First job back at Dave’s house was to make the dog comfortable. Dave used an old duvet to make a bed in the corner of the lounge. After giving her another drink of water, she was lowered onto the bed.
“There you are Buffy,” said Dave. “That should keep you comfy.”
Tom looked at him. “How do you know her name is Buffy?”
“I don’t. It’s just habit. My bitch was called Buffy, sometimes Buff.” He shrugged. “So that’s what I’ll call her until we find out her name. Which is what we can start doing now. You go out and get that GPS collar, while I get some tools.”
When they were both seated at the table with everything they needed, Dave said, “My eyes aren’t so good, so you’d better check for any names or anything. Look for scratches or writing with a vivid or something.”
Picking up the collar, Tom could see lots of scratches, and while some did form a letter or two, the only one that looked intentional was the numeral ‘4’. This was alongside the manufacturer’s name – Acne Communications Company – pressed into the plastic of the case. Below that was: Made in the USA. He showed it to Dave, who chuckled.
“I think it’s meant to read Acme, not Acne,” he said. “Made in the States, eh? That’s not good.”
“Why not?”
“Because they use the wrong frequency for New Zealand. The forestry industry use the same frequency so the public are banned from using it.” He held up the collar. “If this was working in the forest it would interfere with the communications of logging gangs.” He shook his head. “Not good. Not good at all. These were banned years back. The owner must know that.”
“Would that be why he couldn’t find her?”
“Yeah, I suppose it does work both ways. Let’s pull it to bits and see if there’s anything else that might stop it from working. It’ll be easier if you take out the screws.”
As soon as the last screw was removed, the plate popped off giving Tom a fright. “Whoa! There’s lots of pressure in there.”
“Wait!” ordered Dave. “Just hold it there for a moment.” He got up and went to the kitchen, returning with a large metal roasting dish. “Okay. Gently put it in there.”
“What’s the problem?” asked Tom.
Dave picked up a screwdriver to use as a pointer. “See that there? That bulging part? That’s where all the pressure is coming from. It’s a lithium battery and it shouldn’t be bulging like that. From now on we only touch it with pliers.” He picked up a vice-grip tool. “I’ll hold the box and you see if you can pull out the battery. Careful now.”
This took some time because the battery was so swollen. It got even bigger as Tom eased it out. Eventually it sat in the dish, isolated from the collar, still growing in size.
“Now we’ll stay back and let it settle,” said Dave.
“What do you think will happen?”
“It might catch fire. That’s not the original battery. See how some of the plastic has been scraped away from the bottom to make it fit. That’s a cheapie bought off the Internet. Nobody should mess with—”
The sentence was never finished. One of the terminals had burst free of the battery, forced out by a spurt of flames. In less than a second the battery was a fireball, so hot Tom could feel it burning his face from more than a metre away. They moved further back.
“Wow, that’s hot,” said Tom.
Dave agreed. “Hope it doesn’t set fire to my table top.”
Slowly the inferno died until only the plastic was burning. Dave went outside to the ute, bringing back a fire extinguisher. One burst and the remaining flames died out. He then pushed the dish aside to examine the table top. While it hadn’t caught fire, there was now a black, charred circle that wasn’t there before.
“Imagine if we’d done this outside on the lawn,” said Dave. “The whole forest would be alight by now.”
Tom remained silent. He wasn’t thinking of the forest. His mind was seeing the battery exploding in flames while the collar was still attached to Buffy. It was a terrible, frightening image.
* * *
Later that morning, Tom was by himself, sitting on the floor looking after Buffy while Dave was away in town getting dog food and some ‘other things’.
Buffy was sleeping, her chest rising and lowering every five seconds or so. She looked to be doing well, not that he knew much about dogs. The family had not owned one, nor had he ever asked for one. And there certainly wasn’t going to be one now, that was for sure. His mum wouldn’t let any animal near her precious baby, and Brandon was never settled enough to own anything much.
“But if we did have one,” Tom whispered to Buffy. “I would want it to be like you.”
Yes, she was big enough to know you had a dog, not a cat or a squeaky toy. And her coat of grey with tan blotches made her interesting, especially the tan blob surrounding one eye. The only thing wrong with her was her shape. She was so skinny at the back. He could almost join his hands around the back of her body. Maybe she was part greyhound, or a racing dog of some sort. When she got better he’d have to test her out with a run.
These thoughts were interrupted by a vehicle pulling in. Sounded like Dave’s ute. Then came a knock on the door, with a voice calling out.
“Anyone home?” A female, definitely not Dave.
Tom looked out the window to see a woman in a green blouse and shorts – a uniform. Which in Brandon’s world meant she was from ‘the authorities’. Tom could almost hear his father yelling, “Don’t let her in.”
“Yes,” he called. “I’m coming.”
After checking Buffy’s bed couldn’t be seen through the open door, he went outside.
“Hi,” said the woman. “I’m Sally Page, from the Department of Conservation. I don’t know if you’ve heard about it, but a number of kiwi have been attacked in this area recently.”
Tom nodded.
“Well, saliva samples from the dead kiwi have been collected and will be DNA tested.” She pulled a piece of paper out of her top pocket. “This is an order that allows me to take DNA samples from every dog in the area so we can look for a match.”
Again Tom nodded.
“So, do you people own a dog?”
Tom’s mind went into overdrive. What to do? What to do?
To gain time he said, “Actually this isn’t my house. I’m being looked after by Dave.”
“Okay, does Dave own a dog?”
Then it came to him. Just answer the question.
“No, Dave doesn’t own one.”
“What about you? Are you from that other place?” She pointed towards Brandon’s hut. “There was nobody home there.”
“Yeah, that’s our place. We don’t own one either.”
“Okay … um …” Then she made up her mind, bringing out a card. “Right, if you do see a dog loose in the area, contact me immediately.” She handed over the card. “Can you do that?”
“Ah … yeah …,” mumbled Tom, his mind elsewhere. Already he was feeling guilty. He wanted to help but didn’t know how much he should tell. What would Dave want him to do?
Sally saw his indecision. “You got something you want to tell me?”
“We found one of those dead kiwis, you know. I told a man called Mike. He said he’d pass on the information. Did he do that?”
Sally’s face brightened. “Ah, you must be Tom, the boy who caught the pig.” Then she frowned. “You should not have let that sow loose in the forest,” she said, sternly.
“That’s what Mike told me to do.”
Her eyes rolled. “Yes, he would, wouldn’t he. Mike Davidson doesn’t always get things right. He only looks after himself, that man.”
Tom shrugged, not knowing what she was talking about.
“Mike’s a pig hunter,” she explained. “He wanted that young sow returned so she could breed. That’s not good for the kiwi. Your actions will put more pigs in the forest when already there’s more than enough.”
That helped make up Tom’s mind. He’d been about to tell her about Buffy. But why should he, if she was going to be grumpy? He remained silent and shortly afterwards she left.
* * *
One of the ‘other things’ that Dave returned with was a microchip scanner he’d borrowed from a friend.
“We need to find the owner of this dog, if we can.”
Tom agreed even though it wasn’t what he wanted. Already he was thinking of Buffy as his own dog.
“Okay, girl,” said Dave moving the machine towards Buffy. “This won’t hurt at all.”
She lifted her head, to take in what was happening.
“That’s good. You’re coming right aren’t you?”
He started with her shoulder and moved down the back, across the left thigh, and back up to the shoulders. No sounds came from the machine.
“All right we need to do the other side. If you can lift her up and hold her, I’ll do the rest.”
That was done, and still there was no response from the machine.
“She’s not chipped,” Dave declared.
“What does that mean?”
“Well, she hasn’t been registered, which means we can’t find out who owns her that way.”
“Would they put her in a pound if she was discovered?”
“Yes, if the dog officer caught her.”
“What about the Department of Conservation?”
“DoC? Why do you mention them?”
Tom told him of the visitor.
“You did the right thing,” said Dave when the story was finished. “And yes, they would have taken her away, and we don’t want that.”
“You want to keep her?” asked Tom, hopefully.
“No, we need to find the owner so we can take the batteries out of the rest of those collars. Did you see the number four scratched on that one?”
“Yeah.”
“That means there’s at least three more of them. He could even use more than four dogs.”
“Do you think the others might catch fire too?”
“They might. Even if they don’t, every time he uses them they’re messing up communications in the forest. For that reason alone they need to be taken out of service.”
“So how will we find him?”
Dave pointed to Buffy. “We won’t. She will. She knows where he lives. In a few days when she’s better she’ll show us where. Even if we have to drive over half of Northland, we have a duty to find her owner.”
They sat for a while beside Buffy, thinking.
“You know, Tom, lots of people call pig dogs mongrels. Most of the time that’s not true. Buffy’s no mongrel, but chances are when we find her owner we’ll meet somebody who is.”