jumped the fence again. Instead, they squeezed under it, wherever the smallest hole provided an opening. They were, apparently, unstoppable and untrainable.

In time, Mishka asserted herself over Max. I watched her attack him viciously over their dog treats and saw her try to steal his dinner from his bowl. She even pulled his bed out of his kennel and tore it to shreds in front him. He hardly defended himself. For all his fierce behaviour towards other animals or visitors, Max was gradually and visibly shrinking into subservience to Mishka. I observed it with interest and filed this fact away in my mind for future use.