The civet, an animal of the shadows, liked not this sudden exposure before a large predatory carnivore, but remained motionless. Nothing but a few drops of seawater dripped from the wet fur of its forequarters. The dog was first to move, leaping outwards from his rock onto what he assumed was the sandy foreshore in an attempt to get at the civet. With a lazy splat, the dog's four paws splattered into the mud immediately slowing his movement by half, easily allowing the civet to turn before fleeing into the darkness of the underbrush. A few more lolloping lopes and the mud-caked paws of the dog reached the rock recently vacated. A deep gaseous smell hit his nose, the trapped methane of sub-surface decomposition. Pulling himself up, he could not see or hear in which direction the agile animal had gone, so stood a while sniffing the rock to acquire the scent of the feline-esque creature.
In so doing, he picked up the intense musk overtones: he had the feeling that the animal that produced this would use it as much to attract mates as deter pursuing predators. All around the flat rock were the discarded shell remnants from the civet's late-night snacking. The juice from the molluscs had a sweet saltiness to it. He licked – it was appetizing.
Abandoning his futile hounding, he searched for more shellfish of the same kind and his nose was drawn back down towards the mud. Around the rock a little pool of water, at day evaporated by the sun, had gathered and within it were the shellfish heaped together. Taking one, he crunched – the thick shell stuck in his gums and tongue, but the oozy juice promised animal nourishment. He plucked a second, and then one more, taking care to eliminate as much shell as was practicable. With each there was the same cracking sound he had heard from the civet, but this time it was from his mouth as he broke each shell.
Half-a stomach full of this new delicacy, he belched. Something did not feel right. He belched again. Instantly his stomach voided the contents, shell fragments and all, into a frothy pile on the mud. Sniffing the contents, he delicately side-stepped the rock and wandered in search of fresh water.
The little stream bed was littered with leaves, sticks and other washed-down detritus. He lay in the slow-moving flow indolently lapping the cool water and allowing its energy to pass around him. It was the closest thing to a bath he'd experienced. His stillness meant he did not arouse the suspicions of the family of porcupines waddling down to the stream for the first drink of the night. Slinking through the bamboo, they each poked their noses down towards the water and lapped generously with their tongues. To the dog, familiar with passing porcupines on the hill, the black and white needles shimmered in the moonlight, but the hairs on the babies looked less sharp. He was in the process of imagining taking the smallest one in a sudden rush when he sneezed, an after-effect from the overindulgence in shellfish. The family halted, looked up and, before he had time to leap from his black water hide, turned tail and retreated back uphill towards the nuts, seeds and flowers of their nocturnal feeding.
Foiled once more, he stood up and shook. The hunger pains were back. From across the still valley emerged the sounds of the Asiatic koel who had taken up a position to loudly announcing its presence. Each desperately lonely 'koo-oo koo-oo' resonated throughout the woodland, but there was no reply. On the other side of the receded water the frantic 'brain fever' call of the common hawk cuckoo echoed across the hills. And from right above his head a female greater coucal gave it's deep 'coop-coop-coop'. All the birds and animals around him seemed to be thriving, but it was becoming clearer by the moment that without the lady to daily feed him his condition boded ill. He had not grown up a hunter, had not formed a pack to kill, had not adapted to life alone, nor been adopted into the indoor ways of men. How much more could he endure? Survival was not an option.
He returned to the road and the mess left by the pigs. Other village dogs were also there – without support he could not approach nor take without a fight. The odds were too great. He scampered past as best he could, but was still barked at for his pains. By the time he found his old spot again, beneath the broad leaved trees at the crest of the hill, exhaustion had overwhelmed him.
He awoke with the sounds of the first bus stopping to drop off early morning hikers. Eager to feed, he casually wandered down to the bus stop and stared at them. Did they have food, and how could he get it from them? Before he could form a plan to be aggressive, from their midst a woman crouched, a good sign, and began beckoning with squeaks and clicks of the fingers. As he hesitated, she withdrew her hand to her pocket and brought out a dry biscuit. Breaking it in half, she tossed some indelicately towards him. He sniffed, it was mouthwatering, and immediately ate. She did the same with the other half. He thought this was good, and promised more, but the others in the human party seemed to disapprove. As they moved off, so did the dog. All day he followed, hoping for more. And, indeed, more came. Skirting the villages, the dog found the party of humans on the other side continuing their walk to the long beach – their daytime destination. Lunch was made at a nearby café, but he dared not approach for fear of rousing the local dogs. The woman seemed to know this and brought some of the noodles in a box and left them for him. This was the same fare of the missing woman, the little extra human food that had kept him strong. With each mouthful he felt strength return to his system. The humans splashed about in the water, apparently for fun. He wanted to sleep and sought out a spot within a thick patch of pandanas palms...
Aroused by a late afternoon breeze from the sea, the humans had gone. How long he must have slept! He sniffed the sands, but their scent was masked by the offshore salt. Picking up energy, he ran back the way they had come, past the villages and along the coastal route. At last, as night fell, he saw them, noisily waiting under the streetlights of the road in a bunch ready for the bus. From the shadows he silently approached. The crowd all stared, but woman came forward and crouched down again, only this time she had no food. She seemed to want to touch him, a sensation he had not experienced and was not sure he wanted to, but her fingers were merely inches away: such intimacy was an unnerving unknown. Before that could happen, the lumbering bus interrupted with a screech of brakes and hydraulic exhalation – too much even for the dog on the hill. Within a minute all were gone and from his usual lonely spot the social scene returned to glum and silent darkness, his only company the mosquitoes that fed from his ears, nose and paws.
Would she come back, like the other woman? Would there be extra food to keep him alive? Lying under the hazy stars, his thin chest now firmly ribbed, he knew his life was beholden to others. It was always the lot of dogs.
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