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Originally I wrote this as a werewolf story, before realising the wolf did not need to be a werewolf. Hunting story told from the animal's point of view.


Submitted:Dec 20, 2010    Reads: 32    Comments: 0    Likes: 0   


It was Roberta Dempsey who first saw the black wolf. It came out of nowhere and stopped in the middle of the road, fifty metres or so in front of the rattly old station wagon. The wolf seemed, transfixed by the glare of the car's headlights; its eyes shining almost supernaturally as the car rattled toward it.
"Look out Garrick!" Roberta called to her husband.
"Don't hit it dad!" pleaded young Stanlee from the back seat, leaning forward to peer out at the enormous black shape through the car's front windscreen.
Garrick Dempsey strained to see what his eleven-year-old son was pointing at. However, the black wolf blended into the dark of the moonless night, so that it was almost invisible against the black bitumen road. The car was nearly on top of the wolf before Garrick finally spotted the animal and began frantically tugging upon the steering wheel, using all of his strength to force the car to veer to the left.
Held spellbound by the glare of the headlights, the wolf began to move in the same direction, as though intent upon diving straight under the wheels of the car. At the last second, however, the black wolf put on an extra burst of speed, zoomed past the grill of the car, and began loping toward the thick forest a hundred metres away from the verge of the road.
By the time that Garrick had brought the sliding car back under control, the large wolf had disappeared from sight.
* * *
After his close encounter with death the black wolf ran through the forest, weaving his way between the trees, seemingly miraculously avoiding high-speed collisions with the wattles, pines, and grey-white ghost gums, until his heart pounded from the exertion and the pads of his feet ached. Spurred on by his fear of the car, fear of the boom-boom-boom that rang out from his own chest, fear of the crunching of the pine needles beneath his feet, which made him imagine that the Dempseys were running along behind him, the wolf tore through the forest for more than an hour.
He might have kept running until collapsing from fatigue, if he hadn't suddenly found himself at the edge of a clearing, looking out at a small weatherboard farmhouse. Although the small, white house offered little real protection against attack, the building seemed like a fortress to the wolf, offering shelter from the terrors of the forest by night. Although his memory of the time before he had come to this country was vague, he could dimly recallliving in a small house not unlike this one with a man named Jim, his master and friend. He could recall being smuggled into Australia by Jim, who had a year later been killed in a hunting accident, leaving the black wolf to fend for himself in this strange, new land. But most of all he remembered the comfort and safety that he had shared with Jim in their small, log house.
Weary after the mad rush through the forest, the wolf stood near the perimeter of the clearing for a few minutes, to allow his breathing to return to normal. Then, dropping to his belly, he began to crawl out into the open, inching his way toward the metre-high, chain-link fence which ringed the farmhouse yard, and extended all the way down to the dog-yard, a hundred metres away from the house, where thirty or so Kelpies, Barb-Kelpies, Border Collies, and other farm dogs were chained up for the night.
Stealthily the wolf crept along the short grass, until he lay against the base of the fence. He felt confident that he had gone unnoticed, until a low, rumbling growl made him look round to his left, and he found himself looking straight into the black face of a Barb-Kelpie. Although they were separated by a hundred metres of open yard, the wolf seemed to be looking eyeball-to-eyeball at the Australian Sheep Dog through the links of the fence.
For almost a minute the black wolf lay beside the wire-mesh fence looking across at the Barb-Kelpie. Then, not wanting to be trapped outside the farmyard when the dog-yard erupted into a chorus of barking, the wolf rose up to his full height, stretched out his front paws to pull himself up onto the top of the fence, then kicked off with his front feet.
Hurtling into space, the wolf rocketed across the small yard toward the farmhouse; expecting to be greeted any second by an angry ululation from the dog-yard. However, one look at the huge, black shape leaping the metal fence had been enough to silence the growling in the throat of the Barb-Kelpie, and send it whimpering backwards into the upended 200-litre drum that acted as its kennel.
The wolf halted against the nearest side of the house and waited for a moment, still half expecting to hear furious barking from the dog-yard. However, after a moment he summoned up enough courage to start across the back of the farmhouse, looking for a way into the building that he still associated with safety. All the doors were locked, however, on the opposite side of the house he discovered two windows wide open.
The windows were high off the ground, so the wolf was forced to stand up upon his back feet. Tottering slightly, he managed to just reach the sill with his front paws, then by a combination of kicking with his back feet and pulling with the front, he ungainly dragged himself up along the wall to fall through the open window.
Landing in a heap at the bottom of a small single bed, the black wolf scurried to his feet and found himself looking down at a small face, seemingly swimming in a sea of honey-blonde hair. As the little girl rolled over and began to mutter in her sleep, the wolf inched forward till his gaping jaws were only centimetres from the small face.
* * *
"A black wolf?" asked Andrew Braidwood, staring up at the trio who stood before his desk in the small police station.
"That's right, constable," assured Roberta Dempsey, throwing out her voluminous chest, like an opera singer about to burst out into song. "It ran straight out in front of the car and just sat there ... Right in the middle of the road."
Andrew looked slowly from the towering, corpulent figure of Roberta Dempsey, to the diminutive figure of her husband Garrick (who seemed dwarf-like beside the obesity of his wife), to the short, slender figure of young Stanlee. Finally he asked, "Are you positive that it was a wolf?"
"Of course we're positive," insisted Roberta, sounding offended by the question.
"Maybe it was a kangaroo, or an emu?" suggested the policeman. "After all, in the dark...?"
"No sir, it was definitely a large, black wolf," insisted Stanlee. "It sat on the road till we were almost on top of it, then took off into the bush just like it was jet-propelled."
'A jet-propelled wolf yet?' thought Andrew Braidwood, writing up a report of the sighting on his notebook.
* * *
The black wolf stood on thebed for a moment, gazing down at the young girl, watching the subtle rise and fall of her chest as she breathed. Then slowly he lowered his large face to gently nuzzle the soft flesh of her cheeks, enjoying the feel of her silky blonde hair against his face, vaguely remembering another little blonde girl named Lisa who he had played with in another country a year or two ago. Lisa had been the daughter of Jim and his wife Joanne. Then Jim and Joanne had separated and Jim and the black wolf had moved to Australia.
Feeling the furry face rubbing against her, the little girl cooed with. pleasure and stretched out one hand to stroke the wolf's muzzle. Responding in her sleep as though she were being nuzzled by Blacky or Marg (the only two of the farm's dogs ever allowed inside the farmhouse).
After a moment the wolf pulled away from the girl and dropped to the floor. He padded across to the bedroom door and stepped out into the hallway. He walked down the corridor to the second bedroom, where a beautiful honey blonde woman lay sleeping in the king-size bed. Seeing the big bed the wolf dimly recalled sneaking in to sleep on the bed between Jim and Joanne years ago, and after a moment's hesitation he climbed up next to the woman and lay down to sleep beside her. After a moment the woman rolled over in her sleep and draped one arm lightly across the wolf's black flank.
* * *
"A black wolf yet?" said Andrew Braidwood a few hours later as he and his sergeant, Melvin Forbes, stood by the side of the road, examining the skid marks made by the Dempseys' car the night before.
"Well what do you think it was?" asked Mel. Twenty-odd years older than Andrew, Mel had lived long enough not to be automatically sceptical of unusual reports.
"Surely you don't believe them?" asked Andrew, following the older man as he started toward the forest.
"Perhaps not, but on the other hand there have been reports of a large, black wolf around the LePage-to-Merridale area for a couple of years now." He stooped to examine a large paw print on the forest floor and asked, "What do you make of that?"
Andrew knelt to examine the print, then looked ahead to where a trail of large prints continued into the forest. "Dog tracks," he suggested lamely.
"Too large for dog tracks," insisted Mel.
"One of Old Man Frazer's Great Danes perhaps?"
"Even a Dane doesn't make tracks this large."
"Then a dingo?" Although rare outside northern Australia, a few dingoes had been sighted in the Victorian countryside in recent years. A small pack was known to live somewhere outside Glen Hartwell, and on occasions its members had been sighted as far afield as LePage.
"Too large even for dingo prints," insisted Mel, following the tracks a short distance into the forest.
"But they can't be wolf tracks!" protested Andrew Braidwood, refusing to be convinced. "Wolves aren't indigenous to the Australian continent."
"Neither were rabbits," pointed out Mel. "But just over a century back, some stupid bastard brought six pairs over here from England, now the whole continent is overrun by rabbits." When Andrew failed to comment, Mel continued, "Who knows, maybe someone brought a wolf or two over at some stage and didn't bother to tell anyone about it." After following the tracks for a moment longer, he said, "They're certainly heading the way the Dempseys said: Toward the sheep stations outside Merridale."
"So what are we going to do about it?" asked Andrew, hoping his sergeant would say to file their report then forget it.
"Hunt the bastard down, I suppose," said Mel. "These tracks are deep enough after all the rain we've had lately, so they ought to still be here when we've got a hunting party together."
* * *
Awakening at cocks' crow, Rowena Singleton sat up, blinking against the blinding light which streamed in through the open bedroom window. Yawning, she stretched wide, then looked down and Was shocked to see a large black wolf lying on the bed beside her.
Stifling a scream, she backed away and tried to climb out of bed, only to find her feet tangled in the blankets. Fighting back hysteria, she managed to untangle one foot before falling out of bed in a heap on the floor, taking the blankets off the bed with her. As she fell she heard a faint patter of footsteps running.
Hurriedly climbing to her feet, she looked down at the bed in trepidation, to find it was empty.
She had almost convinced herself that it was just a hallucination triggered by the blinding morning sun, when she noticed a deep indentation on the opposite side of the bed. 'Ernie,' she thought before remembering that her husband had gone to Melbourne for a few days to purchase some large farm equipment, leaving his best friend, Brian Horne, to tend to the sheep station's most urgent needs.
After hurriedly dressing she headed for the kitchen, to talk to Brian then start breakfast for herself and young Kirsty.
Forgetting that she hated it, Rowena reached down with one hand to lightly stroke he daughter's long yellow tresses as the little girl climbed up into a kitchen chair.
"Don't mum!" protested Kirsty, reaching up to slap away the offending hand, before leaning down to stroke the head of Blacky, as he and Marg scooted about under the kitchen table.
"What are you two dogs doing inside the house?" demanded Rowena, as she put bread in the toaster for her daughter's breakfast.
"They want their breakfast too," explained Kirsty.
"They'll get a boot up the backside if your dad ever catches them begging at the table," said Rowena, walking across to the screen door to let the dogs outside.
Seeing their mistress opening the back door, the two dogs raced outside, expecting her to dish out their food. Instead she slammed the screen door shut. Realizing that they had been tricked, the two dogs raced back toward her.
Looking past the red Kelpie bitch, Marg, to the larger Barb-Kelpie, Blacky, Rowena remembered her hallucination in the bedroom earlier and said, "Blacky?" drawing furious tail-wagging from the large dog at the mention of his name. "Yes it could have been you, couldn't it?" she said, wondering whether it had been the Barb-Kelpie that she had seen on the bed. Although the dogs spent the night chained up in the dog-yard, both Marg and Blacky managed to slip their collars on occasions to sneak into the house through any conveniently open window. Usually they would creep in to spend the night on the end of Kirsty's bed, to her delight. However, Rowena remembered the open window in their bedroom that morning and decided that Blacky could have entered that way, taking advantage of Ernie's absence to sleep beside her, then could have raced out again while she was on the floor tangled in the blankets, blinded the morning sun.
* * *
After leaping out through the bedroom window while Rowena lay tangled in the bedclothes on the floor, the black wolf started along the side of the farmhouse till reaching the back yard where he saw the tall, lean figure of Brian Horne tending to the needs of the station dogs, while his brother Warren watched on, having been duly warned against patting the dogs while they were being fed. Looking around he saw the open paddock to his right, leading to the forest a quarter of a kilometre away. Although wary of crossing such a large, open plain in broad daylight, he started to head toward the chain-link fence, then stopped, noticing a small wooden building halfway between the farmhouse and the dog-yard. After a moment's hesitation he scooted across to the small building while Brian's back was turned. Smelling the aroma of chaff and wheat through the part-open doorway, the wolf realized that it was a grain store. After a quick look round to see that no one had seen him, the wolf eased in through the wooden door, doing his best not to push the door any wider open.
The wolf listened for a moment to make certain that no one had started to run toward the shed, then started to look around. The four walls were stacked high with large, hessian bags, confirming the wolf's thought that it was a grain store. Although his nose told him that the bags contained wheat and other grain, the wolf took the time to examine a few sacks on the off chance that he would find something to take the edge off his ravenous hunger.
After a few minutes his vigilance was rewarded, as he located a few sacks of long, grey-brown, hexagonal dog pellets. Although the pellets were less satisfying than meat to a carnivore, at least they were something to fill his starving belly, and so after his initial reluctance, the wolf lowered his muzzle into a sack and started to crunch away, devouring more than a quarter of the sack before stopping.
Then, with the edge taken off his famine, the wolf sought out a dark spot behind a large pile of sacks and settled down to sleep until night fall.
* * *
"Black wolf! Black wolf!" chanted Warren Horne as the station wagon pulled up near the spot where the Dempseys had almost been forced off the road the night before.
"Can't you shut that bloody freak up!" snapped Sam Hart, a local sheep farmer who had had to listen to Warren's childish chants and games for the last thirty minutes.
"You're all heart, Sam," said Danny Ross, making Hart scowl and the others snicker.
"Well just keep him away from me!"
"That's okay, Warren can walk with me," offered Danny. A barrel-chested giant, nicknamed "Bear" by his close friends, Danny Ross (sergeant of the Glen Hartwell Police Force) was a compassionate man who had only agreed to take part in the wolf-hunt to see that no one got hurt and to help Brian look after his brother.
In his early twenties and a giant of a man like Bear, mentally Warren Horne was at the level of a seven year old. He would have been confined to the Queen's Grove sanatorium in Westmoreland five years earlier when their parents had both died, if Brian hadn't pledged to take on the task of looking after "Weird" Warren (as the local school kids had nicknamed him) and keeping him out of trouble.
"Black wolf! Black wolf!" chanted Warren happily, waving his double-barrel shotgun in the air, not caring that Brian had not given him any cartridges.
"Been waiting long?" asked Mel Forbes, climbing from the cabin of the Holden Rodeo ute before it had quite come to a stop.
"Just got here," said Hart as Andrew and the others climbed out of the Rodeo.
"Well let's get to it!" said Des Hutchinson impatiently, checking to see that he had loaded his pump-action shotgun.
"Black wolf! Black wolf! Black wolf!" chanted Warren Horne as they set off to follow the wolf spoors into the forest.
Sam Hart turned round to tell him to shut up, then seeing Des Hutchinson changed his mind. Hutchinson had a soft spot for Weird Warren, and unlike Warren, Hutchinson was far from harmless. So Hart decided to ignore Warren and try to walk as far from Hutchinson as possible as the ten men set out on the wolf hunt shortly after 8:00 p.m.
* * *
The small posse was close to exhaustion long before sighting the black wolf. They followed the wolf tracks deep into the forest, using high-powered flashlights to guide their way along. Like the wolf the night before they were forced on a short marathon, following the spoors for nearly thirty kilometres from the road outside LePage to the countryside around Merridale.
Unlike the hunters who had set out shortly after sunset, the black wolf had stayed hidden in the grain store on the Singleton sheep station until well after dark. He had awakened ravenous from hunger and had headed across toward the sacks of crunchy dog pellets, but after a few mouthfuls he had stopped, dissatisfied with the pellets. Seeing, through the part-opened doorway that it was dark outside, he decided that it was finally safe enough to venture out in search of real food.
The Australian countryside is full of all sorts of large game -- emus, kangaroos, wallabies, and so on -- however, after one or two painful run-ins, when he had almost been gutted by the steel-like talons of an Old Man emu, and had been sent flying by the large cricket-bat sized feet of a great red roo, he had learnt to settle for smaller game: koalas, wombats, numbats, and sundry opossums.
* * *
By the time that the wolf finally set out, he had given the hunters enough time to grow tired and irritable. Two of the men had already given up and had returned to the Rodeo ute, however, there were still eight men left, when suddenly, around midnight, Warren Horne again chanted, "Black wolf! Black wolf!"
"Will you shut that...!" began Sam Hart, before realizing that Warren was pointing toward a grove of grey-brown ghost gums a hundred metres ahead of where they stood.
Standing between two of the gum trees, facing directly away from them, stood a black wolf, feeding of the half-devoured carcase of a large wombat.
'I don't believe it!' thought Sam, starting to swing his Winchester repeater up toward the large wolf.
Because there was a strong headwind blowing past the wolf, toward the hunters, the wolf had not heard Weird Warren's chant, or Sam's curse. However, he heard readily enough when Warren aimed his shotgun toward the wolf, pressed both triggers, letting the hammers click-click onto the empty chambers, then shouted, "Bang! Bang!" at the top of his lungs.
The black wolf jumped a metre straight into the air from fright, allowing Sam's Winchester to fire harmlessly into the ground beneath the animal, sending up a spray of dead gum leaves. Before Hart could fire again, the wolf returned to earth and took off like a rocket into the dark forest.
Two other men in the posse were quick enough to fire off shots before the wolf had disappeared from sight. However, he was long out of range, so they only managed to take bark off gum trees a few metres behind the fleeing animal.
"You bloody retard!" shouted Sam Hart, rounding on Weird Warren. In his anger forgetting his fear of Des Hutchinson.
"Leave him alone!" warned Hutchinson, although he was also annoyed by the missed opportunity to bag the black wolf.
Ignoring the warning, Sam continued to storm toward the cringing figure of Warren Horne, until Des fired a warning shot from his pump-action shotgun. The shot missed Sam by mere centimetres, blasting away a great chunk of bark from a ghost gum nearby.
Jumping away in shock, Sam swung his Winchester up toward Des, and the dispute might have ended in bloodshed, if Mel Forbes and Bear Ross hadn't stepped between the two men to give them a chance to cool down.
"We're wasting valuable time here!" pointed out Bear. "The longer we stand here feuding, the less chance we have of catching up with the bastard."
"We'll never get him now!" insisted Sam. "Thanks to that bloody retard!"
"Don't be too sure," said Andrew Braidwood, walking across to where the black wolf had been standing beside the ghost gums only moments before. The forest floor was covered in a thick carpet of dried gum leaves and pine needles, and in his haste to escape, the black wolf had thrown up the leaves and needles in his wake, leaving a clear trail behind him. "All we have to do is follow along behind at an easy pace until he tires himself out, then we nail the bugger."
* * *
With more than a touch of deja vu, once again the black wolf found himself running full pelt through the woodland. Once more his heart pounded from fear at the thought of being chased through the forest. Except that this time he knew that his fear was based on reality, not mere cowardice. Vividly he remembered the reports of the rifles behind him, remembered the thud-thud of great chunks of bark and wood being ripped away from trees only centimetres behind him. Recalling the sight of a brutal kangaroo-hunt that he had once witnessed from a distance, he realized that the bullets or buckshot would rip away far greater chunks from his own trunk, than they had from the trunks of the pines and ghost gums.
This time the wolf only had a couple of kilometres to run to reach the outskirts of the Singleton sheep station. He didn't waste time lying in the long grass outside the chain-link fence tonight, but leapt straight over the fence and raced across to the side of the white, weatherboard farmhouse, to conceal himself from the Kelpies, Barb-Kelpies, and Border Collies in the dog-yard out back. Although he knew now that the dogs wouldn't dare to stand up to him, he was afraid that one or two might at least risk a stray bark, giving the hunters a clue to the direction he had taken.
The black wolf waited for a minute or two to allow himself to calm down, and to let his pounding heart return to something like normal, then set off around the back of the house in search of an open bedroom window.
He crept around the front of the farmhouse without any problems. However, when he reached the opposite side, he found both windows firmly shut. Leaping up onto his back feet, he pulled himself up along the outside wall until he was able to peer in through the first window. Directly beneath the window he could see a small bed, in which lay a large Garfield-the-cat doll, swathed in long, golden tendrils, as though Garfield had decided to let his hair grow down. Using his front paws on the sill to pull himself up the wall a fraction, the wolf was just able to make out the small figure of Kirsty Singleton lying on the edge of the bed, beneath the window, and realized that the golden hair belonged to the little girl.
He stood against the weatherboards, gazing down at the sleeping child for a moment, then remembering his fear of the hunters, dropped to all fours and scampered across to the second window.
This time he could see Rowena Singleton sprawled out in the middle of the double bed. Trying his best not to waken her, he began scraping at the window, desperately trying to force it to slide upwards as he had seen Jim and Joanne open windows many times in the past. Although the window was not latched, the wolf's clawed feet weren't designed for gripping onto shiny surfaces, so try as he might he couldn't get the window to budge a single millimetre.
Hearing excited barking coming from the dog-yard out back of the house, he pricked up his ears in the hope of hearing whatever had set off the dogs. However, after a few moments he gave up and turned back toward the bedroom window, where he saw the face of Rowena Singleton staring out at him.
* * *
Rowena stood by the end of the bed, staring out in terror at the large black shape which stood peering in at her through the bedroom window. As she watched the wolf began frantically leaping up off the ground, scratching and pressing at the window with its front paws.
"Ernie! Ernie!" cried Rowena, backing deeper into the bedroom, not daring to look away from the leaping wolf, not wanting to be caught alone in the room with the creature. "Ernie, where are you?" she pleaded, forgetting that her husband was away in Melbourne.
* * *
Not wanting to frighten the woman more than she was already, the wolf turned and started toward the chain-link fence a dozen metres from the farmhouse. But then, hearing Warren's chant of, "Black wolf! Black wolf!" emanating from the front of the farmhouse, the wolf stopped in his tracks. He looked toward the empty paddock beyond the fence, wondering whether he could make it to the start of the forest, over a quarter of a kilometre away, before the hunters gunned him down.
Eyes shining from fear, the black wolf hesitated for a moment, then turned back toward the farmhouse. After a second's indecision, he sprinted forward and, using his powerful hind legs like springs, leapt straight through the window pane.
The window shattered with a report like a shotgun blast, showering the double bed with shards of glass and causing Rowena Singleton to shriek and back away hurriedly. Her first instinct was to run for the gun-cabinet across the hall in the lounge-room. However, seeing the tired, pleading look in the black wolf's eyes, she sensed that this was no killer. As a child her American grandfather, Dwight Frankland, had often regaled her with tales of his adventures in the American wilderness. She remembered him once sitting her on his knee and telling her, "Wolves are the most cruelly maligned creatures on God's good Earth. Treated kindly, they're nothing but very big dogs."
Although her fear threatened to overwhelm her, Rowena sensed that the black wolf was more afraid than she. Tentatively she stretched out one hand toward the beast, which licked her hand with his rasp-like tongue, thump-thump-thumping his large, bushy tail dog-like on the bedroom carpet.
She stroked the wolf's lush black coat, appalled by the sight of his bony ribs sticking up through his undernourished hide.
"You need feeding up!" she said and the wolf thump-thump-thumped its tail as though it could understand her.
"Shush, boy!" she said, hearing the sound of the hunters outside. Quickly she led the wolf across the hallway to shut him into the lounge-room, then returned to the bedroom to face the approaching hunters.
* * *
"Get out of the way, you bloody freak!" shouted Sam Hart, racing past Warren Horne, at the sound of breaking glass around the side of the house.
Des Hutchinson followed suite and the two men arrived at the bedroom window together ... To see Rowena Singleton in her nightgown, kneeling on the bedroom floor, picking up pieces of broken window glass.
"What happened here?" asked Des.
Trying her best to sound suitably relieved to see the men, Rowena said, "A large black wolf burst in through the window..."
"Where'd the bastard go?" demanded Sam.
"Luckily he heard you approach and fled back out the window and across the side paddock," she replied, pointing back behind the hunters.
The two men looked round in surprise. They had expected to corner the wolf inside the house, however, the few moments it had taken to force their way past Weird Warren could just have given the wolf enough time to reverse direction and race across the empty paddock without them seeing him.
"Here we go again!" said Sam Hart as the tired hunters straggled off again.
They crossed the chain-link fence and were almost at the start of the forest before realizing that they had lost all trace of the wolf's paw prints.
As the hunting party slowly disappeared from sight, with Weird Warren happily chanting, "Black wolf! Black wolf!" Rowena Singleton stood by the window wondering whether they would give up the hunt after tonight, or whether they would be back tomorrow night and every night thereafter?
She waited till the men were well and truly out of sight, then returned to the lounge-room where she found the black wolf patiently waiting for her. He wagged his tail at the sight of her and willingly followed along as she called him down the corridor toward the kitchen.
Rowena's first thought was to give him a large bowl of crunchy dog pellets, but then seeing his emaciated state again, she took pity on the large wolf and served him up a large helping of mutton, thinking, 'Thank God he produce our own!'
As the wolf devoured the meat ravenously, she thought, 'How will I ever explain you to Ernie when he returns?' Her husband had been a confirmed dog-lover all his life, which explained why the sheep station usually contained at least thirty or forty Kelpies, Barb-Kelpies, Border Collies, Alsatians and other breeds. Although Ernie supplemented their farm income by selling dogs to the neighbouring sheep and cattle stations, the truth was that they were mainly a beloved hobby to him. Even so, she thought, 'Will he be able to love you, big fellow?'
She was still pondering the black wolf's future, when she heard the patter of little feet racing across the linoleum floor.
"Big doggie! Big doggie!" cried young Kirsty with delight, throwing her little arms around the black wolf, giggling with pleasure as he stopped eating long enough to lick her face with his rasp-like tongue.
"Well I guess that settles it!" said Rowena out loud, knowing that Kirsty was Ernie's greatest weakness; he could never refuse his daughter anything. "Well I guess you're here to stay big fellow."
THE END
© Copyright 2010
Philip Roberts




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