The snake, an adolescent Burmese python, took advantage of his momentary coming-to to attach his venom-less jaws to his rear paw, the closest part of the dog to the snake. Yelping he drew back, but the solid weight of the snake's muscly body prevented him from withdrawing out of the culvert. A leg extended, he barked and whined the rapid panic bark of a canine in severe distress. Such was the desperation of his cries that, would he have been outside beneath the hot summer's moonlight, he could have aroused the very spirits of the hills themselves. He felt the snake begin to coil itself around his leg and lower abdomen. Panicking more, he barked incessantly, feeling the firm coiling action twist him over to one side and continue the process of acquiring the victim before holding and asphyxiation. He continued to struggle and bark, not giving up at all, not for one moment, not for one breath.
On the cusp of being finally overcome, he noticed another noise – from the other end of the culvert. A bark ensued, resonating from within the drain, followed by another and another: a cacophony of barking dog voices, their intonation a mix of dread and pursuit, filled the space with a deafening roar. Aroused by the raiding pigs, the nearby village pack heard his desperate calls and went in to attack. One seemed to get closer: the snake arrested its kill. A further voice also rang in his ear, and also one more – there appeared to be several dogs inside this tunnel of death. At that moment, he could feel himself moving, not just that the heartless snake was relaxing his grip, but that the snake and he were being dragged in small tugged increments by a force unknown. Instantly, the python uncoiled to make away. He staggered to an upright and, sensing the end of the drain, made for the exit. He noted the same snakeskin rasp on the concrete beneath his body – the snake was making its way between his legs!
The clamour of dog bark also emerged into the roadside ditch beside him, to set upon the young quarry. So intent on the hunt we they, that they even seemed not to be aware of him, his pitch coat now covered in mud and his alpha male scent dampened by the watery dousing in his near-grave. He panted nervously while they pursued into the boggy mush and mud. He had been in the jaws of the beast and the very gates of death had nearly closed upon him; he knew he had been as close to the point of no return as was possible. Shaken, he sank to his hindquarters and then collapsed onto all fours, his limbs an adrenalin-infused quiver that disguised any pain from the earlier pig bite.
As the barking party drew away, advancing well on the retreating reptile, he was not aware of another nose nearby, on the side of the road above, taking quiet and careful inhalations. He turned his panting head to see the long whiskered nose of the small Indian civet. It was making a regular journey from the steep hillside of its normal habituation across the tarmac road down to the muddy stretches of the creek at night time low tide. Usually fearful of commotion, the nocturnal animal had with its excellent night-attuned eyes seen the raucous chasing party disappear into the forest on the trail of the escaping cold-blooded killer before crossing, and knew it was now safe. What the civet had not expected to see, lying in the shallow water, was the quiet shuddering form of the dog.
For the dog's part, the civet was game –the very object of this night's quest– would that he could garner strength and corner it, but exhaustion and shock firmly held him. He noted the black nose twist and wobble as if the animal was unsure of what its senses were telling it. After some moments its inquisitive instinct was satisfied and the black striped and spotted animal turned and continued on its route. So good was its camouflage that within three trotted steps its outline had dissolved into the darkness beneath the nearby pandanas palm: so deliberate were its steps that they could also not be discerned – by even a dog's ear.
The recovering dog laid still, occasionally looking around for movement that would announce the approach of any other another creature, any other threat. But beyond his hot breaths nothing else could be heard but the croaky frogs in the deeper water and the intense cicadas high in the surrounding trees, and nothing seen but the moon's half-light rushing behind a steely-grey cloud. This was the time to emerge. Rousing himself, he lifted his front half, then the back and walked gingerly up to the road. He shook.
Weary of the past hour's encounters, nevertheless a thought entered his mind: what had the civet cat been doing? Where had it been going? If there was food for it, then there's be food for him, and his stomach, already empty, felt twisted with the desperate pains of hunger. Taking slow waddling steps he walked in the same direction, ducking under the low prickly pandanas leaves on a narrow pathway that seemed to lead downhill. Over damp rocks in the stream bed and around the thickest lantana bushes, its summer flowers exuding a sweet sharp perfume, the path led to the dark brown mud of the flats. The civet was nowhere to be seen, but further along the boulder edges of the littoral shelf could be heard cracking and snapping noises. Drawn to the noise, he at last saw the civet, hands full of a rounded mollusc, a rounded topshell or twisted turban, plucking more from the rock face. As the animal ate, chewing on the raw shellfish, pieces of shell dropped onto the mud below. It continued this action for several moments before freezing – it realised it was being observed. The strong light from the moon, obscured by the bank of cloud, returned to show the dog transfixed by the activity of this strange omnivore and now considering an assault. Would the civet bolt, or would he stand his ground?
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