Open Writing

We moved to Kalgoorlie when I was eight, and for the first time in my life I lived close to a shop, one I could see from my own back gate. But after the first week none of our family could go into it.

It was all my mother's fault. I was sprawled on the sitting-room floor, reading, when she decided she wanted bread. She needed bread for tomorrow’s toast, and I must go to the shop. 'But don’t take Scamp.'

Not take Scamp? It was bad enough being dragged away from my book, but to go for a walk and leave my dog behind. No way! Even my mother recognised defeat.

'All right then, but put him on a lead.'

I did not mind the lead; it made me feel quite important to walk down the street attached to my dog. So off we went, Scampy on his lead and Mother's basket over my arm. What happened next was Mr Pardu’s fault.

Since my last visit, he had tacked a notice to his door: NO DOGS ALLOWED BY ORDER Scamp had to stay outside, but I needed bread, and bread was in the shop. What could I do?

I thought of standing in the doorway and yelling to Mr Pardu, but he did not like little girls and I knew he would never leave his counter, just to bring me bread.

There was no-one outside who could hold the dog. Norman Bell was playing in a ditch across the road, but he was a boy and boys were nasty. I would not trust him with a dear, good, pretty little dog like Scamp.

'Sit!' I said, the way they did in books. 'Stay!'

Scamp was not a Collie, like Lassie, but it was a hot day so he sort of flopped down.

Mother had told me to keep him on the lead, but she was not here was she? And there was the notice, written in big, black letters, telling me to leave my dog outside. What could I do?

'Stay!' I said it again, and slipped off the lead, then, basket over my arm, I went into the shop.

Getting the bread was easy. Our family only ate one kind of loaf, square-bottomed with a round, burned top. Two were cooked together in a pan, and when I asked for 'half', Mr Pardu pulled them apart, leaving one rough, crustless face. While I was waiting for the change I dug my fingers in, pulling off a flake of new bread. You could hardly notice the hole.

But I did not get to enjoy my mouthful. Suddenly there was a barking, and screeching, and yelling from the yard behind the shop. Mr Pardu rushed out, not stopping to give me my change, and I followed him.

'The Pardus keep chooks.' Words from a grown-up conversation came to my mind.

Chooks! Hens!

In that yard beside the shop white, feathery balls scrabbled and ran. Hens! Just waiting to be chased! How my Scamp loved chooks. By the time I got out of the shop, Mr Pardu was in the yard, his two big girls were waving sticks, and Mrs Pardu was swinging her broom like a club and shouting.

'Kill that dog!'

Scamp did not know they were there. His mind was so full of chook that he could not see, or hear, anything else. He was trying to chase five birds at once, without dropping the one he already had in his mouth. At least he had stopped barking.

Somehow I got myself between the Pardus and Scamp, pulled the chook out of his mouth and stumbled away with an armful of feathers and dog and bread. Mr Pardu shouted after me about 'damages' and 'police'. As if the notice on his door was ALL MY FAULT.

And none of our family ever went back to his shop.

© Robin Hillard

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Robin writes for Bonzer! magazine. Please visit www.bonzer.org.au