| Old
Dan had spent most of his life working on the hot and onely west
Queensland railway lines. When he retired he built himself a little tin
shanty among the gum trees on the river bank. One day whe my father
called to give Dan some fresh meat, a small black puppy waddled out to
meet him."By jingo," said father, "It’s a Dingo." Dan had found Jingo’s mother dead in a trap, the puppy beside her. Like all small animals, Jingo was appealing, hungry, trusting and heart-broken, and as soon as he picked up the bundle of fluff, Dan knew that he too, was trapped. Only one Dingo pup in 800 is born blackj, so even at that age Jingo was unusual.Nobody ever mentioned the word Dingo again and Jingo grew up to be an exemplary dog. Law abiding, faithful and intelligent. Dan made beautiful articles out of kangaroo hide and he fashioned a little hand-sewn purse which clipped over Jingos collar. In this messages could be sent. Whenever it was clipped in place Jingo knew he had to go either to the Kelly’s or the Smith’s place. They were in opposite directions, so Dan would point in the desired direction and Jingo would happily set off. Once there he waited patiently for a newspaper to be stuck in his collar, or a packet of Aspros to be put I his purse. Sometimes he scoreda bone as a reward, but he always carried it home to enjoy in the shade of the gum trees. He and Dan loved to fish in the river for freshwater cod and yellowbelly. Dan always allowed Jingo to finalise the catch. He would dive in at the first sign of a catch, unerringly grab the fish and carry it proudly to the sand at Dan’s feet. At the end, Jingo reverted to his ancestry. Old Dan died on the riverbank, leaning against a gum tree, his fishing line still in his hand. Jingo refused to let anyone near, although they had been good friends he had known all his life. He ignored all food and eventually had to be shot. Old Dan was 93 when he died, Jingo 13. He had given his life and love to Dan. He was buried next to him in the lonely country they both loved. |
