I screamed.
‘But we can’t leave Skipper.’
He held my left harm firmly and said, ‘We are going. The people here will look after Skipper until we can return and pick him up.’
I was almost paralysed with fear, half walking and half being dragged by my dad. We went aboard the ship and departed.
The trip home was the worst time of my life, and my concern for Skipper overwhelming; so much that I actually went to the side of the ship and threw up. Would he think I had abandoned him? Would he go looking for me and get lost in the mountains. Or would he just go back to the homestead and become one of the working dogs. Would he try to walk home; what would he eat; could he survive? At least, it was springtime with summer ahead. Perhaps he would stray onto various farms on the way and get fed. Or would he attack sheep or lambs out of starvation and get shot by a farmer.
My dad explained that the homestead had a telephone and that the following day he would go to the Queenstown Post Office and phone them to check on Skipper. I was slightly relieved but still very concerned.
When we arrived home, my mum and Rachel were sympathetic and made soothing comments about Skipper remaining at the homestead until we had a chance to go and collect him. My dad was outside until quite late dealing with his Ram and having it acquainted with our flock.
That night, I couldn’t sleep for worrying about Skipper, and just thinking about dogs and animals generally. How nature can be kind and rewarding but also so cruel. But cruelty among animals was based on instinct and survival, whereas cruelty of humans could result from resentment, hatred, jealousy and greed. Animals do not display those emotions, and a dog’s concern for its human pack leaders is without conditions or expectations. Their loyalty can be so strong, and all they request in return is food and a sheltered, bed; but also caring, even love. Such a beautiful and powerful message to us humans.
The following day was Sunday, so we couldn’t phone the homestead. We all went off to church to sing hymns and listen to the minister tell us how to live our lives. My dad said I should pray for Skipper, but quietly I felt a phone call to the homestead was preferable to a prayer to God.
On Monday morning, Mrs Baxter insisted I keep my promise to give a class talk on Saturday’s trip up the lake. I had my notes and talked about the events of Saturday until I got to the part about Skipper and the Hare. I simply froze and tears welled in my eyes. Jimmy Peters started laughing as did one or two other boys, but the girls looked quite sympathetic. Mrs Baxter asked if I felt unwell, and I fainted, perhaps from lack of sleep but also from a terrible sadness. I was taken to the sickroom, where I had a sleep before going back to my class.
I felt much stronger, and I asked Mrs Baxter if I could finish my talk. She was in the middle of a geometry lesson but agreed that I should finish. I was able to talk about losing Skipper and said I was very concerned about him. When I had finished, Jimmy Peters, Helen Strong and Penny Jacobs each came up and gave me a hug. Mrs Baxter sent us all back to our seats and continued the geometry lesson. I felt a lot better. At lunchtime, my dad came to school to tell me he had phoned the homestead and been told that Skipper had returned on Saturday night. They had fed him, but the next morning he had gone, and they hadn’t seen him since. I don’t remember anything about the rest of that Monday.
Chapter Six
It was a hot summer with some days reaching over 85°F. On January fifteenth, I turned thirteen. Following the loss of Skipper in the previous September, I had come to terms with the fact I would never see him again. During the school holidays, I helped my father and our farmhand around the farm, went riding with Rachel and some Sundays after church went fishing down at the river, occasionally with David Gordon or Jimmy Peters. Or sometimes I would go alone down to the little beach where Skipper and I came ashore on the fateful day in April almost three years ago.
I had begun reading the book Mrs Baxter had given me, The Voyage of the Beagle, and found a certain fascination with the life of Charles Darwin and his love of nature, which I shared, even though he was born in 1809. But the real story began in December 1831 when the Beagle sailed from Devonport, England, under the command of Captain FitzRoy, to survey the shores of Chile, Peru, and some islands in the Pacific. It was written: ‘The next morning we saw the sun rise behind the rugged outline of the Grand Canary Island, and suddenly illuminate the Peak of Teneriffe, while the lower parts were veiled in fleecy clouds. This was the first of many delightful days never to be forgotten.’ This began to stir my imagination, and I thought I was going to enjoy this book.
Charles Darwin wrote about places I had never heard of and had to look up on the atlas in our classroom, places like San Salvador and Brazil. He expressed the feelings of entering a Brazilian forest for the first time, with wonderful glossy green foliage and the incredible sounds of insects. He spoke about tropical storms and penetrating rainfall. A lot was written about geology and sea life. In Rio de Janeiro, he spoke about brilliant butterflies in the woods and witnessing many beautiful fishing birds such as Egrets and Cranes. I was surprised to hear about Vampire Bats which inflicted nasty bites on the horses as they rode through the forests of Brazil. There was always a lot of writing about local peoples and customs, which I did my best to remember in case I was asked by Mrs Baxter, who – although not my teacher anymore – seemed to take an interest in my fascination with animals and nature. After all, she had given me the book. I had some difficulty absorbing much of the writings of plant life, insects, spiders and geology, but I loved the language of the book and the effects of climate observations and nature.
I was lying on my back by the river reading, with my canvas fishing bag under my head, and eventually I dozed off. I had a really nice dream about Skipper settling into life in the mountains and sharing my love of all things natural, except rabbits, which he caught and ate. I saw beautiful valleys and tumbling streams like the place we were at on our last day together. Then a mist came down and shrouded the valley. Skipper was standing beside the pond, and suddenly I was standing beside him. I lay down and he lay beside me and began licking my face; it seemed so real.
I awoke looking into two big brown eyes. Had the dream ended? I leapt up. Skipper! Skipper! The most joyous occasion of my life was occurring: Skipper was back. I hugged and hugged him, and he whimpered softly, then let out a long howl. He looked awful, so skinny and limping. His feet were raw, and he had sores on two of his legs, but he could not stop licking me.
We went straight home. I wheeled my bike, and he struggled along beside me. When we both walked into the house, my mother simply put her hand over her mouth. Rachel came running from her room squealing, dived onto the floor hugging Skipper, who winced in pain as his backbone protruded, but he kept licking anyway.
My mum bathed his sores with warm water and Dettol and then applied Raleigh’s salve. We gave Skipper some dinner, but he just wanted to eat and eat, which we didn’t allow as we felt his stomach had probably shrunk. I went and got his old basket from under the back steps, and he got in. Skipper slept for two whole days, waking occasionally for some more food, which we fed to him cautiously; and he drank a lot of water, going outside to have a pee from time to time. Every time any one of us went near, he just wanted to lick us although he smelt terrible; to us, it didn’t matter. Even my dad sat with him for several hours that first night. He was back!
Chapter Seven
It was a year later and almost Christmas, and our family were planning a trip to Invercargill on the train, to have Christmas with my mother’s sister April and her family. Gabby was also coming down from Christchurch, and it was to be a big family affair.
We had made a few trips to Invercargill mostly when I was much younger, so this was the first time I was old enough to take interest in the train and surroundings. The steam locomotive was huge, powerful, and wonderful; I was in awe. I loved the hissing steam, the hot smell and motion of the huge wheels as the train engine shunted into place. It gave me goosebumps.
Skipper was put into a pen in the guards van, and after we were under way, I was allowed to walk from carriage to carriage, and one carriage had an outside walkway down one side. When the conductor came through the train, I asked him about the engine,