Finch, page 3
The animal moved out of the shadows.
Audrey felt a jolt of surprise. Not a cat. A dog. A fox terrier, by the look of it. Quite small for a dog, hardly any bigger than Freddy.
She gave Freddy a gentle scratch between the ears. “You silly old cat. It’s not anything to be afraid of. It’s only a little dog.”
Chloe’s hot breath was in her ear.
“What was that noise? Was it Freddy?”
“Of course it was Freddy. He saw something in the garden and went off his head. I thought it was another cat, but it was a dog. I heard a dog howling the first night we were here – it must have been this one. Look.”
She turned back to the window and pointed. But there was nothing there, just the garden, quiet in the moonlight.
*
At breakfast everything was all right again. Mum was frying bacon and eggs, and Dad was pouring orange juice. Bright sunlight streamed through the window.
“Did you hear Freddy last night?” asked Audrey.
“I certainly did,” said Mum. She handed out plates of bacon and eggs, and then sat down at the table. “Pepper grinder, please, Chlo. I also heard you get up to investigate, Audrey. What was the problem?”
“I thought there must be another cat outside,” said Audrey. “You know how Fred hates other cats. But it turned out it was a dog.”
“A dog? In our garden? In the middle of the night?”
“Why not? Maybe it was lost.”
“Dogs aren’t nocturnal animals,” said Dad. “They aren’t like cats. Even if it was lost, I can’t imagine it would be roaming around at that time. It’d be curled up asleep somewhere.”
Audrey carefully cut the rind off her bacon. “Well, this one wasn’t asleep. It was a fox terrier, I think. I couldn’t see it too well.”
“I didn’t see it at all,” said Chloe, “but it sure got Freddy going. You should’ve seen his tail! It was like a hundred times its normal size!”
“Maybe the dog slipped its chain,” said Dad. “Country people usually keep their dogs chained up. You don’t want a pack of dogs mauling your sheep or eating your chooks.”
“It could be Mavis’s dog,” Mum said, looking thoughtful. “She told me she’s got a mutt that keeps her company. Audrey, I think you should check it out with her. Say her dog was on the loose last night and you saw it in our garden. She’ll need to know.”
“Do I have to? Why don’t you or Dad go?”
“It’s called being neighbourly, my girl. It’s important to know who your neighbours are. And Mavis is perfectly pleasant. I know she’s a bit chatty, but she’s probably lonely.” Mum put on her no-nonsense expression. “Anyway, I’m asking you to go and see her this morning. I don’t have her phone number. You can take Chloe with you.”
It was Chloe’s turn to protest. “Mu-um!”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” said Dad. “Do what your mother says, can’t you? You can go straight after breakfast.”
“We have to do the dishes straight after breakfast, Dad,” Chloe grumbled. “Now that we don’t have a dishwasher any more.”
Dad glared at her. “That’s enough, Chloe! No more arguments.”
Mum gave Chloe a reproachful look and for the next few minutes there was silence, broken only by the sounds of toast crunching and a tap dripping.
After breakfast, Dad went out to check the vineyard, and Mum went to have her shower. Audrey and Chloe did the breakfast dishes, Chloe keeping up a sulky monologue: “I hate not having a dishwasher! Drying dishes is such a waste of time. Audrey, you’re not washing properly. This fork has egg on it. It’s all stuck between the prongs, yuck …”
Audrey went on washing and stacking – Chloe always got things out of her system faster if you left her alone – and when she’d finished, and wiped down the sink and the counter, she went outside to feed her birds.
As usual, the moment she opened the hatch in their cage, they set up their usual agitated cheeping and fluttering. It was amazing, she thought, as she filled their bowl with millet seeds, that after so many years they’d never got used to her. They were aviary-bred, but wildness had been hard-wired into their tiny brains.
Audrey couldn’t help feeling sorry for her finches. In a way it was her fault they had such dull lives. She’d read an article recently that said zebra finches used to live wild in these hills, great big flocks of them. Nobody ever saw them here now, although there were still thousands of them further inland. It was the same with budgerigars – in the outback they sometimes travelled in giant swarms, like bees, looking for food. There was a film about it she’d seen on YouTube. (Wild budgies were only ever green and yellow. Why was that?)
As she reached in for the water dish, she noticed that Gummo was having trouble flying. He hopped and fluttered, but although he tried to lift himself into the air he wasn’t able to join his brothers on their perches.
“Hi, Gummo,” said Audrey. “What’s the matter with you?” She looked more closely. It seemed that one of the little bird’s wings wasn’t working properly.
Freddy walked up to the cage and slid around Audrey’s legs, meowing and looking up at the birds. The finches flew into the air in a panic, all except for Gummo, who hopped helplessly around on the cage floor. Freddy’s yellow eyes widened. He reached upwards, putting his front paws on the wire mesh.
“Go away, Fred,” said Audrey. She gave the cat a light smack on the ear, and Freddy sank reluctantly to the ground. “Leave my birds alone!”
The back screen door creaked open, and Chloe came outside. She had changed into her favourite pink-striped sundress and fuchsia Crocs. “Let’s go see that old lady now and get it over with,” she said. “Mum’ll go all weird on us otherwise.”
Audrey sighed. “Why are we doing this, again?”
“We have to tell her about her dog.” Chloe peered into the cage. “Those finches do a lot of poo,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “There’s poo in their drinking water, too.”
“I know, the cage needs cleaning. We could do it together. It’d be much faster that way.”
“You have got to be joking, Aud. Let’s get going.”
Audrey got going.
CHAPTER 5
Mavis’s plain red-brick house looked like a giant Lego building. A picket fence surrounded a garden filled with different kinds of cactus. In the middle a plaster gnome sat on the edge of a birdbath, his fishing line dangling into the empty blue-painted bowl.
Chloe giggled. “Think he’ll ever catch anything?”
“Not likely. Poor gnome, waiting his entire life for something that’s never going to happen.”
Apart from the gnome, there was a pair of pink plaster flamingos, a stone statue of a little girl holding out her dress with both hands and a small model windmill. A fleshy yellowish plant spilled out of a ceramic cart drawn by a ceramic donkey.
“Wow,” said Audrey. “It’s really … interesting.”
They both jumped as footsteps crunched on the gravel path. Mavis had come around the side of the house.
“I thought I heard something.” She smiled, and Audrey was relieved to see that she had her teeth in. “Come to visit me? That’s nice. I’ve been weeding the veggies out the back and I’m dying for a cuppa. Would you two like a nice lemon squash?”
Audrey looked at Chloe, who shrugged.
“All right,” Audrey said. “Thanks.”
They followed Mavis into the house. After the brightness outside, it was dark and rather gloomy, with a reek of cigarette smoke. They walked down a long uncarpeted hallway to the kitchen, their footsteps echoing.
“I’ve got some biscuits, fresh-baked,” Mavis said over her shoulder. “You girls like Anzacs?”
“Yes, sure.” But even as she said it, Audrey was wishing she hadn’t. Now they’d be here forever. Behind her, Chloe deliberately trod on her heel.
The kitchen reminded Audrey of the kitchen in their old home before they’d had it updated. The floor was worn black-and-white lino tiles, and the cupboards were those old-fashioned ones where you pressed a little knob in the handle to open the door. An old wood stove and a newer electric stove sat together in a chimney nook. On the mantelpiece a wooden clock ticked loudly.
Mavis pulled out a couple of bright green vinyl-padded chairs. “Take a seat.” She filled a kettle and put it on the stove, popped a tea bag in a mug that said “World’s Best Mum”, and then filled two glasses with syrupy yellow cordial and added water from the kitchen tap. She put the glasses on the table next to a round flower-printed tin full of Anzacs, fragrant, golden brown and lacy around the edges.
“Help yourselves.” She made her tea, added two heaped teaspoons of white sugar, and took a big ceramic ashtray off the table. “Don’t worry, I won’t have a ciggie. I never smoke around kids.” She sat down, facing them. “What brings you two over here?”
Audrey sipped the cordial. It was delicious, with a strong lemon tang.
“It’s your dog. I saw it last night, in our garden. Mum and Dad said we should tell you. You know, because of the sheep and chooks,” she added vaguely.
Mavis looked surprised. “You saw my Daphne? I don’t think that’s very likely. She always spends the nights here with me.” She leaned back in her chair and whistled. “Daphne! Come here, old girl.”
There was a slow clicking of claws on the lino, and a very old, very stout blue heeler wandered into the room, bringing with her a strong smell of dog. She licked Mavis’s hand and collapsed with a wheeze beside her chair.
Mavis fondled Daphne’s ears. “This the dog you saw?”
Audrey shook her head. “No, it was a lot smaller, and it was mostly white. A fox terrier, I think. I only saw it for a few seconds.”
“I didn’t see it at all,” Chloe interrupted, through a mouthful of Anzac. “These biscuits are excellent. Can I please have another?”
Mavis flashed her unnaturally even teeth in a grin. “Have as many as you like. I make good Anzacs – they always sell out at the CWA trading table.”
“What’s CWA?”
“Country Women’s Association. We have a nice group of ladies, get together every so often. I’ll tell your mum about it. She might like to get out now and again.”
Audrey decided to pretend she hadn’t heard. “The dog I saw must belong to someone else,” she said. “Do you know anyone who has a dog like that?”
“Can’t say I do. Most people around here have collies and kelpies and such, working dogs. Bill Brewer, who lives up the back of your property, he’s got a Rottweiler. He reckons it’s not dangerous, but I wouldn’t go near it if you paid me. We get a few odd bods around here from time to time. Maybe the little foxy was left up here by someone who didn’t want it any more. Some people shouldn’t be allowed to have pets.”
“But why would it be out at night?” argued Chloe. “My dad said dogs don’t get around much at night.”
“True.” Mavis scratched Daphne’s head. “Well, that’s it, girls. Can’t help you, I’m afraid.”
Audrey stood up. “We should go, then. Come on, Chlo.”
As they all clumped back down the echoing hallway, Audrey saw a framed picture of birds hanging on the wall. She thought it was a print, maybe cut from a magazine, but when she stopped to look properly she saw that it was an original. Watercolour, most likely. It showed a pair of southern emu-wrens, a male and a female.
“Hey, Mrs–” she started. “I mean …”
“Call me Mavis. You like my painting?”
“Yes, it’s really pretty.”
Mavis stood close beside her. She smelled of cigarette smoke, and automatically Audrey moved away a few centimetres. “Beautiful little birds, aren’t they?” Mavis said. “There used to be quite a lot of them in this area, but I haven’t seen one in years. All that vineyard development saw them off.”
“I know, they’re endangered. Stipiturus malachurus.” Audrey realised how nerdy she must sound, how pretentious, even to someone old like Mavis. She felt her cheeks grow hot. Behind Mavis’s back, Chloe was rolling her eyes.
Mavis beamed. “An expert, eh? We have a local birdwatching group here. We do our bit to raise awareness, or try to. Reckon you might be interested in joining us?”
“Oh … I don’t know.” For a second or two she wanted to say yes, she’d love to, but then reality kicked in. Imagine trekking around the countryside with a lot of old people! What if the kids at school found out? “Um, maybe one day. Thanks for the drink and the Anzacs.”
“Well, don’t be strangers. I’m always happy to see visitors. I’ve got two sons, but they’re grown up and living elsewhere, and I don’t have any grandkids.”
“Sure. See you, Mrs–”
“Mavis. Just call me Mavis.”
*
“That wasn’t much use,” said Chloe, when they were walking back down the road.
“What wasn’t?” Audrey was still thinking about the emu-wrens: they looked so fantastic with their long wispy tail feathers. It would be amazing to see one in the wild. She must make a list of local bird species and see if she could find them all …
She pulled her mind back to the present.
“What’d you say, Chlo?”
“The dog, bird brain.”
“The dog?”
Chloe rolled her eyes again. “The reason we went to visit Mrs Mavis in the first place. We still don’t know whose dog it is. I’m starting to think you didn’t see anything last night, except maybe Freddy reflected in the window.” After a pause, she added, “Her biscuits were really good, though.”
CHAPTER 6
But there was a dog.
Audrey saw it again on Sunday when she was walking around the property, notebook in hand, listing the birds she saw and checking for possible nest sites.
She saw it only by accident. She’d seen a parrot (a fabulous crimson rosella, Platycercus elegans) flying out of what seemed to be a nest hole in a gum tree, and had swung herself up onto a low branch to check it out. Brilliant! It was a nest hole. Empty, probably: it wasn’t the breeding season. She’d have to come back later with her torch.
As she turned to scramble down again, she saw a flash of white.
At first she thought it was Freddy. But it wasn’t Freddy. It was bigger and sturdier, and now Audrey could see the long muzzle and flopped ears. It was wearing a collar, so it must belong to somebody.
The dog turned and looked at her. Then, as if in answer to a call or a whistle, it sprinted soundlessly away down the paddock, only its head and perky tail visible above the long grass.
Audrey slid down the tree, scraping her legs on the rough bark. She couldn’t see the dog anywhere. Where had it gone? If only she hadn’t been up the tree! If she’d got hold of the dog, she could have checked to see whether the collar had an address or a phone number on it.
The day was hot and dry. Dad was working in the vineyard, and Mum had driven into town with Chloe to get some things at the supermarket.
Audrey pushed her notebook into her shorts pocket and walked up the hill to the vineyard.
Dad was pulling away weeds at the base of the vines and checking that the irrigation drippers were working. Beneath his broad-brimmed straw hat, his face was shiny with sweat.
“Ah,” he said. “Help at last! You can give me a hand, Audrey, if you wouldn’t mind. Start at the top row up there and make sure all the drippers are putting water right on the vines. Get rid of any weeds that are in the way. Understood?”
“Sure, understood. Dad, I just saw that dog again. It was over there, at the other end of the paddock. It saw me, but it ran away.”
Dad wiped the sweat out of his eyes with the back of his hand. “Very strange,” he said. “I wonder who it belongs to.”
“Well, that old lady Mavis didn’t know about it, and she’d know what’s happening around here. She’s into everything, birdwatching, CAW …”
“CWA.”
“What you said. It’s really weird, though, isn’t it? I mean, why is it hanging around our place?”
“Audrey, don’t worry about the dog. Get on with what I’m asking you. Please.”
“Okay, sorry.” Audrey walked further up the hill until she reached the top of the vineyard. She began to move slowly down the first row of vines, checking for evidence of water, pulling out clumps of wiry grass and bindweed. She fixed a piece of irrigation pipe where the dripper had come out altogether, and moved a dripper that was watering a patch of very healthy thistles.
The air was so still she could hear insects moving in the grass. She saw beetles, grasshoppers, a tiny blue skipper butterfly. Above her a whistling kite was hovering, a small dark shape riding on a thermal, its plaintive whistle sliding down to her in a bubble of pure sound.
Haliastur sphenurus.
Audrey gazed into the great upturned blue bowl of the sky. How wonderful it would be to fly! She could feel herself floating effortlessly, the air cool around her body, her outstretched wings barely moving. The world was spread out beneath her like a map in shades of green and brown, every tiny detail crisply outlined and brilliantly clear.
Then the kite swerved and swooped, and she was back to being human again. The sun burned through her T-shirt and the earth was warm beneath her sandalled feet.
*
The Southern Emu-wren (Stipiturus malachurus) is a small, shy bird with a tail of six filamentous feathers, she read. The body length is 60–70 mm and the tail much longer (90–120 mm). Male: Upperparts are mostly yellowish-brown with blue-grey about the neck and blackish streaks from crown to rump. Underparts are tawny-brown except for the white belly and blue upper breast, throat and eyebrows. Female: Similar in colour, but lacks blue on the breast.
Audrey looked at the distribution map on the screen of her laptop. Emu-wrens were actually quite widespread. The grey shading extended as far as Western Australia, down to Tasmania and high up the east coast. However, it was described as “uncommon”. And locally it was “critically endangered”.
