Loa stared at the rubbish dog. He’d never seen a dog roll over on its back like that. Rubbish dogs were yellow shadows at the edge of camp, sneaking, chewing, jumping.
The rubbish dog gave a sharp whine. That was strange too. She rolled back over onto her tummy — slowly, so he knew she wasn’t about to leap. She put her head down on her paws and began to creep on her belly along the sand towards him.
It was the weirdest thing he had ever seen.
Was the dog trying to get closer so she could attack him? Suddenly he saw small white feathers in her fur and a pile of larger white feathers up on the sand. She had eaten a seagull.
He felt a flash of jealousy. The dog had eaten and he hadn’t.
He lifted the spear again.
The dog kept crawling towards him.
He took a few paces back, to see what she would do, then watched amazed as she jumped into the canoe. She lay with her head on her paws again for a few moments, then began to sniff a water bladder.
‘No!’ He raised his spear. But the dog backed off at the anger in his voice.
Boy and dog looked at each other.
Slowly, very slowly, he reached down and untied one of the water bladders. He emptied a little into his hand, and reached out to her.
He wasn’t sure why he did it. The rubbish dog would bite his hand. She would grab the water bladder and drag it back up the sand dune. She would …
The rubbish dog crept forwards, still on her belly. He felt her tongue lick the water from his hand.
It tickled.
Suddenly he wished someone could see him, alone on a sandbank in the middle of the sea, with an untied rubbish dog licking water from his hand. Of course, if there was anyone to see, he wouldn’t be alone.
The rubbish dog looked up at him, her brown eyes pleading. She wanted more water.
He couldn’t kill the dog now. He wasn’t sure why. He was pretty sure he might kill her, some other time. But not right now. And if he gave her more water she would be more likely to leave the bladders alone. Besides, the other one was still full. That far shore must be less than a day’s paddle away, with the wind behind him, pushing him towards the land.
He trickled more water into his hand. Again the dog drank, and again and again. At last she put her head on her paws, as though to say she’d had enough.
He drank the rest, squeezing out the last drops, then tied the limp empty bladder to the canoe. He might need it again if he could find fresh water to fill it. He assessed the wind, the tide — heading out, just past the turn, he reckoned — then took a last regretful look at the sandbank. It had saved their lives, but it would kill them if they stayed there.
They needed to go now.
He bent down and pushed the canoe out into the waves. He half expected the rubbish dog to jump out as soon as he moved the canoe. But instead she stood and walked back a couple of steps, turning around and around, then sat on her haunches, facing him, exactly where she needed to be to balance his weight when he leaped into the canoe.
A good omen? Or was he crazy, heading out to an unknown land over unknown seas, with a rubbish dog?
No. He had been crazy yesterday — or at least foolish anyhow. He wondered if anyone had missed him yet, if Leki …
He tried to pull a sheet of bark over the image of Leki and Bu, of home and family, the leftovers of the feast. He jumped into the canoe, steadied it, then began to paddle towards the thin line of green.