It started with the word, as a joke. One of the
environmentalist advisors to the government, some scientist from Otago
University, wrote a report about pest control measures only he mistyped the
word pest as pets and decided to leave it in, see what would happen. It made
the news. My wife, Cath, and I laughed about it. We didn’t believe then it
would affect our livelihoods, let alone destroy our lives. No one thought it
would stick.
The Prime Minister at the time was a bit of a dick,
but we thought in all likelihood he mustn’t have noticed the mistake, or if he
did he was probably going along with the joke. He seemed to enjoy sticking his
neck out for one political hot potato or another. To say he was something of a
free thinker was a bit of an understatement. We expected him to release a
statement, blame some junior minister for making the biggest governmental gaffe
of the year, blame the opposition, or, hell, blame the press – he’d tried it
for every other uncompromising position he’d found himself in - but no U-turn
followed.
Rational commentators remarked the Prime Minister’s
brains had taken flight. Details of PETS, as the policy came to be known, was
leaked to the liberal press. The media went nuts. The Prime Minister was
interviewed on all the dailies. They all had the same question.
‘Why do you want to ban us from keeping pets?’
The Prime Minister spelled out in a regional radio
broadcast what was to become his standard retort.
‘For the love of birdsong; for years we have fought to
eradicate rats from the islands surrounding our beautiful shores.’ He began,
eloquently enough, though it was clear he hadn’t reached the point and some of
us were itching for him to get to it as we watched from my veterinary surgery
waiting room. ‘In doing so, we recognise the value of our avian heritage,’ he
said. And to make sure those less able to interpret his eloquence could
understand, he explained. ‘The importance of our country’s bird life, which,
prior to man’s appearance on land, had no mammalian predators.’
It was Murphy’s Law there were three lorikeets and two
cats in that day. The clients started arguing. The owner of a financially
rewarding springer spaniel got up and left with a promise to sign up with a
rival vet.
The way the Prime Minister talked, you’d have thought
he was a conservationist, some even suggested comparison to higher posts. Maybe
that’s how it got so far; people forgot he was only a politician. He went on.
‘New Zealand has one of the highest pet to person
ratios of any country in the world, far in excess of the United States and the
UK. Each year dogs are responsible for the deaths of our national icon.’ He left
a dramatic pause, but before any dog owners had a chance to call in, he
balanced the scales. ‘Cats are responsible for the extinction of eight species
of native birds.’
If someone had tapped the Southern Cross cable, they’d
have heard it abuzz with enraged cat and dog owners, some of them scientists
and members of parliament from the Prime Minister’s own party. Twitter went
down overnight. Facebook followed. Blogs were reignited. Someone put a sound
clip of “For the love of birdsong” on YouTube with a bunch of inflammatory
photographs that went viral on the internet.
One scientist went on national radio, straight for the
jugular, to talk about a study he had done, a study the government had been
informed of, supposedly proving the eradication of cats would only lead to an
explosion of rats, thus increasing the numbers of deaths of native birds, most
of which were ground based. The Prime Minister dealt with this in a more
typically political way, pointing out it had been commissioned by a member of
the opposition. Though he did acknowledge the paper, his response was
remarkable.
‘Nobody reads it.’ He laughed. News cameras filmed
him. He was hounded by the press at the airport.
‘Who cares what you print in
the papers?’ he asked, and turning to the people surrounding him, in turn,
said, ‘I don’t. Do you? Do you?’ He turned to face a camera directly again.
‘How about you? No, I didn’t think so.’ Again he laughed, a giggle, as if he’d
inhaled nitrous oxide.
Cath asked me if I thought he was on something as we
watched the evening news.
‘In your professional opinion, I mean,’ she said. She
was looking at me for the first time in a long time like she cared what I
thought. I wish I could have said something impressive, or joked and said it
was clear he was on a mission if not any substances, but instead I said,
‘I couldn’t tell without taking some bloods.’
Cath thought about what I’d said for a long moment
before picking up her book from the coffee table and saying,
‘I’m off to bed. Coming?’
‘I think I’ll hang about for the sports,’ I said.
Cath laughed and said,
‘I thought we’d just watched it.’
I almost corrected her. Later, I thought of how I
could have redeemed my humour, but saying you’ll just feel a little prick to
yourself an hour after you realise your wife wanted you to fuck her is really a
form of self-impalement.
The headline the next day seemed to mock me as well as
the Prime Minister, though it was his photograph superimposed on an image of
The Joker. But he’d been right not to worry. The rats study had been undertaken
off shore, on one of the smaller islands. Yes, there had been an explosion of
rats but they had now been successfully eradicated. The scientist had done the
Prime Minister a favour by taking the focus off the mainland and for a while people
were less enraged by the latter’s messianic outpourings but they continued at
every public event he attended and in every press release.
“For the love of birdsong” became his catchphrase. All
the cartoonists drew him with a beak but were accused of racism and had to
stop. Some of them lost their jobs because of it and had to move to Australia
to get work. As a result, the Cartoonist of the Year award went to a freelance
artist no one in New Zealand Media claimed to have heard of, some foreigner
who’d moved here in his teens. He won with a picture depicting a MP for a
ministry department no one had heard of. But no one took the Prime Minister
seriously. Not then. It was ridiculous. Not a single MP thought it would
actually take off as a policy. There would be too much public outcry. Surely
the people would revolt, they thought. But they didn’t. It was difficult to
argue with him. “Birds don’t vote” didn’t cut it, so the opposition tried a
humanist approach.
‘There are homeless people sleeping under bridges.
Shouldn’t you be more concerned about them rather than going to all this fuss
over a few birds?’
‘This country’s true founders were birds and if we
can’t look after them, how can we expect to take care of our people.’
No one mentioned Māori specifically, although writers
were quick off the mark with parodies of iconic literature such as Once Were
Moa, and Kea Rider. The Prime Minister was adamant, however. He said,
‘It starts with the birds.’
‘And the bees,’ the papers added, trying, again, to
poke fun at him, but their barbs only succeeded in stinging themselves.
Journalists, having only the one broadsheet daddy to fill, struggled to fix on
an angle. Think tanks were confounded. The Prime Minister’s ideas were totally
off the map. Community groups were formed and that’s when people started coming
to me.
I’m a vet; it’s my duty to save all animals, not just
the chosen few. But not all my colleagues agreed.
Isaac, a recent graduate full of obtuse ideas and
keenness unparalleled to share them, said,
‘Cats are domestic animals, Abe, whose supposed
ecologic niche should be filled by birds of prey and mesocarnivores*. I think
the scientist’s conclusions from the rat study are short-sighted and
misguided.’ The Prime Minister would have loved to have heard him. I hoped to
crap he didn’t have a blog or intentions to share his views with the clients.
The implications of PETS policy stretched out before
me like Hundred Mile Beach. I wondered if future policies would include clauses
for employers to view the political affiliations of prospective employees to
prevent clashes of ethics. There was no way of knowing how far this could go.
‘So, what are you saying,’ Cathy said, tapping the bed
for Adams, our cat, to jump between us when I discussed my concerns with her
that night.
‘Not me. Isaac.’ I wished I’d kept it to myself.
‘He doesn’t like cats?’ She took it literally. ‘The
man’s a vet, how can he not like cats? Why did they accept him into vet school
if he prefers some animals over others? Why did you employ him?’
I got my first inkling then of how dangerous this
whole situation could be; how easy it was to turn the emotional into militants.
‘He didn’t say that, Cathy.’
‘But isn’t it what he means, Abe? He doesn’t have a
problem wiping out cats, clearly.’ She stroked Adams with fervour.
‘Everyone prefers some animals over others. I prefer
dogs to cats but it doesn’t mean I’d treat one over another, and neither would
Isaac, he’s a good vet. I’m not going to let you make out the man’s a tosser.’
‘Oh, Adams, don’t listen to daddy.’
I should have waited till after we’d put him out for
the night.
‘Here, it’s getting late,’ I said, ‘I’ll take him.’
Adams let me carry him, but he scratched me as I let him out the back door.
‘Fuck off to you too, you usurping ball of mange.’
That’s when I saw the note. Someone must have only just pushed it under the
door. It was a wet night but the paper was dry. Adams gave me a dirty look as I
closed the door. After I read the note, I went to the window. The street in
front of our house was empty and with one streetlight off for energy saving it
was too dark to see any further. I put the note in my jacket pocket to remind
myself to tell Isaac about it the next day and went to bed.
Over breakfast news the facts were announced.
Unbelievably, the law had been passed. It was now illegal to buy an animal as a
pet. Up until this point, the kids had been fairly oblivious to the whole thing
and the public opposition had largely been kept in check by the theoretical
nature of the PETS policy proposals. But now it was law there was a very
tangible reactionary state forming. The animal loving community were about to
divide into nature lovers and pet lovers, Forest and Bird versus Prevention of
Cruelty to Animals. This was obvious, but there were other factions closer to
home none of us could have envisaged in the beginning.
Kris, who had been chewing his cereal methodically
throughout the report, put down his spoon.
‘Does this mean I can’t have a puppy?’ He’d been
asking for one since he turned three. We’d put him off then deferred the
decision, telling him we’d discuss it when he turned ten, hoping at some point
along the way he’d forget or transfer his obsession to a microscope kit. He
would be eleven in a matter of weeks.
Leighton shot a look at me, remembering her own part
of the deal that if Kris got a puppy she’d get the choice of what she liked to
the same value once she turned ten. It had been a relatively recently added
clause on account of her only just having been born when Kris turned three but
seemed fair in the light of democracy as a means of keeping the peace and
buffering sibling rivalry.
‘Of course you can have a puppy,’ Cathy said, ruffling
Kris’ hair and opening the door for Adams to come back in. Leighton smirked at
me.
‘Go brush your teeth, both of you.’ I tried not to
sound obvious. When I heard the bathroom tap I turned to Cathy. ‘This isn’t
going to go away.’
‘I know,’ she said. ‘What happened to your arm?’
‘Adams.’
‘Don’t you think you should put some antiseptic on it?
It could turn nasty.’
I didn’t think she was taking me seriously and said,
‘Don’t you think we should at least be honest with our
kids?’
‘Let’s just remember, who’s the dog lover among us,
ay? Don’t you think you’re overreacting, Abe?’
I thought about the note in my jacket. No, I didn’t
think I was overreacting but I realised I was being premature and whatever
impact the law would have, Cathy and the kids weren’t ready for it. Being a
vet, however, meant I had to be ready. Pets were my business.
I talked to Isaac after the early appointments were
through.
‘You catch the news yet?’
‘It won’t last.’ He sounded confident, like me at
twenty-eight, he thought he knew it all, but he was a young buck and had a lot
to learn, especially about politics. I almost envied his naivety, but living in
a colony makes long term ignorance untenable, even on the North Shore. I didn’t
have the optimism to doubt the sincerity of the government on any matter of
destruction or money. It was the money part I couldn’t work out, though I knew
there must be some financial reward for prohibiting pets. “For the love of
birdsong” rang out of the Prime Minister’s mouth, but history tells us it’s the
love of money that gets laws passed this fast.
‘Read this.’ I got the note from my jacket. Isaac
raised one eyebrow as he read it. When he finished, he turned the paper over
then said,
‘I expect every veterinary surgery will receive
something similar over the coming weeks; it’s just people getting off on the
panic.’
‘Maybe,’ I said, ‘if it had been mailed to the
surgery.’
‘Your home?’
‘Hand delivered late last night.’
‘Plenty people know you’re a vet though, right? Don’t
sweat it.’
‘Look at the watermark.’
Isaac crinkled his nose, held the note up to the bulb
on the over-reach lamp. ‘What’s that supposed to mean? Looks like regular paper
to me.’
‘You’re right,’ I said, ‘I’m getting caught up in the
drama of the media, forget about it.’ I folded the note and put it in my
wallet.
‘Nice family, man.’ Isaac was looking at the photo
that had fallen on the floor.
‘My son and – ’
‘Well, whatever,’ Isaac said, ‘you can’t let a nut job
turn us out of our jobs with a stupid scribbled threat.’
It wasn’t just my livelihood at stake after all.
Everyone who came in that day asked for my opinion of
the law. The treatment room felt more like a constituency surgery than a vet’s.
My replies became as rehearsed sounding as the Prime Minister’s by the end of
the morning. In the afternoon, Kris called me to tell me the pet store had
closed. He’d seen the boards up on the drive through Takapuna to catch a movie
after school.
‘But you got me a dog, dad, for my birthday? Dad, it’s
in two weeks.’
I felt ambushed. There was no way he could have a dog
but I didn’t want to be bad cop again on my own.
‘We’ll talk about this tonight, Kris. I’m at work
now.’
Isaac rapped on the door, poked his head round as I
hung up.
‘Troubles in the fold?’
‘Kris wants a puppy for his birthday.’
‘That’s rough.’ He was smiling.
‘We kind of promised him.’
‘The law’s only just been passed, Abe, who’s to know
if you got the dog after the ban? You can say you got it before and kept it at
the surgery for the birthday, no one would argue with that.’
‘Maybe.’ I didn’t agree and I didn’t want to be among
the people stirring up trouble with the law, I’d had enough close calls in my
youth to know the disadvantage of untangling myself from that.
‘Georgia just got a retriever.’
‘Georgia?’
‘My girlfriend. In by a whisker before the law
changed.’
I thought about why I’d waited, knowing how much it
meant to Kris. It wasn’t as if I hadn’t understood what the PETS debate had
been moving toward. Isaac patted me on the shoulder and said,
‘Anyhow, I wondered if you could take a look at this
dog for me. Owner doesn’t like my diagnosis.’
The dog was an Irish wolfhound. Understandably, Isaac
hadn’t been able to get it onto the examination bench and had done the
diagnosis on his knees. The owner had been crying and her mouth was drawn into
a tightrope. I introduced myself and asked for the basics: symptoms and age. I
nodded to Isaac as I listened then I tried to explain to the dog’s owner that
Isaac had been right.
‘But he’s only six years old,’ she said, ‘he was meant
to last my son’s childhood.’
‘Seven, in giant breeds, is very old. He’s done
remarkably well to last this long. Wolf hounds generally don’t make it past
six.’ I thought it would make her feel better.
‘Well, do you want to go out to my car to tell my son
that?’
‘Your son’s outside now?’ Isaac rolled his eyes at me.
I explained the options to her, asked if she wanted
her son to come in and be part of the decision.
‘Can’t you do anything, anything at all?’
‘I have to be honest,’ I said, ‘I think it would be
cruel to prolong this animal’s life.’
‘I don’t mean save him,’ she said, taking a tissue
from her sleeve and blowing her nose forcefully. ‘I mean, isn’t there a way we
can, I don’t know the term, but, you know, swap him?’
‘For a younger model?’ I thought Isaac was going to
laugh.
‘I don’t think there is a term for that,’ I said,
‘we’re not discussing a used car.’
‘Forget it,’ she snapped, ‘I’ll find someone else,
someone who will help. You say you care about pets, you have posters all over
the waiting room, all over your advertisement in the yellow pages, but you’re
heartless.’ She yanked the dog to its feet. ‘Come on, Stuart, heel. Get up.’
She dragged it out of the surgery.
Isaac howled when she’d left the building.
‘It isn’t funny, Isaac, you know this is only going to
get worse.’
Cathy was unloading the dishwasher when I got in.
‘The kids are in bed; where’ve you been?’
‘I haven’t been to see a man about a dog, if that’s
what you were wondering.’
She turned, saw the surf board, closed the dishwasher
door and leaned against the counter, shaking her head at me.
‘He can’t swim.’
‘He did surf club last year.’
‘It was three years ago, Abe, and he left after a
fortnight because he couldn’t swim.’
‘I took him to the pool heaps of times.’
‘You took him twice and promised to sign him up to
classes. Notice a pattern emerging? Don’t walk away from me.’
‘I’m going to say goodnight to the kids.’
‘With that thing; don’t bother, they’re asleep.’
I opened my mouth to say ‘I’. Cathy caught me.
‘Promised? Yeah, well, you promised to fix this
dishwasher, too, and three months later it’s still not cleaning the dishes
properly. I’m going to call a man in.’
~~~
It was left to me to do door duty. Cathy’s mother
arrived first.
‘Where’s the birthday boy?’
‘He’s getting ready; upstairs. Nice to see you,
Elaine, can I take your coat?’
‘Oh would you, but do be careful where you put it,
it’s new, expensive, I wouldn’t want the animals jumping all over it.’
‘We only have one cat,’ I said. She laughed like an old
film star, dismissed me with a flick of her hand.
The kids arrived in one glut, as if all their parents
had arranged a mini-bus in advance, and they were happy enough running amok in
the back yard and chasing Adams up the kowhai tree with some Avalanche City
blaring out. Leighton looked at the heap of unopened gifts and, always the
mercenary, said,
‘If Kris doesn’t want these, can I have them?’
‘Where is he?’ I asked. She shrugged. Cathy came
through with a tray of cupcakes held out like kryptonite.
‘Take these out to the kids, Abe.’ I took the tray and
she disappeared back into the kitchen. I could hear Elaine’s forced laughter
sounding a little less forced than I thought respectful considering she was in
my house.
‘This is ridiculous,’ I said, and handed Leighton the
cakes.
‘Oh goody,’ she said as I left the room and went
upstairs.
Kris was face down on his bed.
‘Come say hi to your guests.’
He ignored me.
‘Kris,’ I said, a little louder, and prodded him. He
lifted his head from his arms, he had headphones on. He scowled at me and took
them off. I put them on his desk and asked, ‘Don’t you want to see your
surprise?’
‘Not unless it’s a puppy.’
‘Well, there are people waiting to wish you happy
birthday, so you’d better get downstairs and –’
He leaped off his bed and pushed past me.
In the back yard one of his mates had taken the bike
from the shed and was riding it round with the wrapping paper and bow still on.
‘I already have a bike,’ Kris said. Cathy and Elaine
tutted and shook their heads at me.
The kid on the bike shouted over.
‘Nice dog, Kris, arf, arf, arf.’
‘Fuck you,’ Kris said, running over and dragging the
lad off his wheels. Part of me wanted to stand back, watch, but I intercepted
and told Kris to apologise.
‘You do not swear in this house, Kris, you hear?’
‘That’s rich coming from you,’ Cathy said. All the
kids stared.
‘Do not chastise me like one of these brats.’
The bike kid got up.
‘I’m calling my dad.’
One by one the other kids rang or texted their
parents.
The bike boy’s dad shook my hand, ‘Lids will be lids,’
he said in a thick South African accent, ruffling his kid’s hair before telling
him to say goodbye to Kris.
The lad looked at Kris, said,
‘The only reason I accepted the invite was ’cause you
said you were getting a dog. Your bike’s shit.’
‘You little fucker,’ I said. Fucker’s dad stepped up,
raised his fist. I shut the door.
Leighton, still with the tray now empty in her hands,
asked,
‘Didn’t you get a puppy? I thought you had a dog in
the shed. Does that mean I can’t have a pet?’
Elaine tutted
for the umpteenth time, pulling her mouth into a wrinkled bleb like a sultana,
said she’d had enough, left the room and came back seconds later.
‘Could someone explain,’ she said, giving me daggers,
‘how this found its way into the toilet.’ She held up her coat, sniffed it then
held it at arm’s length.
Cathy’s face contorted into a tragedy mask.
‘Abe. How could you?’
The door went and I assumed it would be a shot gun or
another parent. It was Isaac with a golden retriever about a year old.
‘I didn’t know you had a dog, Isaac.’ Cathy said.
‘It’s not mine. Is Kris about?’
Kris flushed red and started to grin.
‘Oh, no,’ I said, ‘you can take that back wherever you
got it from. In fact, I’ll take it and put it to sleep myself.’ I picked the
dog up and carried it out to the truck.
‘What the fuck,’ Isaac said.
Kris was screaming at me, the usual hate stuff.
I started the engine and drove.
Isaac got to me just as I was administering the
Xylazine.
‘It’s Georgia’s dog, you fucking tosser.’
‘What?’
‘Fuck you. You want to see the papers, here.’ He
pulled an envelope out of his shirt pocket. ‘Here’s your papers; your proof.’
He threw them at me, took a phial of Yohimbine out of the medicine cabinet and
knocked me out of the way to administer it. ‘You know, when you came to me with
that note, I thought you were worried about other people turning into nut
jobs.’
I pulled at my hair, said,
‘Someone slashed the tyres on Cathy’s car last night.’
Isaac was too busy checking the dog’s vitals to listen
to me and I went outside. It was hot but a breeze was finally picking up. You
couldn’t feel yourself getting burnt on days like this until it was too
late.
Cathy called my mobile, furious. Kris had run off, the
kids had left in floods of tears and Leighton was in tears. Parents were
ringing to complain, and it was my fault. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
I drove around for a while, down the old streets, the
places where I hung out with my mates when I was a kid. I remembered my dad
telling me one day, after a bunch of seniors had torn my Captain Sunshine comic
to bits and scattered them across the park field, all you need’s a dog. I
thought Kris was tougher than I was at his age. I would never have called my
dad a dick, not even under my breath let alone in front of a house full of my
school mates. I drove down Sunnynook Road and parked by the Community Centre.
There was a meeting in progress.
I read the notice board: Pet Retailers Retaliate in
discussion with a spokesperson of the Minister for Environment. I would have
sat in but my attention was caught by a bunch of kids gathering around another
kid walking an Airedale terrier. I understood the appeal, this breed and
Scotties were the easiest to draw and their two dimensional looks made them an
accessible draw to kids. They took it in turns petting him. This was an
unexpected side effect of PETS; kindness to other people’s dogs in lieu of
having your own to kick. Gradually the kids wandered off to play football or go
to the shops but one or two remained, walking alongside the dog, talking to the
kid with the leash. That’s when I recognised the unmistakable gait of my son.
I called out and I thought for a second he was going
to run but instead he just stood where he was and let the dog and the kids walk
off. Behind him, in the distance, seagulls had gathered on the grass, reminding
me of the time we went to Ruapehu when he was four. So overwhelmed by the snow,
it was as if he’d frozen too. The expression on his face, a look no one else
would remember without photographic proof. A lorry pulled up, it had a chain
attached to a hook and it lowered an empty cage onto the grass. The cage was
about the size you’d need to transport a chimpanzee. I walked back to my truck,
opened the passenger door, got in, scooted across and set the engine running.
Neither of us spoke for the first kilometre then Kris
asked where we were going.
‘Just around,’ I said. We hadn’t been on a drive
together for months, not since the last school holidays and then it was only to
drop him and his mates off at the rock wall – I couldn’t remember what it was
called. I pulled onto the highway and headed towards Silverdale.
It wasn’t long before I felt like we’d gone somewhere.
The scenery was rougher, the trees less well groomed, and the houses dotted around
the fields were unfamiliar. I wondered how long it would be before this place
was jammed up with subdivisions. In twenty five years I’d seen my neighbourhood
quadruple in size. I guessed it might take longer to fill up the scrubland now
the PETS law had come in, at least for the traditional types who had chosen to
settle here wanting more outdoor space for their animals. Or maybe that would
speed things up. There’d be less incentive to keep the sections full size. It
was difficult to know which way anything was going to go.
‘Pull over,’ Kris said. He looked pale.
I took the next exit off the highway and pulled in the
first place I could. Without unbuckling his belt, Kris opened the door and
vomited out.
‘Too much cake?’
‘I didn’t have any,’ he said between retches.
‘Have you had anything to eat at all today?’
He hadn’t.
I’d parked us at the side of a field of cows and some
of them had come towards us and now lolled their heads over the fence. A couple
had calves and the others weren’t far off dropping. One of the calves, a bull
was pushing its head through a gap between the wires, lower down.
‘Shouldn’t that be electric?’ Kris said, wiping his
chin on his sleeve.
‘I’d have thought so, next to the road.’ I unfastened
my belt, got out and stretched my legs. Kris followed. The cows made some noise
but the bull calf just stared through the wires at Kris.
‘Hey, boy,’ he said and was about to walk over to pet
it.
‘No, Kris, don’t. Cows are insanely protective of
their calves.’
‘I won’t hurt it.’ He looked at me as if I’d struck
him.
‘I know you wouldn’t; that wasn’t what I meant.’
He started to cry. I wanted to put my arms around him,
but I was rooted to the spot and instead of hugging him I stared like the bull
calf. I thought about telling him no one would care if someone had a pet out
here, but I didn’t want him to get the wrong idea, start pestering us to move
out to the sticks. Or maybe I did. I wondered if it really was only in the
cities where the laws are put into force. It’s the only place they can easily
keep a check on people. Governments are known to be comprised of idle folk.
I could smell the animals, the shit on their hooves
sickly sweet and sour all at once. I started to think about what would happen
if livestock replaced pets. Out here is where it would begin, with the
lifestyle blocks, cow shares, arguments, neighbours coming to blows. In a few
generations it would probably affect the big herds, farmers’ kids wouldn’t want
to part with their favourites and feel bad for the ones they didn’t pet. Their
kids wouldn’t want to take over the trade. Livestock farming would decline.
Exports would suffer. I could extrapolate the whole scenario out.
Cows would become sacred like in India. Protecting
them would set a precedent for the rights of other edible animals. People would
care more about whether they were being hurt during slaughter. There’d be so
many red tape hoops to jump through before anyone could kill the things that
people would be given too much time to think. New euthanasia equipment would
mean new expense. A bolt through the head and exsanguination wouldn’t do, it
would have to be dignified and stress free. Eventually, there’d be an end to
halal meat. Eventually, everything can be connected to Muslims by the people
who want it to. They make for popular news. A field such as this could become
collectible, as contentious as any fur, valuable as art, a cultural curiosity
and a reminder of a time past.
I looked around, at the cows, the battered, lightening
broken trees and the farmer felled tree stumps at the edge of the field, and I
thought about the distance to the next town and if it were possible to live
this far out and still walk for a paper.
Overhead a hawk circled, its jagged wing tips
suggesting a rip in the scenery; maybe it was all just brown underneath. I
heard the truck door slam. Kris was buckling up. I got in and put the key in
the ignition, held it there.
‘You can’t keep that dog.’
‘Whatever’.
‘It
belongs to Isaac’s girlfriend.’ I turned the key. The engine whinnied before it
caught. Kris looked at me. He didn’t believed a word I said. ‘You have to understand,
it isn’t fair to everyone else if I let you keep a dog. It’ll bring bad luck,
the way things are going.’
He
didn’t answer me, just stared ahead as I drove.
Cathy
said I was heartless, after going berserk with me for not calling as soon as
I’d found Kris.
‘How
many years have we promised the kid a dog and now this, on his birthdays of all
days?’
‘I
never promised him a dog, Cathy. That was all you and we didn’t know the law
was going to change.’
‘You
knew for months about the possibility of the law, before it was enforced, and
you’d known for years in advance Kris wanted a dog for this birthday.’
‘I’m
not the man who made the law.’
‘Right;
you’re not a man at all, and you’re no father.’
Kris’
bedroom door opened. Adams ran out. Cathy sucked her teeth. She’d decided it
was unsafe to let him out of the house since the law change, in case someone
stole him.
‘Off
to bed, Kris, I’ll come tuck you in a minute.’ I couldn’t look at him.
‘Why
are you arguing?’
‘Your
mum and I are just talking.’
‘You’re
arguing about the dog,’ he said, ‘I still don’t see why I can’t have one but at
least can I have an old one, one someone brings to the surgery maybe, even if I
can’t have a puppy you should be able to let me have one someone else has
abandoned?’
‘Why
do you have to protest.’
‘Why
doesn’t anyone else protest?’ He slammed the door.
Some
did protest, over the following weeks, but it was futile. With only the sales
of collars and food to keep them afloat many businesses went under. A few shops
were set alight and one shop owner died in suspicious circumstances. People
were scared. There was only one store open on the North Shore and only one
employee worked there. The remaining store operatives had gone to look for
other work, selling what stock they could on the sly and irresponsibly letting
a lot of animals go. For the first time in memory, dog wardens became a common
sight on the streets.
People
whose pets died naturally became depressed at being unable to replace the
irreplaceable. Those who thought their pets had been taken from them too soon
became resentful of people who had bought puppies and kittens just before the
law came in. There were malicious attacks, poisonings. One, unexpected,
retaliation against the bill, however, came in the form of breeding.
Over
dinner, Cathy said,
‘I
don’t see why they can’t just give them all away; the law only stipulates you
can’t pay.’
We
had invited Isaac and his girlfriend Georgia round for a meal as reparations
for the trouble at Kris’ birthday, and a friendly means of laying Cathy’s
concerns that Isaac was a closeted cat hater to rest. She had thought him the
prime suspect for slashing her tyres and the misunderstanding with the dog as a
deliberate attempt to cause upset. She locked Adams in our bedroom as a precaution.
Looking back, the dinner was also a way of pretending our marriage wasn’t over.
However we justified the meal, Cathy’s natural defiance wasn’t going to make it
enjoyable.
Isaac
said,
‘The
authorities will get around the surplus issue by refusing to issue licences.’
We guessed inspections would follow.
‘People
can forge licences, though,’ Cathy countered. ‘And there’s money to be made if
convincing counterfeits can be produced.’
‘Nah,’
Isaac wasn’t convinced. ‘Technology’s moved on. Existing licences will be
replaced with high tech chip and pin cards, just like in the banks. Who do you
know still carries cash?’
‘I
do, as a matter of fact. And I don’t consider myself an old fogey before you
get onto that.’
‘No
offence intended.’ Isaac laughed.
I
poured everyone a top up of wine and made a fuss of the dinner. I was thankful
Georgia joined in with the praise. She’d been quiet up till now, hardly
surprising since I had tried to euthanize her dog. She’d left it at home. It
was the first time Cathy and I noticed her accent, having been distracted until
this point with her dress sense. She was wearing what appeared to be one of
Isaac’s shirts only it was too smart for him and her nipples showed through,
and men’s shoes. Military in influence, I thought. Disturbingly, her outfit
made my cock rise to salute.
‘You’re
English,’ Cathy said.
‘Yes.’
Georgia seemed at a loss for how to follow it. We all stared at the casserole
dish for a moment before she finally thought of something and, obviously
thinking she was speaking out in support of Cathy, said, ‘They can’t really get
rid of dogs anyway. Dogs have too many uses, sniffer dogs, for starters, and
what about guide dogs for the blind? Dogs have inspired some of the greatest
works of art, and dog eggs,’ she said, beginning to laugh for reasons none of
us could comprehend.
‘Well,’
I said, feeling need to pre-empt any offence Cathy might choose to take by
disagreeing with Georgia on her behalf, cowardly giving my wife support,
‘according to New Scientist, sniffer dogs are already obsolete due to
mechanical sniffers.’
‘Is
that the technical term?’ Isaac obviously loved the girl.
‘I
dare say the police will be unhappy. I have no idea what might happen to guide
dogs, if anything, after all, they aren’t strictly speaking pets in any case.’
‘So,’
Cathy said, in a worryingly curious tone, ‘working dogs are still allowed.’
‘Yes,’
Isaac said, not asking to load his plate up again. Cathy smiled at him
approvingly.
I
thought about the dinner again recently. The forecasting about the licences
came true in a matter of weeks. Owners had to carry their Pet Utility Proof,
PUP for short, on their person at all times. Wardens took on new roles. Licence
scanners became part of their kit. Every pet was also chipped to match their
new licence. When an animal died it was registered too.
Guide
dogs for the blind were targeted by jealous former dog owners and one maniac
poked out his eyes as a desperate attempt to keep his own dog, but the
authorities took it away and locked him up in a kennel of his own. It all got
extreme but the trouble really started at school. Kindergartens stopped
allowing kids to look after the animals in the holidays and Leighton’s
elementary called us in to say they had witnessed her playing some
inappropriate games in the playground. Cathy was horrified.
We
sat in the classroom with our knees by our ears like crickets. It was
impossible not to feel guilty in this position. When I asked what exactly the
teacher meant by inappropriate she explained she’d seen Leighton putting a rope
around another child.
‘Naturally,
the child became distressed and told her mother that evening. The mother has
since been into school to make a formal complaint.’
‘I
don’t know what to say,’ Cathy said.
‘It’s
totally out of character,’ I said. I’d never tied Cathy up, not that I was
against the idea particularly but she wasn’t into anything that involved loss
of control. ‘There must be more to the
story.’ I called Leighton in from the corridor to explain.
‘I
was only playing ponies,’ she said.
On
the drive home, Cathy fumed internally. She wouldn’t answer me or the kids.
When we pulled onto the drive she said,
‘That’s
it; I can’t live like this anymore.’
‘It
was only a misunderstanding, Cathy, let it go.’
‘And
what’ll be next, Abe? You’ve seen how crazy this is getting. And I can’t stand
that every time something happens you do nothing.’
She
thought the answer was to move to Oz. Her sister had a place out there, on the
Gold Coast. I didn’t want to go, the Shore was my home. I made the mistake of
thinking I could change her mind. In my effort to re-engage in our home life I
traded the late shift for an extra day’s holiday for Isaac and discovered the
other guy.
Brett
Swan was fucking my wife over the dishwashing machine he had been employed to
fix. He had her on Heavily Soiled, so when she came her voice reverberated
through the house. I kicked his naked arse out of the back door, cum spewing
all over the place. I gave him a few laps of the yard then dragged him back in
to clean the floor.
Elaine
had known all about it, had taken the kids for the night. It turned out the
tyres had been an act of revenge by the guy’s wife. I tried to reason with
Cathy. I told her, from a man’s perspective, this guy was a dick.
‘He’s fucked over one wife, who knows how many
others he’s had, and the chances are he’ll leave you as soon as a better offer
comes along, and then where will you be?’
‘In
Oz, with the kids and as many pets as we want.’ She slapped my face then said,
‘You left your first wife for me, Abe. Do you have a better offer lined up,
ready to ditch me?’
‘No,
don’t be ridiculous. I’m only sorry you had to lower yourself to this to
justify leaving me.’
‘You’re
only sorry you couldn’t fuck me over first.’
We
kept the details from the kids. On my part I was hanging out for some, I don’t
know, if not a divine act then intervention of greater kindness. A rage built
inside me, but it didn’t manifest itself with clear reason, not then. On the
nights when I felt my thoughts irrational as to not trust myself I’d stay at
the surgery. Isaac found me one morning, dragged me to the ground and would’ve
started CPR had I not shouted at him to stop.
‘Fuck
sake, man, I thought you were dead. Why didn’t you answer me?’
I
had been awake for most of the night and only recently fallen into a deep
sleep. I shrugged.
Isaac
made coffee and rescheduled my first appointment for later in the week.
‘You
didn’t have to do that,’ I said.
‘No,
I could let you see clients looking like this and wearing yesterday’s clothes.
And don’t take this personally, mate, but when was the last time you showered?’
‘Cathy’s
asked me to move out.’
‘Fuck.
Shit, sorry, I had no idea.’
‘She’s
seeing some bloke, fuck knows where he’s from; she got him on free phone from
Hire a Hubby. She’s planning on moving to Australia with him.’
‘And
the kids?’
‘They’d
rather have a pet than a father, I guess.’
‘Fuck
sake. Is he rich?’
I
almost laughed. Elaine had been so smug when I first met Cathy, telling anyone
she could find to listen I was a vet. Family gatherings were more like status
parades. Cathy had said, for her mother, coming to the Shore had been a chance
to shake off an old identity and become a success. What she meant was lie. Elaine
had been from working stock, moved over from the North of England in the
fifties and was lucky her husband died soon after, freeing her up to marry the
Chairman of the local Rotary Club. Now she was harbouring my kids so her
daughter could fuck a spark. The funniest part was that she’d ever believed
vets are rich.
We
drank coffee and Isaac said he had a confession to make. He must have read my
mind because he said,
‘I
didn’t fuck your wife,’ before I could ask him. ‘I’m –’
The
buzzer went on the reception door. Isaac looked at his watch. ‘Shit. Forget
it.’
‘Isaac,
what is it?’
‘I’ll
tell you later. I’ve got a new patient to write up.’ He opened the door but
stopped, mid-way, turned and said, ‘Go to my place, Georgia’s at work. Get a
shower and something to eat.’ He handed me his keys.
‘I
have a check-up booked in for eleven.’
‘The
Yorkie with the broken leg? I’ll take it. Go. And get some sleep.’
‘I
have to get the kids at four, I promised to take them out for burgers before
they leave.’
‘They’re
going so soon? Fuck, Abe, you’ve kept all this to yourself.’ He looked
reflective then told me to take as long as I wanted, he’d be there till eight.
‘Drop the keys back in here else I’ll see you back at my place, if you need a
place to stay.’
‘Thanks,
Isaac.’
‘Don’t
mention it.’
Isaac’s
place was an old bach, one of the few remaining relatively intact from the
fifties, probably because it was only a two bed and family pads are where the
money’s at. I helped myself to a bowl of cereal, showered and changed laid on
the settee. After an hour I couldn’t sleep so I put the TV on and watched the
mid-day news.
The
Prime Minister was banging on about the success of PETS, quoting new studies.
The anchor was asking him if the studies were rushed through before an inquiry
was due, brought about because of a probe undertaken by the opposition.
The
Prime Minister had been photographed with a number of animals in the grounds of
his lifestyle block. “For the love of birdsong” would be the caption on
tomorrow’s paper and probably there’d be a speech bubble with arf, arf, arf,
coming from the PM’s beak.
At
some point I must have fallen asleep because when I woke there was a crappy
show on with pop star kids dressed like sluts and mouthing off before singing
some generic song to a fuck beat. The sort of thing Leighton would watch. I
looked at my watch; I’d forgotten the kids.
When
I got to my house the phone was ringing.
‘I’ll
get it,’ I shouted.
Cathy
came down with her hair in a towel.
‘What
is it, Abe?’
I
hung up. The house was quiet.
‘Where
are the kids?’
‘I
dropped them off at the surgery, at four, like you said.’
‘I
said I’d meet them here.’
‘They
said you’d changed plans.’
‘Who
said, the kids?’
Leighton
was in the car park with a golden retriever, frantic, running back and forth. I
shouted her name. The dog ran off. Leighton screamed at me,
‘Kris,
Kris.’ She pointed at the surgery where thick black smoke was coming from the
reception windows and flames were licking the overhang of the roof above
them.
‘Wait
here,’ I said, and ran to the back.
The
windows were grilled there, for security as that’s where all the drugs were
kept and the door had a security screen fitted that had to be unlocked from the
inside. I felt in my pocket. I had Isaac’s keys. I picked up a rock and started
hitting the glass, but I was dragged away by a guy from the fire brigade.
Leighton
was on her knees, clinging to Cathy’s leg, out on the main road now. Cathy was
crying, too. I put out my arms to her, but she bent down and sat on the road. A
second engine arrived. All I could do was watch.
‘Why
did you lie to me, why did you lie?’ Cathy said, pulling Leighton onto her knee
and rocking her.’
‘Kris
wanted to see the dog. Isaac said we could visit it here.’
‘What
dog?’
‘Isaac
said we could share.’
‘There
was a dog when we arrived,’ I said, putting it together. The surgery was a
perfect cover.
They
had been coming for weeks. I’d been so wrapped up events with Cathy I hadn’t
noticed the kids. When they started hanging round the surgery I’d assumed they
wanted to spend time with me because kids can be sensitive to things like that,
even though Cathy and I had kept the rows between ourselves.
‘It
showed me how to get out,’ Leighton said. Cathy looked at me.
‘Tell
me where.’
The
fire fighters laid the body on the tarmac. Leighton knelt.
‘Time
to say goodbye,’ I said. ‘What’s his name?’
‘We
didn’t give him a name. Isaac said it was best not to, in case we didn’t get to
keep him. He said it would save us from getting too attached, so we just called
him Dog. He lied on the floor to show us what to do, to crawl under the smoke.’
She kissed him and got up. ‘Can I ride in the ambulance with Kris?’
‘Sure,’
I said. I watched her get in. Cathy pulled one hand free from Kris’ and slipped
it around her.
The
paramedics were about to close the doors on the other van.
‘Is
he going to be alright?’
‘Are
you a relative?’
~~~
‘I’m
sorry, sir, you’ll have to put your laptop away.
My
earphones dropped out as I turned my head to look up. The steward had a cake
and was smiling at me. I looked back at the screen, a clip of footage showed a
masked man being hauled out of the Prime Minister’s home.
‘Happy
Birthday, dad,’ Kris said. Everyone on the plane clapped.
‘What
present do you want?’ Leighton asked.
Kris
answered on my behalf,
‘A
dog, you dick.’
‘Or
a cat,’ Cathy said. ‘And don’t swear, Kris.’ Leighton was thoughtful for a
moment then asked,
‘Is
Adams going to be alright?’
‘Of
course he is, Isaac will take good care of him, and besides, he’s a cat.’
I
looked out the window. I could see the curve of the earth, perfectly blue. I
thought of New Zealand.
Rachel J Fenton was born in Yorkshire, England, and currently lives on New Zealand's North Shore. Winner of The University of Plymouth's "short FICTION 7th Annual Competition", she was shortlisted for "The Royal Society of New Zealand Manhire Prize", the "Fish International Poetry Prize", and many more. AKA Rae Joyce, she won AUT's Creative Writing Prize for her graphic poem "Alchemy Hour". She blogs at http://snowlikethought.blogspot.com.
