The Dog that Dumped on my Doona (7 page)

She put her bowl down and flashed brilliantly white teeth around the table as she sat.

‘It is sooo wonderful you are taking an interest in the environment, Marcus,' she trilled. ‘Daddy? Don't you think so?'

Dad nodded and smiled. At Rose, not at me. That's the problem with dealing with Rose. She has built up such a reputation for angelic behaviour that no one would believe me if I spilled the beans on her true nature. It would be like accusing Snow White of being a shoplifter. Nonetheless, I thought I could use the situation to my advantage.

‘That's great,' I said, whipping out the rather crumpled leaflet and placing it in the centre of the table. ‘Then maybe you guys would like to write a letter protesting about the Queensland mines. I have.' I waved my envelope around. ‘We need to make a stand. For the future of the planet.'

Rose's eyes narrowed, but I reckon Dad missed it. Maybe she thought I was trying to steal her halo, replace her as the golden child of the family. She needn't have worried. I couldn't compete. I didn't want to compete.

Dad picked up the leaflet and glanced through it.

‘I'll give it some thought, Marcus,' he said. ‘I admire your principles, but there are other things here to take into consideration. The benefits to the economy, for example, are huge and there is no real evidence that wildlife has been affected in the slightest.'

I knew better. Trouble was, I couldn't tell anyone God's story as Blacky had related it to me. Who would believe it?

But it wasn't often that Dad gave me any praise at all, so I thought this might be an opportunity.

‘Dad?' I said. ‘Can I have sixty bucks to buy a pygmy bearded dragon from the pet shop in the mall?'

‘When hell freezes over,' he replied, returning to his newspaper.

Rose sneered at me while Dad's head was buried in the pages. Then she put her right hand to her forehead in the loser sign. I was thrilled to see she had forgotten to put her spoon down and that a big dollop of Weet-Bix fell onto her clean white school shirt. She shrieked, jumped and splattered more of her cereal over a wide area, including the bald spot on Dad's head.

‘Oh, Daddy!' she shrieked. ‘I am sooo sorry. I'm sure Marcus didn't mean to jog my arm. Here. Let me clean up this mess.'

She bustled around the kitchen, finding paper towels, and then mopped up the pale sludge from Dad's head. I picked up my school bag and headed for the door. I couldn't help it. I turned back and grinned. After all, it wasn't often Rose let her halo slip. She met my eyes over Dad's shoulder. I knew trouble when I saw it.

‘That's all right, petal,' said Dad. ‘Just a small accident. No harm done.'

Not yet
, I thought.

But I'd worry about it later. Right now, I had plenty on my plate. Postbox, school and a pressing economic problem …

‘We need sixty bucks,' I told Dylan at lunchtime. ‘And time is running out.'

‘No worries,' he said, popping open his third can of cola. ‘Why?'

It was frustrating talking to Dylan. He forgot everything so quickly. To be honest, it was a minor miracle that he remembered who he was most days.

‘Dyl, ya dill,' I said. ‘The bearded dragon, remember? Two hundred and sixty bucks, of which I have two hundred. Two sixty minus two hundred equals … what?'

Dylan gave the matter some thought.

‘A problem,' he said.

‘Correct,' I said. Maths has never been Dylan's strong point. Ask him how many toes he's got, give him specific directions, including a mud map and a calculator, and he's still liable to be off by at least fifteen. ‘And here's another problem for you. How do we raise sixty bucks? Quickly.'

‘That's easy,' he said.

‘Oh yeah?' I said. ‘How?'

‘I'll get you sixty bucks by first thing tomorrow morning. On one condition.'

‘What?'

‘You tell me the story of God the bearded dragon.'

He hadn't forgotten that. We
are
surrounded by minor miracles. Trouble is, I needed a fairly large one. But fair's fair. I
had
promised to tell him. So, while Dylan slurped his cola and explored the deepest parts of his nose for interesting specimens, I started.

O
NCE
upon a time, there was a bearded dragon who lived in the Queensland desert. His name was God. That wasn't his real name, of course. But no one other than another bearded dragon could pronounce his real name. So that will have to do.

And, in many ways, God is a good name because he ruled over all his world. A small world, true, by human standards. Just a patch of desert. He'd just puff out his beard, which was longer and more bristly than any other rival's, and frighten them off. Not much changed in God's world and that was okay by him. He was a happy dragon. Food was in good supply. His eight wives were all happy too. They raised a family. A large family.

Sometimes another bearded dragon would try to muscle in on that world. Normally a young dragon trying to impress. But God was too strong.

No. God didn't like change. But that didn't mean change couldn't come. And that it couldn't come in small ways, ways he wasn't able to see.

Not far from where he lived there was a mine. A mineral mine. Hundreds of people worked there. But God didn't really care. As long as the people didn't bother him, he was fine. And they didn't mean to bother him. It was just that they needed somewhere to put the waste from their mine. It was an accident that the place they chose was also God's world. It was also an accident that what they put there was poison. Not to people, true. But to bearded dragons.

God didn't know his world was going to die until he felt the changes in his body. Most were deep within, but there was also another change. His skin changed colour. Became lighter. Mottled. And that was very unlucky because a light, mottled skin makes bearded dragons more valuable to those who collect them.

As chance would have it, a worker at the mine – the worker who caught God – was a reptile enthusiast. He knew that God could make him fifty dollars. He knew a breeder in the city who was on the lookout for new dragons. Reptile breeders are bound by strict laws. Taking animals from the wild is not allowed. There are harsh penalties for anyone doing so if they are caught by rangers from Parks and Wildlife.

But it is a big desert and there aren't many rangers. Not many at all.

God was taken to the city and the breeder paid good money for him. He was going to use him for breeding, but then he noticed the dragon was sick. It was too late to get his money back, so he sold him on. To a pet shop. He could do that. He was a registered breeder and the paperwork couldn't really be checked.

So God finds himself alone in a tank, in a window, dying. He doesn't care so much about himself. He has had a good life. But he cares about his family and his poisoned world. He needs to get back and warn his family. Move them. Maybe it is too late. Probably is for most. But some of his family might survive. If he can warn them. So he tells his story to a small and rather ugly dog that stops outside the pet shop one day. The dog promises he will help.

But time is running out. It is running out quickly.

‘That's sad,' said Dylan.

‘Yeah,' I said. ‘Which is why we need that sixty bucks.'

Dylan finished what was in his can and then looked down the ring-pull opening as if hoping the can would magically refill itself.

‘I'll have the money for you tomorrow morning,' he said. ‘I already told you that.'

‘Yeah, but how, Dylan?' I know Dylan and his family. They have no money to speak of. Church mice are rich by comparison.

‘Hey, man,' replied Dylan, tapping his finger against the side of his nose. ‘That's for me to know and you to find out. But it's in the bag, mate. In the bag. Good as gold. I have a cunning plan.'

I sighed. Dylan's cunning plans normally involve rocks, huge amounts of stupidity and the breaking of glass and laws alike. I was glad he was keeping it to himself.

‘Can I have a closer look at the bearded dragon, please?' I asked the guy in the pet shop.

It wasn't the man with the polished head and the beard you could hide a ride-on mower in. This guy was young, enthusiastic and full of energy.

‘No worries, mate,' he said.

He skipped over to the tank. I followed. We pressed our faces up against it. The guy tapped lightly on the glass. ‘He's a beauty, isn't he?'

‘Yeah,' I said. There was a long pause. ‘So you reckon I could get a closer look?'

The guy frowned.

‘Not sure we can get much closer,' he said.

‘I mean, could you get him out of the tank?' I asked. ‘Put him on your hand, or something?'

He frowned again.

‘Aw, mate,' he said. ‘Not sure about that. They can be pretty vicious, you know. I knew someone who tried to handle a bearded dragon. Lost his little finger. Not worth the risk, mate. I'm attached to my fingers.'

‘The other guy said they make great pets,' I pointed out.

‘Mate, they do. They make terrific pets.'

‘Even if they're vicious?'

The guy mulled this over for a while. He frowned and smiled at the same time, which was peculiar to watch.

‘You want the truth, mate? I have no idea if they're vicious or not. Truth is, I not only know nothing about animals, I'm scared of them. I was once savaged by a budgie.'

‘So losing a finger to a psycho bearded dragon? That was a lie, then?'

He grinned.

‘I make it up as I go along, mate. I'm what you call eccentric, but harmless.'

I let him return to the desk. There didn't seem much point in continuing the conversation. I shuffled round the side of the tank and peered in. There was a tangle of branches in there, as well as a number of fair-sized rocks. I couldn't see the bearded dragon.

I glanced around the shop. At least it was empty of customers. I'd have felt very strange talking to an apparently empty glass tank with an audience.

‘Hey, God,' I whispered. ‘I'm doing my best, man. Sorry, dragon. But I've got problems raising the money. Listen, I haven't given up, that's all I'm saying. And, one way or another, I'm going to get you out of there. I swear. Even if we have to go with Dylan's plan involving distractions, bricks and a ram raid. So just hang on, okay, God. Have faith.'

There are times when you just know someone is behind you. Close behind you. This was one of those times. I turned my head and the pet shop guy was right there, just behind my right shoulder. He was looking at the tank and grinning.

‘I'm talking to God,' I said as calmly as I could. ‘This is a private matter between me and him. I would be grateful for some space.'

The guy's eyes widened.

‘Wow!' he said. ‘Are you …'

‘Yes,' I replied. ‘Eccentric, but harmless. Thanks for asking.'

He gave me the thumbs up as I left the shop. Loony Tunes blood brothers.

I'd done what I could. And I had no idea if God heard me. As far as I understood it, Blacky had to be the go-between. But somehow I felt better. Even if he couldn't understand,
I
did. And I'd meant what I'd said.

I'd stop at nothing until he was out of there.

I nearly tripped over Blacky on the pavement. He gazed up at me with those hard, pink-rimmed eyes and cocked his head to one side.

‘All right, all right,' I said. ‘I know. Time is running out.'

‘That wasn't what I was going to say,' said Blacky. ‘I was going to say that you surprise me, tosh. That for a human, you are not bad. Not bad at all.'

‘Will you do something for me, then?' I asked.

‘What?'

‘Stop farting.' The smell was disgusting. ‘Birds are falling out of trees for a radius of two hundred metres.'

‘Can't you just consider me eccentric, but harmless?'

I cocked
my
head this time.

‘Those farts aren't harmless,' I said.

‘I'll try, boyo,' said Blacky. ‘But I can't make any promises.'

The water rippled gently a few centimetres from my nose. I wouldn't exactly call the toilet bowl an old friend, but we were certainly getting to be firm acquaintances.

‘Say you're sorry, Mucus,' yelled Rose.

Listen. You might think me stupid for getting caught by the old hiding-in-the-laundry-cupboard routine yet again, but in my defence I should point out …

Actually, I can't point out anything. There is no defence. I knew she was out to get me. Truth is, I simply forgot. Mind full of pygmy bearded dragons, talking dogs and harmless eccentrics. So I had unzipped, not exactly without a care in the world, but certainly with no suspicion that an alien life form hiding in a human body was about to leap out behind me and stick my head down the bog. Again.

‘Say you're sorry, Mucus,' she repeated, ‘and I won't flush.'