Outback Adventure Page 2

  Aunty Sophie doesn’t look too sure. She grew up in the city and she doesn’t go outside much when they come to the country to visit.

  ‘You going too?’ asks Uncle Stan, looking at Jarrod.

  ‘No,’ he says. ‘I hate barns. They stink.’

  Uncle Stan shakes his head. ‘Maybe if you tried playing in one, you’d see how much fun they are.’

  Jarrod gets up and goes off to his room.

  Chelsea, Max, Jack and I head towards the back door.

  ‘How could anyone not like barns?’ I ask Chelsea when we enter the lovely coolness of the big shed.

  She shakes her head and shrugs. ‘Ratter,’ she calls softly. ‘Where are you?’

  The boys have climbed up onto a tractor each and are pretending to race them.

  ‘Hey, Jack,’ I ask. ‘Is Jarrod always so cranky?’

  ‘No, not at home,’ he says, jiggling around and bouncing up and down on the seat.

  ‘Maybe it is just me?’ I whisper to Chelsea.

  The back door slams and Grandpa comes out and starts putting on his boots. Chelsea and I have been outside for an hour looking for Ratter. Max and Jack are firing slingshots at an old lid nailed to a tree.

  ‘Who’s coming on the lick run to the eastern paddocks with me?’ Grandpa calls across to the barn.

  The boys race over straightaway. I see Chelsea hesitating.

  ‘Coming?’ I say.

  ‘Um . . . I don’t want to lick anything in a paddock. I can wait here.’

  I laugh and give her a hug. ‘Chelsea, a lick is the name for a mineral block the farmers put in the paddocks for the cattle to lick. It’s really important in the outback when there’s a drought and the cattle have nothing to eat.’

  ‘Oh, thank goodness,’ says Chelsea. ‘I really didn’t fancy licking anything out here, especially when it’s so dry and dusty.’

  I grab my Vet Diary from my back pocket to show Chelsea the page I did on cattle licks the last time we were here.

  ‘Okay, so we’re going to take the ute and the four-wheel drive,’ says Grandpa. ‘Who wants to ride in the back of the ute?’

  ‘Meeee!’ we all cheer together.

  ‘And me,’ says Mum as she pulls her boots on and joins us.

  Uncle Stan is next out the door. ‘Looks like I’m taking the four-wheel drive then.’

  ‘Well, I’ll keep Uncle Stan company,’ says Dad as he joins us.

  ‘Is Mum coming?’ asks Jack.

  ‘No, mate. She wants to stay and help Gran with dinner. Jarrod should be coming, though.’

  We all turn to the door at the back of the house. There’s no sign of Jarrod.

  ‘I’ll go get him,’ says Uncle Stan with a sigh.

  Suddenly I realise I might need my vet kit and race back into the house to get it. I know Jarrod will make fun of me, but vets always like to be prepared.

  As I pass the room where Jarrod is, I hear Uncle Stan raising his voice a bit. ‘I don’t care if they stink. We haven’t driven all this way for you to watch television!’

  Quickly, I run to my room. I can’t help wondering why Jarrod is being so difficult.

  I’m back out in no time and lift my kit into the back of the ute. Grandpa has let the working dogs off their chains and they are running around our legs excitedly.

  ‘Get down!’ snaps Grandpa, and the dogs obediently drop to the ground. I can see that Chelsea is very impressed.

  Uncle Stan comes back out of the house with Jarrod, who doesn’t look at all pleased. He has his hand over his mouth and nose as if he’s trying not to breathe.

  ‘Here,’ says Uncle Stan, holding the ute door open for him. ‘You can ride up front with Grandpa.’

  ‘Great,’ says Grandpa. ‘You can help me spot the dingoes.’

  ‘Dingoes?’ squeaks Chelsea. ‘You didn’t tell me there were dingoes!’

  ‘Don’t worry, Chelsea. Dingoes stay as far away from people as they can.’

  I notice Jarrod walks around the front of the ute to get in and avoid the ‘stinking’ farm dogs.

  We all sit down in the back tray on some large sacks of feed.

  ‘Hold on tight and no standing up,’ warns Mum.

  The ute begins to slowly make its way along the worn dirt track that leads to the eastern paddocks. Each time we come to a gate, Dad jumps out to open it for both vehicles to pass through. The dogs are racing through the paddocks like crazy.

  ‘It’s so dry,’ says Mum sadly, as we stare out at the dry, red dirt. ‘See where all of those scrubby mulga trees have been pushed over?’ she says, pointing. ‘Grandpa and Grandma have to do that so the cattle can eat the leaves, because there’s no grass.’

  We come to our first water trough and Grandpa jumps out to check it.

  ‘Where does the water come from?’ says Max, looking around for a hose.

  ‘They pump it up from deep under the ground,’ Mum answers.

  ‘I just hope they don’t hit any dinosaur fossils when they dig down,’ says Max.

  Jack gasps at the thought.

  Honestly, how does Max make everything about dinosaurs? He really does have a one-track mind.

  We drive on a little further until we can see the cattle lick up ahead.

  The cattle see us coming and start to walk in our direction. Some of the calves get excited and start to run, which makes their mothers run too.

  Pretty soon we’re being followed by lots of excited cattle. I must admit, I’m pretty excited too. Most vets would be.

  ‘You kids stay in the ute,’ says Mum, as she leaps off the back. Uncle Stan, Grandpa and Mum grab some bags of minerals for the lick.

  Mum and Uncle Stan grew up around cattle. They push their way through them with no fear at all. I hope I’m that brave one day.

  Some of the more curious cattle come right up to the ute and hang their heads over the sides. Chelsea and I reach out to pat them, but they pull back straightaway.

  Both cars are surrounded by cattle pushing to get closer to the lick. I love their big, kind eyes and the sounds they make. I even like the smell of them.

  I can see lots of calves that are about nine months old.

  ‘See those calves, Chelsea?’ I say, pointing. ‘They need to be separated from their mothers so Grandma and Grandpa can wean them.’

  ‘What does wean mean?’ says Jack.

  ‘Weaning is when a calf is made to stop drinking its mother’s milk. If you don’t wean them, some calves keep on drinking the milk and it can actually make the mother very unhealthy. It’s not good for the calf either.’

  Jack looks at Max and seems to be pretty impressed.

  ‘I told you she was nearly a vet,’ says Max shrugging.

  I turn around to look at the cattle that have gathered around the front of the ute and catch a glimpse of Jarrod on the front seat. He’s curled in a ball with his hands over his head.

  ‘Chelsea, I’ve just figured something out,’ I whisper. ‘Jarrod doesn’t hate animals, he’s terrified of them.’

  I point to my cousin through the glass. Suddenly I feel really sorry for him.

  ‘You know, Juliet,’ whispers Chelsea. ‘I don’t think he hates you either. Maybe he just hates that you’re so brave with animals, because it makes him feel worse.’

  No wonder Chelsea is nearly a world-famous animal trainer. She understands the way all kinds of animals think. Even the human kind!

  ‘We have to find a way to help him, Chelsea,’ I say.

  After dinner, Uncle Stan and Grandpa make a campfire in the paddock next to the house.

  We all sit around the fire on logs and listen as the adults talk about what needs to be done for the muster tomorrow. Grandma shows us how to twist damper dough around sticks and toast it in the fire. Then we dip it in syrup and eat the warm bread under a sky filled with stars. Grandpa pours hot water from the billy into our mugs and we tap our feet to the sound of Uncle Stan strumming his guitar.

  The next morning we get up early. It’s the c
attle muster. Mustering days are always exciting. It’s when the cattle are brought into the big yards to be checked, branded, tagged or wormed.

  Today they will separate the grown-up calves from their mothers. Mum, Grandpa and Uncle Stan are going out to muster them, but we’re not allowed to go because it can be dangerous if you don’t know what you’re doing. We’ll be here to see the cattle as they come in though.

  We wave Mum and the others goodbye as they head off on the trail bikes to round up the cattle.

  Max and Jack have set up their dinosaurs in the barn. They’re trying to lasso them with a thin rope. In a little while, they’re going to drive to Winton with Aunty Sophie and Dad to see the dinosaur museum.

  Jarrod is sitting on the lounge playing with his mum’s phone. He doesn’t want to go to the museum.

  ‘I’ve got something special to show you three,’ says Grandma after the others leave. ‘I just need to do a couple of things before we go.’

  I sit down next to Jarrod. Last night, Chelsea and I talked about how we might help him. Today’s our chance.

  ‘Jarrod,’ I say. ‘We’d like to help you with something.’

  Jarrod stops playing his game on the phone and looks at me. It’s not a very nice look, but I don’t give up.

  ‘Um, you know how you don’t like animals?’

  ‘Because they stink,’ he says.

  ‘Well, yes . . . it’s just that we wondered if you got to know some animals, maybe some small ones at first and then some bigger ones, you might see that they’re really lovely. We could help you get to like them.’

  ‘Why would I want to do that?’ he sneers, and starts playing his game again.

  Chelsea and I look at each other. Eventually Chelsea shrugs and we head outside.

  When Grandma comes out with the washing, she has a small dish of mince balancing on top of the clothes.

  ‘What’s that for, Grandma?’ I ask.

  ‘Oh, you’ll see,’ she says with a smile.

  Grandma taps her spoon on the side of her dish. Suddenly a chubby kookaburra flies down and lands on the washing line.

  Grandma throws a little piece of mince into the air and the kookaburra catches it and scoffs it down.

  ‘Oh, can we have a go?’ I ask.

  ‘Sure,’ says Grandma.

  Chelsea and I both throw little pieces of meat in the air for the kookaburra to catch, but we can’t get them near enough to him and they keep landing on the grass.

  ‘You need to throw it higher.’ Jarrod is standing at the door looking out at us.

  ‘We’re trying,’ says Chelsea, laughing.

  Jarrod creeps down the stairs. I hold the bowl out to him and he tosses a small piece of meat in a perfect arc. The kookaburra gobbles it down happily.

  We all laugh as Jarrod throws more pieces of mince for the kookaburra.

  ‘Well, hello,’ says Chelsea to the ginger cat who is now weaving around her legs. ‘You must be Ratter.’

  ‘More like Ratbag,’ says Grandma. ‘Trust you to turn up when there is mince around.’

  Chelsea picks Ratter up and puts him and the leftover mince on a bale of hay. The cat purrs loudly as it eats.

  ‘Funny, he doesn’t usually let strangers touch him,’ says Grandma.

  ‘Chelsea is very good with animals, Grandma,’ I say. ‘She’s going to be a world-famous animal trainer and groomer one day.’

  ‘Is that right?’ says Grandma.

  I notice that Jarrod has taken a step or two back towards the house.

  ‘Jarrod,’ I say. ‘If Chelsea held Ratter, do you think you’d like to pat him?’

  Jarrod doesn’t move for a while. He opens his mouth as if to say something smart, but he closes it again.

  Then he says, ‘My mum doesn’t like animals either.’

  ‘Maybe she just hasn’t had a chance to get to know one properly?’ says Chelsea.

  She scoops up the cat and walks towards Jarrod, but stops halfway. She sits on a upturned metal bucket and tickles the cat under the chin.

  Jarrod takes a few steps towards Chelsea and looks down at the purring cat. ‘Will it scratch me?’ he asks.

  ‘I don’t think so,’ says Chelsea. ‘I can hold him a little tighter if you’d like to be sure.’

  Jarrod nods slightly and Chelsea gently wraps her arms around the cat.

  He slowly starts to pat Ratter – with just one finger at first, then his whole hand.

  ‘I got bitten by a dog when I was little,’ he says. ‘Mum wouldn’t let us have any animals after that. We live in an apartment, so we probably couldn’t get one anyway.’

  ‘I could tell you some good pets to keep in apartments,’ I say. ‘I have a page of them in my Vet Diary.’

  Jarrod just shrugs his shoulders.

  Grandma looks at me and then looks back at Jarrod stroking the cat. We smile at each other. I think she understands our plan.

  ‘Would you like to pat Creamy? She’s really gentle,’ says Grandma. ‘I could bring her over, close to the fence.’

  Jarrod doesn’t say no, so Grandma goes to get Creamy.

  Once Grandma’s tied Creamy to the other side of the wooden fence, we all walk over together. I notice Jarrod’s hand is shaking as he reaches out to touch the cow through the fence.

  ‘Try it like this,’ I say, and show him how to pat in the direction the cow’s hair goes in.

  Soon Jarrod is softly patting Creamy. ‘She’s really smooth,’ he says after a while.

  Chelsea shows Jarrod her grooming kit and we comb and brush every inch of Creamy. Chelsea even finds a ribbon to tie in the cow’s fringe.

  ‘She looks wonderful!’ Grandma smiles as we parade Creamy past the vegetable garden where she’s working.

  After we put Creamy back in her paddock, we sit on the back step with an icy pole and Jarrod tells us about his soccer team. It sounds like he’s really good at soccer.

  ‘So Jarrod, are you ready to meet a smelly chook now?’ I say.

  Chelsea and I both laugh when he smiles from ear to ear.

  We start with a bantam chicken, like the ones I have at my house, and work our way up.

  I pick out a small chicken for Jarrod to pat and soon he’s hunting around in the chook pen for eggs with us. When I turn around I can’t believe my eyes. He’s actually holding a rooster!

  ‘So who’s ready to come for a drive with me to see something special?’ says Grandma when we bring the eggs in.

  We all jump into the four-wheel drive excitedly. My vet kit bumps around on the seat between Chelsea and me. Jarrod is sitting in the front seat with Grandma.

  I tap Chelsea on the knee and point to a new list I’m making.

  She smiles and gives me the thumbs up.

  We follow a different track to the one from yesterday. This time we’re heading towards a gorge that lies between two large groups of rocks. Some corellas that have been looking for seeds on the ground fly up in front of us in a loud, dusty flock.

  ‘Look over there!’ says Chelsea, pointing to some rock wallabies heading for the safety of a large rocky outcrop.

  Grandma slows down as we near the rocks that sit either side of the gorge.

  We climb down from the car and follow Grandma along a thin track that weaves between the large red-and-brown rocks. Together we enter a big, open cave.

  It takes a minute for our eyes to adjust to the dim light, and then we see them: painted handprints and drawings cover the walls.

  ‘Who did these?’ I ask. ‘They’re beautiful.’

  ‘The Iningai people are the traditional owners of this land. They ground up the rocks to make the paint to tell their stories,’ says Grandma.

  We stand and look for ages. I wonder about the stories behind these prints.

  The silence is broken by a frantic, scratching sound from outside the cave.

  I step outside to see if I can hear it again. It’s coming from behind the next rock so I tiptoe closer.

  Then I see – it’s a f
rill-necked lizard! When it sees me, it puffs its frill up and hisses. It tries to run towards a tree a short distance away, but somehow a long strand of dry grass has looped around its neck and been caught under its rough scaly frill. The long grass is attached to a ball of tumbleweed, so wherever the lizard goes, the big ball of dead weed follows it. The weed keeps getting caught on rocks and things. The lizard pushes its body up in a high arc and hisses again.

  ‘What is it?’ says Chelsea, from behind me.

  ‘It’s a frill-necked lizard and it’s in trouble,’ I say.

  ‘Can you help it, Juliet?’ asks Chelsea.

  ‘I’m not sure that’s a good idea,’ says Grandma. ‘They can give a nasty bite.’

  ‘We’ll be careful, Grandma. We can’t just leave it to die,’ I say.

  ‘Jarrod, can you please grab my vet kit from the car? Is there a blanket or towel in the car, Grandma?’

  Grandma still looks a bit unsure, but Jarrod is back in an instant with the kit and an old jumper of Grandpa’s.

  ‘This is going to be a team effort,’ I say, holding my hand out for the jumper. Jarrod throws it to me from as far back as he can stand.

  I slowly put my foot on the tumbleweed. The lizard feels the movement and darts forward, but is quickly stopped as the grass pulls him back. As fast as I can, I throw the jumper over him and drop to my hands and knees, pinning the lizard under the material.

  ‘Quick, Chelsea,’ I say. ‘Help me hold him down.’

  Chelsea jumps into action, and together we have the frantic hissing lizard under control.

  Jarrod is clearly gobsmacked.

  ‘Can you pass me the scissors from my vet kit, Jarrod?’ I ask.

  He clicks the kit open and grabs the scissors then takes a few steps closer to pass them to me.

  ‘I still don’t think this is a good idea,’ says Grandma. ‘A lizard bite can get really infected.’

  ‘Sometimes vets have to take risks, Grandma,’ I say.

  Grandma shakes her head and mutters something about what our parents would say.

  ‘Chelsea and Jarrod, do you think you could hold him down while I try to snip this grass?’