“Dad, dad, daddy, dad.” Molly comes running back out, “It’s so cute, but Morgan said Mister Grumpy said she couldn’t keep it. Who’s Mister Grumpy?”
Brent chokes on a laugh, he turns to look at me then laughs out loud.
“It’s a dingo.”
That sobers him, “Yeah ok. No, it can’t stay.”
“Daddy.” Molly whines.
He bends down to her level, “Baby, you know what dingos do to the cattle. We can’t have one here.”
Yes.
And just then the fucking mutt walks out and sits in front of Brent with a whimpered bark.
Morgan is close behind. “If we expose her to the cattle and treat her like a pet, she’ll be ok.”
Fuck.
“She’ll be your responsibility, Morgan.”
Double Fuck.
“Of course.” You can hear the excitement in Morgan’s voice.
Brent scratches behind the pup’s ear “Ok, she can stay.”
Triple fuck.
Molly squeals and does her happy dance, asking what her name is.
Morgan looks at the pup rubbing its head, “I was thinking Esky, since I found her in one.”
“Esky is a stupid name.” It’s my turn to deadpan.
Without skipping a beat Morgan snaps back, “So is Rhys, but you don’t hear us complaining.”
Brent snorts and mutters about catching up with me later, leaving Molly, Morgan and fucking ‘Esky’ with me. Prick. I glare after him. She better take it with her when she leaves.
“I think maybe she was hungry and went looking in an esky and got trapped.”
“Oh, poor Esky.” Molly tapers off into a giggle as the pup licks her face trying to play with her.
“Or maybe someone put her in it to let her?—”
Morgan shoots up, glaring at me. “Do not finish that statement, especially with a five-year-old hanging around.”
Molly isn’t even paying attention to us, and she has grown up on a fucking cattle station; she knows how things work. But I don’t voice any of that. Instead, I turn around and walk in the direction Brent left.
Eventually, I catch up with him and he explains that a few travelling jack-a-roo’s will be coming to give us a hand. We don’t typically take the backpackers with us. We might be sitting in the buggies all day, but it’s still hard work. And after a while the seats stop being as comfortable as you think they’d be.
After discussing the logistics of the muster with these extra people, I decide it’s now or never, and I go back home. When I get back to my place, Molly is gone, but Morgan is sitting at the outside table, the pup curled up in her lap while she draws.
I stop and watch her. Tongue caught between her teeth. A few strands of her hair have come loose from her ponytail and are delicately framing her face. She works the pencil back and forth over the page at an odd angle, so maybe colouring?
I’m lost in watching her, so when her head snaps up tolook at me, I jump and actually stumble. Morgan fights a smile, but when I try to right myself, I manage to over-correct and fall into the pole that was holding me up. This has her smile turning into laughter. She holds her stomach laughing, while tears gather at the corner of her eyes.
The pup sits up at the commotion tilting its head while watching me rub my shoulder.
