On the second day of new year, January’s Wolf moon had nearly dipped behind the ranges as I stepped out for my early morning walk. I had descendants of the wolf on my mind as I skirted the area I normally walk through, in favour of a, hopefully, safer one. The previous morning my husband and his mates saw five–five dingoes rolling and frolicking in the grass on the 6th Fairway, about 12 minutes’ walk from our house and about a third of the way along my normal route. In the past we have seen two or three at a time, but never five. So, while I was walking I stopped the dog walkers alerting them to the situation. There have been two incidents that I know of a couple of years ago; one with a lady I know who was stalked by three dingoes while she was walking her tiny little mouthful of a dog, and another where the dingoes actually got into a neighbour’s yard and helped themselves to a tiny little canine entrée.
Dingoes are gorgeous creatures but they are a nuisance in an urban setting. The area where we live is between the golf course and the bush so it is a difficult place for the Rangers to patrol—very easy for the dogs to slip through to the scrub and go undetected. The dingoes are protected so would only be caught and relocated, which is good, but first they must be caught.
Last year during my time away from blogging, a friend sent me a notice about a writing competition in a nice magazine here in Australia. Just to exercise my writing muscle, I entered. It is intimidating to know where to start when one has such a wide scope for subject matter. I finally settled on a reworked post from this blog since the article was to be something that exhibited Australian life. It was about previous encounters I’ve had with the dingoes –you might like to read the entry here– the dingo and the light chaser. It was not selected for the magazine, but I’m sure they received many pieces and who ever knows what judges are looking for in these things? And it might just be crap, I don’t know. It’s important to keep one’s perspective about why we write so that our fragile egos are not too damaged. As you can see, I’m undaunted.
Just after sending the entry, I was laying on the sofa in the dark one morning, waiting for it to be light enough to walk. (I sometimes wake up at ridiculous hours) Out of the pre-dawn came a chorus I will never forget. The family of dingoes must have been within metres of our house as they began their serenade. It was obvious there were younger, higher pitched voices mixed with the more experienced, deeper ones, practicing their howling skills. It lasted maybe ten or fifteen seconds. I peered into the darkness. Couldn’t see a thing. But they were there.
Again, the day after I began writing this piece, an adult dingo was within metres of our house, sniffing through the fence at the little white yapping morsel next door. If I was cruel I would wish the dingo bon appétit. The entire neighbourhood bristled to life with workmen jumping down from their scaffolds to watch and neighbourhood dogs announcing the dingo’s journey as it moved, unhurried, along its way, into the rocky outcrops and relative safety.