The next morning, after they’d eaten their eggs and bread and rinsed their plates with water, the boy’s father stood and brushed his legs and knees free of crumbs. He said, ‘Now, I want to show you why we got the dog.’
‘I thought we just got him as a pet.’
‘No, mate,’ his father said. ‘He has a job.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Come here.’
They trudged back up the road they’d driven in on, Albert cradled in the boy’s arms like a newborn. When they finally reached the top of the hill, they could see spread before them their home and the mud that surrounded it. His father grabbed the puppy roughly and chucked him on the ground. Albert pranced away happily and then stopped and scratched at his ears.
‘What I want you to do every morning from now on is train the dog to watch out for intruders,’ his father said. He crouched beside the pup. ‘If we’re both going out to Tangalooma, it means leaving all our stuff here. Everything that won’t fit in the car. And it’s not like at home. Anybody could take whatever they wanted. Any old mongrel who happened along. So we need this guy –’ he patted the dog ‘– to guard our stuff.’
‘We don’t have that much stuff.’
‘We will, though, mate. We gotta think into the future a bit. Be prepared.’
The boy nodded but doubted his father was telling him all of it. His father wouldn’t even look at Albert. He said, ‘What do I do?’
‘You gotta start with basic stuff, like sit and stay. Then you gotta get him to bark when he sees other people. And jump them a bit. Should startle any bloke come to rob us.’
The boy looked at his small puppy. In that moment the boy felt nothing for his father, whose aim it was to destroy this beautiful thing which had been such a comfort. The boy adored the gentle nature of the pup; he didn’t want a vicious brute. He looked at his father patting the dog, plainly delighted with his plan. All the pieces of the puzzle his father had devised were falling into place. There was no way the boy would convince him to leave the puppy be.
‘We can’t just leave him here when we go,’ the boy said. ‘Who’ll feed him?’
His father stood, without responding, and walked away.
The boy watched the pup frolic. He said, ‘Sit,’ in the most commanding voice he could muster.
The pup paid him no mind, so he bent down and forced the dog’s rear into the dirt. The puppy squirmed beneath his grip but the boy was unrelenting. ‘Sit. This is sit,’ the boy said.
The pup just looked up with its tongue out and love in its eyes.
The boy let him go and then tried the command again. The pup stopped and looked and then kept trotting. The boy knew then that he would not follow his father’s orders. He would not turn his friend into a ferocious brute. That would be the last time he tried to train the dog.
Down the slope, he watched his father take a shovel from the car and begin tapping the concrete with it, the metallic clang reaching the boy clearly. It had set well. His father’s pride plain in the way he held himself, his hands on his hips. The boy crouched down and stroked Albert. From the bottom of the hill his father shouted, ‘Come take a look, mate.’
‘In a minute,’ the boy shouted back. He pretended then to train the dog but instead played with him and soon enough his father had forgotten his request. The boy did not want to go near his father. As he played with Albert some of the rocks at his feet scurried down the slight hill and then in the distance the boy saw the oil barrels, still situated beneath their tree, and was struck with an idea.
He approached his father, Albert at his heels. ‘Dad?’
‘You see the concrete, mate?’ his father asked. ‘It’s set a beaut.’
‘You want to roll down the hill with me?’
His father turned and looked at the slope. His face tightened. ‘In the barrels?’
The boy nodded.
‘Like what your mother made us do?’
‘It’s not that steep.’
His father laughed. ‘That’s what she said. No, mate. I’m going to finish here today. One of ’em is full, anyway.’
The boy said, ‘Finish what?’
‘Finish pegging in these uprights.’
The boy looked at the slope, at the barrel. He knew it would only take a few minutes, but did not press the matter further. His father clearly did not want to spend his time that way.
Albert darted off into the bushes and the boy ran after him. Scooping up the pup, he looked at the barrel, then at the squirming dog.
It took him a few minutes to roll the empty barrel to the top of the hill. He put the barrel on its side, flaking rust coming away on his hands. He picked up Albert and moved him towards the opening. The puppy, maybe sensing what was to come, started to struggle. The boy had to shove him in.
‘You ready?’ the boy asked.
The pup showed no sign of having understood the question.
The boy pushed and the barrel was soon racing down the slope. The instant the boy heard the puppy yelping he was struck by how small the puppy was, what might happen to his body as he slammed into the rocks. The boy chased after the barrel as it hurtled down the hill, each smack into the earth a slap to his heart. The dog barking now.
The barrel rolled to a stop. Before the boy could reach it, he was already telling Albert how sorry he was.
Albert stepped blearily from the barrel’s dark interior. He tottered on his feet then fell face first into some mud. The boy looked at his friend and saw his fur matted with yellow-brown vomit. The puppy didn’t move from where he’d fallen. The stink of it. The boy rushed to his side and lifted him up.
His father looked up from his work. ‘What’re you doing?’ he asked.
The boy turned with his friend in his arms and said, ‘Nothing.’
‘You roll that puppy down the hill in that barrel?’
The boy said nothing.
His father stepped closer. ‘Did he vomit in there?’
‘I’ll clean him up.’
His father laughed bitterly. ‘I don’t care about the dog, mate. He’ll be right. But clean that vomit out of the barrel, yeah? Use the soap.’ There was something in his father’s eyes, the way he didn’t turn from the boy for a moment. Maybe remembering. But then he turned.
As his father focussed on his task the boy took the soap from the front of the car and trudged through the jungle, holding the dog to his chest. The pup seemed fine now, but the boy felt awful. He emerged onto the beach and waded into the water knee deep and plunged the puppy into the briny muck. The puppy came up kicking. The boy used the soap to wash off all the vomit, getting his fingers entwined in the fur. He scrubbed with care and made sure not to get any soap in the puppy’s eyes. He kept saying he was sorry. His carelessness had hurt his friend. He resolved never to be so thoughtless again.