Gus was grumpy. He wrinkled his face. “Why do some people get a dog at all? You heard what he said – never gets a walk, on the chain all day except for letting go in the garden – when his owner remembers to take him.”
“Hardly any water in his bowl,” added Max. “No shade. Nothing to do. And he’s got no idea how to play – he actually nipped me.”
They paused under the hedge and peered out. All clear. They crossed the road and ducked behind some bushes.
“We’re OK here for a moment,” said Gus, sitting down with a grunt. “He was round this morning so he won’t be back till tomorrow – or the day after, with a bit of luck. And the Rush is still a while off.” He nodded towards the hedge on the other side of the road. “He’s young enough to learn, but will he be given the chance?”
Max licked his front paw. “Drew blood, he did. He won’t get away with that next time.”
“We need to think about this one,” said Gus slowly. “It’s the main road and we have to come out in the open. At least two houses can see into the yard. Anyway, how much can we actually do?”
The two dogs were thoughtful. Gus stood and shook off the leaves. “C’mon,” he said, “let’s get back before the Rush starts.”
They moved along the road, never far from somewhere to hide, sometimes ducking down alleyways and along the backs of gardens. Several dogs began to bark as they approached, but stopped as soon as Gus gave his gruff call: “It’s only us.”
Ngaiwi Street ran off the main road at a right angle. It had the usual jumble of houses painted in different colours. They all had gardens, most behind fences and hedges, but a few had lawns in front. The houses with fences and hedges looked secret and interesting; those without looked open and friendly. There were plenty of trees, which were shady on hot days, but dripped on wet days.
Max and Gus lived next door to each other at the far end, on the way to the park. Gus was panting by the time they reached home. “My hip,” he said, “doesn’t like going so far.”
They nosed along until they reached a large clump of hydrangeas, hiding a gap in the hedge. They slipped through, Max to the left and Gus to the right. “See y’ later,” said Max.
Gus padded heavily, almost limping, to the porch. He drank deeply from his bowl and flopped in the shade of a deck chair. A hand tickled his ears. “Where’ve you been, old sport? Out on your errands again? Could have chosen a cooler day.” The hand went limp and Gus waited for the snoring to begin.
Next door, Max too was lapping up water. He shook his head and droplets flew out like chips of diamond. He went into his kennel and got his collar, attached to a rope. He nudged his nose in, tilted his head up so the collar slid down as far as his ears, then rubbed his head along the kennel until the collar slipped over. Then he stretched out on the warm tiles with his nose on his front paws.
Max lay there thinking.
What could they do for the new dog? ‘Brutus’, he said his name was. Funny coat – not brown or black, not smooth or long. An in-between sort of dog, bigger than Max, but not as big as Gus, and still growing. Can’t control his mouth yet, Max thought: that’d be lesson number one. Helping him would depend on the collar. If the dog couldn’t learn how to get it on again, they couldn’t do much.
Max thought it through. Bit of a walk to get there, specially for Gus. Tricky going in broad daylight, while the owner was away. What about those houses next door – who might see them? Play-fighting was the way to go. You learnt a lot that way – what Gus had done for him in those lonely, early weeks. It might work, mused Max. Have to chew it over with Gus tonight, and they might pick up more from the others tomorrow morning. At least Brutus had stopped barking.
He heard the car coming. The garage door groaned. Doors opened and closed. Just the two of them, he thought, and they’re carrying a load. They came around the house, holding supermarket bags. Could be a bone in there, thought Max, but too many smells for him to be sure.
“Gidday, fella,” said the man as he jiggled the key in the door.
“Hello, Maxie,” said the woman scratching him under his chin. Mmmm, nice, thought Max, keep it up; but they carried their bags inside and he heard them filling the kettle. They’re so predictable, but I’m fond of them. Nothing wrong with habits: that’s how I get looked after so well. Pity the world’s not full of predictable owners – it would make things easier for me and Gus.
The woman came and untied him. He ambled to his spot at the end of the garden. After turning round several times, he wriggled into the dry leaves. It was the only place where he was allowed to fossick. It was where he hid his smelliest, most favourite balls. Only Gus was allowed to lie there, too, and that was a squash.
On the main road the Rush came and went, filling the air with unpleasant smells. The streets came alive with kids’ and dogs’ voices. Every so often Max did his rounds checking the smells.
After dinner the man came out and they knocked around with a ball for a while, then he was tied up for the night. Max waited for the house to go quiet and dark. Finally Gus called quietly, “OK here,” and Max slipped out of his collar, dragged it inside the kennel, and trotted over to see Gus.