Puppy Pie Read online

  Gull looks down and into the face of the prettiest marmalade coloured cat she has ever seen. ‘Oh, isn’t she beautiful,’ Gull coos quickly handing the box to Tom and bending down to stroke the fluffy tabby who is covered in muted tones of orange, white and chocolate. Tom puts the box down on the ground. Just then, a wavering shadow falls across the box. The puppies mewl louder.

  ‘They must be hungry,’ the man in the pale suit says, bending down and pushing back a flap of the box. A shaft of light glints on something silver in the man’s hand as he bends down to pat them. He puts this same hand into the box and when he stands up, he’s holding one of the squirming puppies.

  Just then, Useless, who has wandered away, rushes back to where the group is standing. Teeth bared, he growls at the stranger. The next minute, Useless starts barking frantically, his hackles rising. The man turns pale and immediately puts the puppy back in the box. As he straightens, the man closes the old-fashioned watch in his hand. Again, Useless barks. Then he resumes growling.

  ‘Grab his collar, Tom!’ Harry shouts as he lopes towards them.

  Tom seizes the dog’s collar and holds it firmly.

  ‘Sorry about that, Mr Sprogg,’ Harry says looking quizzically at the mutt. He shakes his head. ‘Never known him to do that before.’ Frowning at Useless, Harry says, ‘I’ll walk you to your car. You look a bit shaken.’ As they walk quickly out of the shed away from Useless, Harry shakes his head. ‘I can’t understand it. Useless is so placid: more likely to lick you to death than bite you. That’s why he’s the kids’ dog. So,’ he says as they continue walking towards the beige car, ‘you say we were at school together. Well that’s got me beat. For the life of me, I can’t remember you.’

  Just then, Gull glances over at the man with Harry: she catches a fleeting look of fury on his face. The next instant, his face is bland again.

  ‘Don’t give it a second thought, Mr Hepplewhite. Anyway, it was a long time ago, almost twenty years. And now,’ he says, opening and closing his old-fashioned watch, ‘it doesn’t matter.’

  Gull, intrigued by the man’s face, sees a small, forced smile and glimpses sharp teeth. Reminds me of a wolf, she thinks. Gull shivers. She glances over at Useless, now whimpering under Tom’s firm hold. She stares after the colourless man as he climbs into his car. Her uncle turns and walks back towards them, tall, dark, with a handsome, weathered face. He’s in his mid-thirties.

  ‘You can let go now,’ Harry says to his son. As soon as he’s free, Useless heads straight for the puppies in the box. With his nose, he gently touches each one, whimpering and nuzzling enthusiastically. ‘Well that’s a turn-up for the books,’ Harry murmurs standing over Useless and frowning. ‘Never known him to growl at anyone before. He’s always so friendly.’

  ‘Maybe he didn’t like a stranger picking up his pups,’ Gull suggests.

  ‘Never bothered him before,’ Harry says, scratching his head. ‘Everyone’s his best friend. Hope he’s not turning nasty all of a sudden.’

  ‘No Dad,’ Tom says hastily. ‘I’m sure he isn’t.’

  ‘I saw a flash of silver as that man bent over the puppies,’ Gull blurts out. ‘Maybe Useless saw the same thing, and he was protecting his puppies. Thought they were in danger or something.’

  ‘Could be,’ Harry says shrugging the matter away. ‘Just as well you’re here Gull, to look after us all.’ Harry bends down to Gull’s level, balancing on his haunches. ‘Good to see you on the farm for once,’ he says playfully ruffling her white-blonde hair. ‘Now, just put those puppies over there, Gull,’ he requests pointing to a pen in the corner.

  Gull opens the gate of the pen and her jaw drops. A heap of puppies – all different sizes and shapes – are playing, dozing and fighting in the roomy pen.

  ‘How many this time?’ Harry asks over his shoulder as he walks back to the giant Harvester near the back of the shed.

  ‘Nine,’ Tom says very quietly.

  ‘Can’t hear you,’ Harry shouts.

  Tom gives Gull a hopeless look.

  ‘Less than ten, Dad,’ Tom says loudly.

  Harry stops tightening a bolt on the Harvester and looks hard at his son. ‘How many less?’

  ‘Er, one less,’ Tom says as he and Gull finish putting the puppies in the pen.

  Harry walks back towards Tom and Gull, wiping his hands with a greasy rag. He tucks it in a pocket of his oil stained jeans. He gazes down at all the wriggling puppies. Then he looks down at Useless standing beside him, wagging every part of himself with pride and joy, a big lopsided grin on his face. ‘Father of the Year again,’ Harry says laughing. ‘Looks like some exotic specimen this time,’ he says shaking his head at Useless who just grins back, wagging his tail even harder. ‘Can’t fit many more in the pie dish, I’m afraid, Useless.’

  Immediately, Gull straightens up. ‘Pie dish? What pie dish?’

  ‘Oh, that’s just what Dad calls this pen,’ Tom shrugs.

  ‘But why Harry?’ Gull asks her uncle.

  ‘Well,’ Harry says seriously, ‘if there comes a time when there are too many mouths to feed or this new crop of mine fails, there’s just one thing left to do. It’s what I like to call “puppy pie” time.’

  Gull looks at him hard. ‘You mean,’ she says looking stricken, ‘you’d put the puppies in a pie? And eat them?’ She looks back at the warm, fat puppies, playing, sleeping and squeaking. Some of them look back at her, their heads cocked to one side, their big brown eyes soulful.

  ‘What else can I do with twenty-one puppies?’ Harry asks shrugging. ‘Mmm, I think puppy pie would be best with puff pastry. Must ask Jake: he knows all about these things.’

  Just then, Harry glances down at Gull: he sees a very determined look on the face of his usually easy-going niece. She pulls herself up to her full, if diminutive, height. ‘Harry,’ she says firmly, ‘I won’t let you. Even if I have to take them all home with me, you are not eating puppy pie.’ Then her bottom lip begins to quiver. Harry bends down immediately and gives her a big hug. ‘Oh, honey, I was only kidding,’ he says quickly. ‘Wasn’t I, Tom?’

  ‘Yep,’ Tom replies just as quickly. ‘Dad, you tell the biggest whoppers. Even if the jokes are pretty lame,’ he adds.

  Gull looks at both of them and bursts into tears of relief. They all start laughing.

  Harry grins. ‘Anyway, I don’t even like puppy pie. Why, the last time I had it, all those waggly tails kept getting up my nose.’

  ‘Harry,’ Gull gasps, playfully punching her uncle’s arm. He picks her up and throws her into the air, swinging her onto his shoulders.

  ‘Enough tinkering! Time for morning tea! I’m starving,’ he adds as he strides off towards the farmhouse with Tom at his side and Gull on his shoulders. Useless has wandered out of the shed and is nowhere to be seen.

  ‘By the way, Dad,’ Tom says, ‘who was that man you were talking to?’

  ‘What man?’ Harry thinks. ‘Oh, him! I’d forgotten all about him. Says he’s the new bank manager, Cyril Sprogg. He says we were at school together but for the life of me, I can’t remember him. Suppose it doesn’t matter much. Anyway, he came out to introduce himself.’ His voice drops slightly. ‘Guess the Bank will go on as usual with the overdraft. He didn’t mention it so I suppose we plod along as usual. But soon,’ he adds smiling, ‘we won’t have an overdraft if this new crop of mine goes as well as I expect. Can’t wait,’ he says, picking up his pace and running towards the farmhouse, Gull bouncing happily up and down on his shoulders. ‘And I can tell you all about the new crop, Gull. It has so much potential for us Hepplewhites and for all the other farmers too. Very, very exciting!’

  Tom swings open the kitchen screen door, Gull ducking her head, and the three of them disappear inside.

  Back in the big shed, with her fur fluffed up and her tail in the air, the marmalade cat, Jam, jumps gracefully into the puppy pen as if she’s a queen. Stepping daintily over several sleeping puppies, she plops herself down on the straw purrin
g in anticipation. Sensing Jam’s maternal presence, the new arrivals squeak, squeal and stumble over to where she lies. In no time, there is silence: the new arrivals have found warmth and milk from Jam. She is never happier than when she’s surrounded by Useless’ offspring.

  * * *

  Feeling that morning tea is not quite ready, Useless happily climbs the stairs to his favourite room, the Folly. As usual, he plops himself down below the large triangular window and breathes a sigh of relief. Like his ancestors before him, Useless never wonders why he likes this room so much. All he knows is that he feels free.

  And, like his ancestors before him, that is exactly what he is: free for a while from those mites that live on dogs, causing them to scratch and bite themselves for relief. Now, Useless is free to lie perfectly still without a constant tickling somewhere on his furry body.

  Just as he settles down under the triangular window of the Folly, microscopic black specks leap off Useless and into the air. With centuries of practice to perfect their aim, the ancient Mite family lands precisely on the windowsill. And, if they had eyes to see, would find themselves looking over hundreds of hectares of the new crop waiting to be harvested.

  Ma, the formidable matriarch of the family, gazes sightlessly forward, always alert for signs of danger. Since the first dog arrived on the farm carrying Ma and her family, she has been protecting the Folly and all of the descendants of Frederick Hepplewhite. No bigger than a comma, Ma rules her brood with an iron mind, mentally slapping and hounding wayward mites. If she were seen, Ma would appear as a mere speck in the life of the farm but she is the most important speck any farm could hope to have.

  Around her, crowd dozens of microscopic mites invisible to the human eye. Ma, grandmother multiplied by thousands of generations, is the ancient custodian of the farm. Instinctively, she knows when something is not right.

  ‘Not right,’ she mumbles to herself.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Max asks, a muscular, miniscule speck crouching beside Ma.

  ‘Something,’ she says irritably as she moves closer to the window and senses a beige car driving away from the farm.

  ‘What is it, Ma?’ Dizzy asks, one of the latest generations.

  ‘A bland bombshell.’

  Dizzy rolls her eyes: she’s used to Ma talking in riddles.

  The mites standing nearest her – Cha-Cha, Terra and Tiny – shrug knowing better than to ask for an explanation. Ma is infamous for two things: her prophecies and her quick, bad temper.

  ‘Not happy,’ she frowns. She imagines her latest brood near by. ‘Bad time for bad tidings,’ she mumbles to herself. Mentally, she shakes her head, imagining those around her. This new generation -xyz- are all wrapped up in themselves, she thinks. They want everything “now”. Just when the Folly needs fighters, what do I get? A generation of dizzy singers and dancers! Oh well, she mentally shrugs, I suppose I’m surrounded by the best of a bad lot. She senses each in turn: Max, all brawn but very little brain; Dizzy, forever going around in circles, and Terra, her most grounded mite. Which isn’t saying much, Ma sighs. Then there’s Cha-Cha, infected with dance fever from watching too many dancing competitions on TV; and Tiny, the smallest of the family, too young to be useful.

  Well, she thinks despondently, let’s hope I don’t have to call on the rest. O Solo Mio, for instance, always wanting to be left alone. Or Flighty who is just that: flighty. If only Dolo and Dyna, the most capable of all my mites, had stayed on the farm. But what do they do when my back is turned? Catch a French Poodle to Paris!

  She slaps herself hard: concentrate, Ma. There’s the future in front of us, a fine green crop waiting to be harvested.

  A slight breeze ruffles the rich green leaves, and the crop sways gently. In the distance, two giant fire engine red Harvesters crawl through the open gates. Getting ready for tomorrow, Ma thinks. And tomorrow, with Harry’s Harvester, that will make three. A ripple of fear runs through her as she mentally pictures the new crop, the first of its kind in the area. Why am I afraid all of a sudden? Everything seems so normal. No, something is wrong: I know that ancient feeling.

  ‘Tell us a story, Ma,’ Tiny asks plaintively, breaking across Ma’s thoughts.

  ‘Yes,’ Cha-Cha says wiggling. ‘I’m bored. There’s no music up here for dancing to.’

  Acting automatically while her senses reach into the heart of the Folly searching for the threat, Ma begins her recitation. ‘A century and a half ago, Frederick Hepplewhite was alive and well. He was a clever, cantankerous, hardworking man. One evening, robbers stormed into the farmhouse where the family was having dinner.’

  ‘Oooh!’ Tiny whispers. ‘Was it a dark and stormy night?’

  Absentmindedly, as she continues searching for the threat, Ma says, ‘Yes, if you like, it was a dark and stormy night. Now, where was I? Oh, yes, the first thing the robbers did was tie up the family and polish off the dinner. Next, they threatened to burn down the farmhouse if Fred didn’t give them all his money.’

  ‘Oooh!’ the mites say in unison.

  ‘Now, Fred had worked very hard and didn’t want to lose his money, his farmhouse, his family or his life. But this time, Fred was well and truly up the creek. His hands were tied. And so were his feet.’

  Tiny stifles a laugh: she knows Ma has no sense of humour, and doesn’t mean to be funny.

  ‘So,’ continues Ma, ‘it was now up to your ancestors to save the family and the farmhouse. But what could they do? The dogs were asleep under the house and unaware of the threat. So, your ancestors did the one thing they did best: they bit the sleeping dogs awake. Next, the dogs rushed into the house. As soon as the dogs saw what was happening, they jumped up on the robbers and knocked them to the ground.’

  ‘Oooh!’ the mites chorus: they love this part of the story.

  Ma pretends not to hear, and continues. ‘Then the fiercest dogs surrounded the robbers with teeth bared, snarling nastily. In the meantime, one of Useless’ smart ancestors yanked and pulled at Fred’s ropes with her teeth until the ropes gave way. In fact, Useless comes from a long line of smart dogs although you’d never think it to look at him,’ she adds picturing Useless asleep below them. ‘Then,’ she says continuing, ‘Fred grabs the robbers’ weapons, releases his family, ties up the robbers with their own ropes, and sends the youngest son on horseback for the police. Fred always believed that even if the robbers had got their hands on his money, they would have burned down the farmhouse just for spite. A lot of people were jealous of old Fred. He’d done very well for himself because he’d worked hard.’

  There is silence while the mites digest this cautionary tale.

  Just then Ma, alert as always, senses tea being poured into a mug. ‘Jump!’ she yells as Useless, ears pricked, tunes into the sounds of morning tea. He gets up immediately, picturing crumbs and fallen titbits. Just in time, the mites land back on Useless who sighs wearily and pads down the stairs to the kitchen.

  Useless noses into the kitchen and plops down under the kitchen table. As he does, Jake begins cutting up the flourless chocolate cake and slicing the date roll.

  ‘What if,’ Harry begins, ‘there was a crop that not only fed you but clothed you and insulated your house?’

  ‘This new crop of ours is completely pest resistant,’ Tom breaks in quickly as Useless scours among their feet searching for crumbs.

  ‘Don’t forget it needs less water to grow than most other crops,’ Lucy says. ‘So it’s perfect for a drought-riddled country like Australia.’

  ‘Guessed yet Gull?’ Jake asks grinning.

  ‘That’s easy. Bamboo,’ Gull says triumphantly.

  ‘Why bamboo?’ Helen asks passing the date roll to Lucy.

  ‘Well, you said you could eat your new crop, and you can eat bamboo shoots.’

  ‘True,’ Harry says nodding.

  ‘Then you said you can make it into clothes. And I’ve touched towels made out of bamboo – so soft. You can make bowls and mugs and other stuff out of it too.
Oh and,’ she adds, ‘you can use bamboo for scaffolding on buildings, it’s that strong. So’, she says, ‘I bet you’re going to harvest bamboo.’ She looks around the table and grins.

  Every face smiles at her but then they all shake their heads sadly.

  ‘Please stop teasing me,’ Gull whines. ‘Tell me somebody. What is it?’

  Chapter 2

  ‘Well, you’re sort of close,’ Tom says. ‘But not close enough.’

  Gull groans.

  ‘Give up, give up, give up,’ her cousins chant happily.

  ‘Alright,’ Gull says. ‘You’ve got me. I give up.’

  ‘But not without a mighty struggle,’ Helen laughs sipping her tea.

  ‘Well what is it, Helen?’ Gull asks.

  ‘Hemp,’ the cousins chime before Helen can answer.

  ‘Hemp?’ Gull echoes. ‘But what can you do with hemp? Isn’t it a weed?’

  ‘Nope,’ Harry says happily. ‘But it grows like a weed. It’s got so many uses that I’m going to leave your cousins to fill you in. I can hear Ted and Jimmy bringing their Harvesters in now. Don’t forget to clean up everybody. And set two extra places for lunch, will you Jake?’ he calls out as he and Helen head out to the big shed. He shouts cheekily, ‘Ted and Jimmy might look like a couple of bean poles, Gull, but they can put away a whole puppy pie.’

  ‘Oh, Harry,’ Helen says loud enough for the children to hear. All the way to the big shed they can hear Harry and Helen laughing.

  ‘Only kidding!’ the cousins say quickly in case Gull takes her uncle seriously.

  ‘I’m getting used to it,’ Gull sighs. ‘Now, tell me country cousins, what can you do with hemp?’ she asks as she helps Jake stack the dishes in the sink. He turns on the hot water.

  ‘Thought you’d never ask,’ Lucy laughs as she shakes the tablecloth on the other side of the screen door. ‘You see, Mum says we buy lots of stuff from overseas that’s made of hemp so she reckons we should grow it ourselves and make that stuff here.’

  ‘Now are you ready for the list?’ Jake asks laughing. ‘We can recite it in our sleep we’ve heard Dad and Mum so many times.’