Bark

BARK

Tv screens flickered like party lights behind plumed curtains as the echoing of vicious barking cracked the silence of Anzac Road. One or two faces appeared, ghostly apparitions floating at windows. A man came out in a singlet and board shorts that hung loosely, smoking a cigarette and complaining about the noise.

“Go back inside, sir.”

“What the hell is going on?”

“We have a situation.”

Shaking his balding head, the man spat onto the footpath, the spume sizzling on the hot concrete.

“Bloody dog. I keep telling the old bugger to keep it tied up.”

He wiped a hand over his brow, flicking the sweat into the night.

“Should just shoot the bloody thing.”

“If you could, sir.”

Muttering under his breath, the resident stepped closer to the fence line, peered at the animal as it snarled menacingly, then scarpered back inside his house.

Sergeant Wilson, tall with a slight belly that pushed against his blue shirt, stood on the edge of a well-manicured driveway, his eyes never leaving the distressed mastiff that stood sentinel as the sky turned dark and a waning moon peaked over the horizon. Further down the street one of his young officers was being tended to by an ambo, a makeshift bandage on his left hand.

“What do you think?”

Beside him, Brad from the Dog Squad felt for his customary Tik Taks, shaking them at the sergeant who shook his head in reply.

“We need to deal with the dog. Can’t leave him out here all night.”

The burly copper’s hooded eyes followed another of his constables as the young woman attempted to circumnavigate the front gate and gain access from the flower garden. The hound swivelled his head and exposed stained teeth.

She froze, nerves getting the better of her and when Wilson waved at her she retreated gratefully, crushing daffodils in her haste.

“Who’s that?”

Wilson nodded at the shape of an old woman staring at the commotion from her verandah. He could hear the chug of the air conditioning that hung from the fibro wall, water dripping onto the hydrangeas underneath.

“The owner, I guess.”

“Poor woman.”

They could hear her call out.

“Here boy. Here boy.”

As if on cue the dog shifted ground, turned for a moment as if summoned, before wheeling back and barking furiously.

“What are we going to do?”

Brad smiled.

“Leave it to Dave.”

A man, nearly two metres tall, strolled out from behind the Dog squad van in his protective gear, doffing his hat to reveal a crown of grey hair.

“You think it’ll work?”

“Dave’s our dog whisperer. I’d rather him handle it. Don’t really want to shoot the pooch.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“With a trank. But it won’t come to that.”

The tall man walked calmly, whistling softly, confident and unafraid. The dog growled, stamped stiff legged towards him, a furious bellow that failed to disturb the heavily suited policeman.

“The boys reckon it’s his country background. Animals just know, you know.”

Wilson watched, fascinated.

“Isn’t he . . .?”

“Did a year with the Swans. Would have made a go of it if he hadn’t done his ACL.”

The dog’s bark changed pitch, more pitiable than frightening. Dave rolled forward, his long gain shortening.

The dog’s hackles were up, fur like a razorback’s, and the dog whisperer got down in a crouch as the animal got close, teeth bared.

“Shit, he’s game.”

“Watch.”

Dave was talking, too far away for Wilson to discern, and the dog paused, chest down, as the man stretched out a hand. The dog’s head went down, paws sliding forward; within moments the mutt was peering at the man with soulful eyes, whining.

“There you go.”

Wilson was about to move but Brad grabbed his arm.

“Give him a minute. Don’t want to spook the pup.”

Both men stood, the dog squad leader blasé, the sergeant agog. When Brad nodded Wilson gestured and the ambulance officers sprang into action.

A gurney squeaked as the woman on the verandah took the four cracked steps to the winding driveway and ran towards them.

“That worked out ok.”

“Yeah.”

Behind the silent man and the supplicant dog a body, lifeless, grey and blue, was hoisted carefully and wheeled back towards the ambulance. For a moment the dog made a noise, somewhere between a cry and a bark.

“Good boy. Good boy.”

Dave scratched the dog’s head, his long fingers tangling in the brown fur.

As the two cops moved passed the deceased they glanced at the old man’s wife, her eyes glazed, wet with tears. Moments later she had been helped into the back of the vehicle, the siren whooped for a second, then disappeared into the distance.

Wilson patted the dog and turned the old lawnmower back onto its wheels.

“Why he decided to cut the lawn in this heat, I’ll never know.”

With a sigh Wilson joined Dave and the now supplicant animal. Soon enough he would have to fill in forms, conduct interviews, deal with the minutia of death but for now he leant down and patted the loyal dog.

The head of the dog squad had slipped away, trotting to the house. The sergeant gripped the fur, feeling the hackles rise as the tall man spoke softly to the muscular dog, calming the whimpering animal.

Brad ran back, a water bowl in his hand, balancing the metal dish, placing it in front of the animal as the sergeant read the tag on the collar.

“Cerberus. Not a name you see that often.”

Dave ran his hand along the dog’s flank.

“Good boy. Good boy.”

Dave nodded to the sergeant who raised a hand.

“Sir?”

“Keep an eye on the house.”

With that Dace and Brad walked leisurely towards the dog truck, Cerberus tailing Dave eagerly. Wilson stared bemusedly as the dog whisperer threw open the wire cage door.

The dog bowed its head, craned its massive head and looked dolefully at the house. There was a final howl of grief before Dave bundled the creature into the vehicle.

“What’ll happen to the dog”

“We’ll look after it till the old lady collects him.”

Brad slapped him on the shoulder before climbing into the driver's seat.

"We'll take good care of it."

Wilson stood in the pulsing heat of the night as the van pulled away.