The Loyalty of a Dog

Red Sky in Morning

I love to hear about how I can improve my writing skills, so PLEASE point anything out or make suggestions. Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoy it.

Note that while I'm currently re-writing, the story is not changing in the slightest, so it's safe to read.

Winter is nearing to a close and spring will soon be upon us. Already the signs of the coming season are sprouting all over the cattle station. I awake to the sound of Red running after the galahs in the yard, yapping and leaping at them. He acts so ferocious but he’d never dare to hurt one, his tail would cease to wag if he did.

I shoot out of my kennel and join him, barking and bounding at the massive pink blur, we jump so high that we almost fly with them. The birds squawk and screech, retreating frantically to the big gumtree. Red and I trot to the dusty porch, eagerly awaiting their decent.

We sit looking over our land, sniffing the new smells of the day. The sun is yet to rise and the air is still cold, it leaves a bitter chill in my nose, but one I’m well used to now.

I smell something, something wonderful. My nose drifts to a matted patch of fur on Red, fur that matches the hot earth beyond our home where the cattle roam free. Red is a kelpie, and he’s rolled in a cow pat. Lucky him, but our master won’t be too pleased. As I sniff the clumped fur on his back, Red does the same to me.

My name is Blu, I’m a kelpie-blue heeler, a little German coolie, and bit of everything, really. I’m a farm dog, a tough worker. My fur is grey with splotches of black.

Red and Blu. I like our names; they match each other, like we ourselves do. Red has been my closest friend since we first came to this farm as pups and were taught by our master and Boris, the previous herder, how to be good cattle dogs. Red was always so energetic, but that made him difficult to train. He was always running wherever he wanted, never where he was supposed to go. Every day he drove our master mad. Every now and then we’d hear loud, angry howls ring across the plain. Red would tuck his tail between his legs, lower his head and slump back to our master, knowing all too well what he did wrong. We are excellent cattle dogs now, and our master rarely growls and snaps at us.

Red stops sniffing me and stares out at the eastern horizon, over to the rising morning sun. He lets out a low, coarse whine. I pull myself from his fur and look out as well. The thin slithers of cloud that hang above the hills are blood red. Red sky in morning, Shepard’s warning, and it looks like a bad one. I let out a soft whine of my own, for a red sky will rarely bring a good day.

The flywire door springs open from behind us, making a loud clanging sound that startles the galahs in the trees. Our master stomps out of his kennel. Red and I bound over to him and he rustles the fur behind our ears before waving his hands for us to follow. We trot behind our master to the quad bike, wait for him to sit, and jump for the front seat on the handle bars. There is only room for one and Red gets up first. I whine loudly in protest.

My master chuckles and points me to the back seat where I am to sit. It’s a metal box placed right behind the driver, making it very hard for the wind to catch my nose.

We set off to find the cattle and Red and I let the sweet, stagnant outback air fill our nostrils. Our master turns away to the west and that’s when I see the black clouds, covering the sky like a wave of darkness. Red gives out a worried yip, I whinge loudly. We hate thunder.

                                                                  ***

The rain comes as no surprise, but it is heavier than I expected. Some cattle are close by, all huddled under somelarge gum trees. Red and I jump off the quad and get to work, and our master getsto his. We can barely hear his calls; the cattle are being stubborn and the ground is getting muddy and slippery.

We just need to get them out from the tree, doing that would make it easier for us to round them to the large dry holding shed ready for pick up. There’s a distant hiss, and then a blinding flicker of light cracks open the sky and strikes the tree, splitting it down the middle of its trunk. The sound the lightning makes is deafening, it startles the cattle and they scatter.

Red goes after the ones running in the opposite direction; I take the ones heading for another tree, and the master rounds up the loose ones on the quad bike. The rain continues to fall hard; there’s more flickering tongues of lightning that bring more deafening cracks from the black sky. I’m too late; the cattle get to the tree and lightning strikes it almost simultaneously. The cattle that don’t fall to the ground continue to race around like they have mad cow disease. This task is proving to be both difficult and annoying.

Red really has his work cut out for him; he chases the cattle far from us as he continually tries to turn the racing livestock. I decide to help him; I hurry towards the group as quickly as my legs can take me in the mud. I see something up ahead; I look to my side to confirm what it is, the creek. It’s not a creek anymore though, because of the heavy rain it’s been turned into more of a gushing river. The earth has eroded away into the water, making falling into it a danger. I run faster, so does Red.

He barks loud enough for me to hear, snaps at the cows, does anything he can to swerve them from their course. I only realize what’s happening when it becomes too late, Red bolts in front of the cows and stands a few hundred feet in front of them, and howls.

In front of him, 20 or so 400kg cows. Behind him, a steep decent to the rapid waters that could take him 1km away almost instantly. There he stands, giving all he can to stop the cows from going over, he’s definitely determined. The cattle start to slow, I think he’s done it, yes, they’re slowing down, I’m slowing down, they live, they…and then nature plays it’s cruel game with us, the sky lights up with a million tongues of lightning and the thunder that follows is louder than ever.

My fears are realized when the cattle suddenly move forward again. For about two seconds I hear Red howling, and then all I hear is the panicked cries of confused cattle falling to their demise. I don’t see Red fall, all I see is cattle, so I’m holding onto the possibility that he’s still there as I plod through the mud.

I’m at the edge of the creek, Red gone; I look down into the water as it washes away the frantic cows. Some of the cows have made it to the water’s edge and try desperately to clamber out, I look around for some sign of Red, something saying he survived being trampled by 80 solid hooves and has made it to safety. I stay like that, whimpering, pacing, calling to my friend, but there’s no sign of him.

I look down the river and think of Red, my friend, my work mate, the dog I knew as a pup, the dog who learned to herd cattle beside me, the dog who shared the carcases he found, the dog who always smelled of cow pats, the dog who stuck by me my whole life, my brother, gone.

I try to look back at my master, but he’s disappeared through the heavy curtain of rain. I look back at the river and wonder if it really is too late, by the time I reached the bank he could’ve been washed 100m down. I take one last look towards my master, I think about how much he will miss us and worry about us, and I begin my journey down the powerful creek.

                                                                  ***

The rain is still pouring, but it’s eased off quite a bit since I started walking. The blinding lightning strikes have been reduced to soft flashes in the clouds, and the thunder, a deep rumble. The day is falling into the afternoon making it darker, but I don’t stop, I can’t. I trot alongside the river with my eyes fixed on it the whole time; if there’s any sign of Red out there, I don’t want to miss it.

The lightning stops and now there’s only rain. I trudge on the muddy ground until I reach a split in the water’s path. A thought comes to me, although there is a chance of finding Red, will I want to? There’s a good chance that I won’t want to see Red if he is out here somewhere. Another thought comes to me; our farm is huge, 2000km2 huge, and the creek splits right through it, forking off in a million directions. Red could be anywhere out here. The odds are against me, but I know I’ll be left wondering where he is if I turn back now. I lift my nose into the air and sniff hard for Red’s scent…nothing. So with that I pick a path and hope it’s the right one, I start walking. I’m coming Red, I’ll find you.