SWEET PRETTY CREATURES
Sweet pretty creature!
A willie wagtail advertised his charm as he flirted with the lawn sprinkler. Smug thing, thought Ruth from the shade of the louvred verandah, you didn't do any of the hard work. The newly laid turf of the back lawn flaunted a determinedly hopeful green. In the old rose-bed behind the bougainvillea hedge, a choice array of perennials ("hardy and shade-tolerant" according to the nursery tags still fluttering on the youthful stems) slipped into the humid afternoon shade of late November. By next Spring this will be perfect, Ruth reflected, just a little smug herself. Nice and green and tidy; easy for Eddie to keep up. A chance to ease off: go places, do things, have time just for each other. I'll miss the roses, though.
Ruth closed the louvres further against the late western sun, and stepped into the living room. Its relaxed comfort still cheered her each time she entered. It's finally finished, Ruth thought happily. In the filtered light of large, softly curtained windows, pale terra-cotta walls enveloped the mellow hand-rubbed oil finish of Nana's old kitchen hutch. The silky oak dresser that Grandpop had crafted for his bride nestled companionably against a new rustic pine cupboard, chosen especially to hold and conceal the essential modern accoutrements of television, video and stereo. Family photos clustered on walls and cupboard tops. The oversized, overstuffed, supremely comfortable lounge suite (just like its owners, Ruth tittered to herself) sidled up to an overfilled pine bookcase that was Eddie's gift for her 40th birthday. The discreet beige carpet presented a clean face; free of stains, flat worn patches or accumulations of animal hair. Ruth gave a brisk nod -- everything is just right.
We've done the parent thing, Ruth thought. She'd climbed the Public Service ladder, rung by rung. Eddie was quite content driving school buses. Their son Leigh would finish his B.Bus. in Manchester this year. Sammy was settled in Year 10 at the local Grammar School. A good kid, she'd be fine once she got over the adolescent wibbles. We've done our very best for you: now it's up to you.
No pets to worry about. Doobie and Jingles had been an unlikely pair (Great Dane cross, and wire-haired terrier of dubious parentage), friends in life and unseparated in old age and death. Taking them on their last trip to the vet was one of the hardest things Ruth had ever done, and much more than Eddie could brave. No hairs on the carpet, no vet bills, no kennel bookings 12 months ahead.
Free at last! Ruth wriggled with restrained triumphal pleasure.
A metallic crash echoed up the internal staircase, immediately chased by stentorian trumpeting. "Oh bloody Christ, you miserable…". The rest was fortunately lost in the indescribable din of what sounded like, and was, a well-stocked toolbox being upended on a concrete floor. Eddie was tinkering with Leigh's car again. Good grief, the car's running fine, and Leigh won't be back from the UK for at least 6 months. What's the problem? No use to ask; once Eddie started he would not be able to leave it alone. Ruth put her favourite operatic CD in the stereo, cranked up the volume and headed to the kitchen to start dinner.
Later, over stew and dumplings (a sure way to Eddie's heart), Ruth carefully lobbed the critical conversational ball.
"The yard's starting to look real good. Now you've put the sprinklers in, it won't take much to keep it going through summer."
"Yeah. No reason why we can't get away for the weekend a bit more often -- try out the new tent".
"That'd be nice -- I'd like that. Good to have the chance to have our life to ourselves -- decide what we want to do, just for us".
"I wouldn't mind getting a dog. I've always had a dog"
"Eddie, we've been through this dozens of times."
Sammy looked up from her plate. "Yeah Mum, can we get a dog? I miss Jingles and Doobie. Wouldn't you like a puppy?"
"Puppies grow up into dogs. Dad and I can finally please ourselves about what we do, when and where we go. We can't do that with a dog, can we?"
"But I could do it, Mum, I could mind the house and look after a dog…". The rest was lost as Eddie scowled at his daughter and barked.
"You can't even keep your own room tidy! When's the last time you washed up or got rid of all the junk you've left lying all over the house?" Eddie turned to Ruth. "There's no way we're going anywhere if it means leaving Sammy in charge."
"Thanks a lot, Dad!" Sam leapt up, shoved back her chair and stormed down the hall. Ruth glanced at Eddie. Well, that was tactful, she muttered to herself.
The slam of Sammy's bedroom door resounded seconds ahead of the thumping bass of a boom box. And they call themselves Nirvana. Hmmm. Putting on a bright face, she turned to Eddie and chirped "So, do you want to go camping next weekend?"
"Nah. I've gotta wash down the outside walls. The paint on the front stair railings needs a touch-up and all".
Ruth sighed.
Ping! Another Christmas beetle blundered too close to the ceiling fan. Its ricocheting trajectory ended abruptly just above Ruth's right ear, dispelling the last dregs of a restless, unrefreshing night's sleep.
Plucking the concussed beetle from her hair, Ruth shuffled wearily to the bathroom (already like a sauna from the early December sun). As she sourly reflected yet again on intolerable Queensland summers and the decidedly unfestive character of bugs in general, the early morning cicada chorus started its ratchetty chainsaw din.
Worse than a piano accordion, she grumped. At least they drown out Mick the Manic Mower. Every blessed Sunday at 7am, except when it rained.
Sunday! The last grey fug of a bad night suddenly dispersed. Today was the annual pre-Christmas lunch with her friends and colleagues Sandra and Dellys. What began as a tentative and slightly formal social obligation had ripened over the years into an indispensable tradition. Not the most sociable of men, Tony valued the company of Sandra and Dellys, and rarely refused an invitation. Wonder if he'd be so agreeable if Sandra wasn't a terrific cook? Heigh-ho, who cares? We're going out!
Ruth threw a chimpanzee grin at the mirror. The day was looking better already.
By early afternoon all four were lounging on Sandra's back deck, comfortably replete and half-way down the third bottle of cheap but agreeable domestic bubbly, watching the first signs of an evening thunderstorm gather over Cunningham's Gap.
The ready laughter and easy conversation ebbed and flowed. Through a warm daze compounded of boneless relaxation, heat, just enough alcohol and residual weariness, Ruth heard Dellys suddenly pipe
"I don’t suppose you know anyone who wants a puppy?"
Ruth glanced sharply at Eddie. His head snapped round to face Dellys. Any quicker and he'd dislocate something.
Ruth roused herself sufficiently to take the intercept. "No, we don't. Can't think of anyone".
Eddie looked intently at Dellys. "Who's got puppies?" he asked with deceptive mildness.
"A girl I know, Maxie -- she works for a vet. A nice kid, really keen on dogs. She got herself a cross-bred German short-haired pointer bitch who apparently played up with a friend's pig-dog -- bit of a Heinz type, I think, half Staffy with some Rotty and ridgeback thrown in. Thirteen pups she's got, four weeks old, and trying to find homes for all of them."
Eddie was quivering with interest. "What are the pups like?"
"Bloody ugly, I’d say!" laughed Sandra.
"No idea", Dellys shrugged. "But Maxie's a sensible girl, so they'll be sound and healthy. But she won't just hand them over to a pet shop somewhere. If she can't find good homes, they'll be put down."
"Hey Ruth, what do you reckon?" Eddie's eyes were bright with hope and anticipation. Ruth, muzzily aware that this was not the optimal time for making far-reaching decisions, and feeling as well-defended as a warm marshmallow, met Eddie's gaze in limp surrender. It's been a long while since you looked like that for me. Bugger you, Eddie.
"All right, if that's what you really want, we'll go and look at them. Where does Maxie live?"
Sandra's jaw dropped, and she started to laugh -- great brays of laughter. "I can't believe you said yes!" she spluttered.
Ruth slumped further into her deck chair. Neither can I, she thought ruefully, neither can I.
Ruth checked the letterbox numbers against the slip of paper Dellys gave her two days ago. Pointing to a tiny white weatherboard bungalow, she nodded to Eddie.
As the car drew to a halt, Sam flung open the back door and almost leapt onto the kerb. She'd been as excited as a five-year-old on the short drive to Maxie's house, bouncing in her seat as she babbled a constant stream speculations about "her puppy". Eddie's excitement was only marginally more contained.
As they walked up the short path to the front door, Ruth heard a muted chorus of squeals and yelps, accompanied by a darkly pungent olfactory note. This must be the place, all right.
A cheerful-looking girl in denim cut-offs and a sleeveless Yakka work shirt answered their knock.
"You'd be Eddie and Ruth. Hi, I'm Maxie. Come and see Shandy and the pups -- they're out the back". As they followed Maxie through the neat little house, Ruth noted with some surprise the spotless beige lounge carpet.
Beyond the back door, a six-foot timber fence enclosed a total assault on the senses. Ruth halted on the porch and slowly untangled her perceptions. First, the smell! Puppy-pooh everywhere, overlying a hint of kibble and the rich earthy scent of trampled grass. Yelps, squeals and whimpers. Small tumbling bodies -- black, white, brown; round bellies borne on short rubbery legs. In a corner beside a commodious kennel, a large and handsome bitch, white with deep brown spots and patches, sat on her haunches and gazed somewhat dolefully at the circus constantly playing out before her.
Eddie and Sammy were in the thick of things. Eyes darting from pup to pup; touching, scruffing, tumbling, fingers clicking, tongues clucking, sharp hand claps, cooing words. Ruth carefully picked her way across the faecal minefield to the kennel in the corner.
She held out her hand, palm down. Shandy extended her neck, sniffed tentatively and gently, then subtly insinuated her skull under Ruth's outstretched fingers. Almost by reflex, Ruth found the silky spot under the ear where dogs most love to be rubbed. As her shoulders relaxed and her ears folded backward, Shandy's liquid gaze met Ruth's eyes. Yes, I know, girl. They're all yours, and you love them, but they're a bit much, aren't they?
Eddie's voice snagged her attention. "Ruth, what do you think about this one?" Sammy stood at her father's elbow, eyes gleaming with approval at a quite ridiculous pup, who seemed oblivious to the attention as it chewed intently on a stick. Eddie bent, and his strong, thick-fingered hands gently lifted the odd little creature. The round, ungainly, splay-footed body was encased in a black-spotted white hide that pleated and folded like a harlequin clown suit. A black patch covered one eye, and a spattering of raisin-like freckles adorned the blunt snout. As Ruth frowned in disbelief at the absurd choice, it scrambled up Eddie's shoulder and began enthusiastically to lick his ear. Eddie's eyes squeezed shut, his neck telescoped into his shoulders, and his mouth and chin compressed into a goofy grin. That's it then, Ruth shrugged. I know that look.
Maxie smiled broadly as Eddie and Sam showed her their choice. "Yeah, he was kinda my favourite, too. They'll be fully weaned in two weeks; you can come and get him then. I'll ring you." As Sammy bounced happily back to the car, Ruth guiltily hoped that Maxie wouldn’t notice until much later that her carpet now bore unmistakeable evidence that Sammy had stepped in something quite disagreeable.
If the next two weeks couldn't pass quickly enough for Sam and Eddie, for Ruth they were even more burdensome. The new pup was Sammy's sole topic of conversation. Eddie arrive home each day with some acquisition deemed essential for the health and comfort of the anticipated blessed event -- feeding bowl, water bowl, collar, lead, bed-basket, multi-vitamins, milk powder. It's a dog, not a baby! Ruth wanted to scream.
Dinner-time discussions centred on names. Eddie and Sam seemed endlessly fascinated by the possibilities. Suggestions weighed and discarded had passed from the noble and dignified (Brutus, King, Rex); to macho and tough (Beast, Killer, Fang); cute (Pudden, Bingo, Cedric); comical (Doofus, Clueless, Flacco); to just plain trite (Spot, Freckles). From time to time, Ruth sourly ventured that perhaps "Gobstopper", "Knackwurst" or "Hubcap" might suit, to be met with exasperated scorn from Sam or mute disgust from Eddie.
Finally Maxie called, just after breakfast on Saturday. Eddie answered the phone, smiled, and mouthed to Ruth "It's Maxie!" He seemed to be listening intently. Ruth watched as his cheerful expression drooped, to be replaced by a worried frown. He scribbled a name and number on the back of his hand. "Okay, I'll talk it over with Ruth and Sammy, then call you back". Eddie rang off and turned to Ruth, shoulders slumped.
"There's a problem. Apparently the pup chewed up and ate a bunch of twigs. Nature took its course, all right, but he got a problem with his back passage popping out, or something…"
"An anal prolapse?" Ruth ventured.
"Yeah, I think that's what Maxie said. Anyway, the vet she works for say everything's back in place, but the thing is, they don't know if the problem will keep on happening. It could be a weakness it was born with. Maxie said we could ring the vet and talk to him, but seeing the pup's not 100 per cent sound, we might want to choose another one instead". Eddie made no attempt to hide his disappointment.
Ruth thought for a moment. "Maxie's right, of course. Give the vet a ring and see what he says. I'd better tell Sammy."
Ten minutes later, Ruth and a red-eyed and agitated Sammy rejoined Eddie, just as he hung up the phone. The set of his shoulders told the story. "Well, that's it. The vet says the pup seems fine again now, but he just can't tell if it’s a chronic problem. He thinks we ought to choose another pup."
Sammy's lower lip drooped and trembled. Before her mood could change from miserable to mutinous, Eddie (on the ball for once, Ruth thought gratefully) turned to Sam. "Come on, we'll ring Maxie and let her know we're on our way to pick another puppy".
An hour later, Ruth heard the car pull into the driveway. The footsteps coming up the stairs sounded bouncier than those going down earlier had. Eddie came in, smiling briefly, followed by a much more cheerful Sam. She cradled a sleek, glossy black little form that seemed quite content to nestle against her chest.
Ruth could just see a pure white blaze like a baby's bib, and white tips on one small paw, as though the toes had been dipped in paint and quickly withrawn. Two dark brown eyes gazed at her, looking confused and not a little sad. "Dad and I decided on his name," Sam announced. "He's called Ralphie". Ralphie briefly cocked one tiny velvet ear, then dejectedly huddled back down in Sam's arms.
The week before Christmas hurtled past in the customary melee of shopping, baking, wrapping, list-ticking, tree-erecting and tinsel-draping. With school over for the holidays, Eddie was making the most of his vacation -- sleeping late, tinkering in his workshop, barbecuing steaks and tossing salad for the relaxed summer dinners he and Ruth enjoyed so rarely.
At last, all the gifts were wrapped and piled in inviting mounds under the tree. The cake tins were comfortably full with fruit cake and shortbread: the fridge chugged and shuddered under its load of pate and cheese, seasoned chickens ready for roasting, brandy custard, and the garnet-red cherries no Christmas would be complete without.
Two more sleeps until Christmas Day. Ruth lounged drowsily on the couch and sipped her gin and tonic. Beside her, Eddie fidgeted as he half-heartedly watched "Carols by Candlelight". A muted murmur of carols filled the room; fairy lights threw soft rainbow reflections from the sparkling excess of tinsel and ornaments on the Christmas tree. Sammy stretched prone on the floor, idly rolling a stray bauble to Ralphie.
Eddie barely glanced at Ralphie tentatively batting a velvet paw at the golden ball. Once, twice the glittering sphere rebounded between the drowsy puppy and the listless girl. Ralphie huffed a miniscule sigh. Like the baby he was, between one breath and another his eyes shut and he fell fast alseep, head resting on his folded forepaws. Sammy and Eddie turned blankly back toward the TV. Ruth slumped with irritated disappointment. Getting that pup was bloody big ask, she thought resentfully, frowning at yet another suspicious stain on the carpet, but they may as well have settled for a goldfish . Why did I bother?
"Eddie, don’t go to sleep on the lounge again or you’ll be awake at 3.00am because your back’s crook. Sammy, put the puppy in the laundry, and don’t stay up all night!" Ruth stumped off to bed.
Eddie tossed and muttered in his sleep all night. Restless herself as a result, a less-than-chipper Ruth was surprised and more than a little suspicious when a faintly sheepish Eddie offered her freshly-brewed coffee next morning.
"You’re making an early start. What’s up?" she asked.
"Oh, nothing much. Umm, I was just thinking, darl’…".
"Were you now. What, then?" Ruth grumped, as she positively snatched the proffered coffee mug.
"Well, I was just wondering really, if Maxie had…you know, if that pup was all right. Hate to think she’d have to have the little bloke put down."
"If that’s all that’s worrying you, ring her up and ask, why don’t you?" Eddie hurried toward the phone. Ruth, not quite awake yet, realised too late that a yawning pit was about to open beneath her feet.
The last of the frantic, sweltering day gave way to a warm intimate stillness.
For once, Ruth wasn’t drawn to reflect on just what it was that gave this one night of the year its special quality. She was occupied with the more immediate and mundane question of whether white vinegar would shift the alarming collection of yellowish ammoniac blotches on the not-so-pristine carpet.
Here we go again, she thought. There goes the carpet, there go our carefree camping weekends…I’ll have to make some throws for the couch or the covers will be wrecked in no time. Well, how could I have said no? It’s Christmas Eve for heaven’s sake! Sordid blackmail, that’s all it was.
Sammy’s delighted laughter and a peal of sharp "yip-yips" interrupted her gloomy pondering. She turned to see Eddie giggling, actually giggling, as a tumbling bundle of black and white resolved itself into two small fat bodies that pounced, rolled, retreated and pounced again in furious mock-battle. Ralphie abruptly decided to prefer discretion to valour, and bounded on flailing legs to hide under the coffee table.
"You’re a bully, Hubcap. Leave your little brother alone!" Eddie gently admonished the victor as he tickled its round pink belly and nuzzled a spotty wet nose. An enthusiastic swipe across his nostrils from a tiny raspy red tongue sent Eddie off into giggles again. On cue, his eyes squeezed shut, his neck telescoped into his shoulders, and his mouth and chin compressed into a goofy grin. Sammy’s smile beamed toward her mother as she comforted Ralphie, cradled against her neck.
Ruth's scowl dissolved into wry amusement. If this was one of those Christmas TV specials, you’d be reaching for either the remote control or the sick-basin by now. She reached instead for the gin and tonic. Heigh-ho Santa, just paint my nose and call me Rudolph. Some things are just meant to be.
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