The Dog with Seven Names

  About the Book

  The heart-warming story of a golden-eyed dog in a time of war.

  A tiny dog, the runt of the litter, is born on a remote cattle station. She shouldn’t have survived, but when Elsie finds, names and loves her, the pup becomes a cherished companion. Life is perfect … until War arrives.

  With Japanese air raids moving closer, Elsie’s family leaves the Pilbara for the south and safety. But the small dog has to stay behind. After travelling far from home with drovers and a flying doctor, she becomes a hospital dog and experiences the impact of war on north-western Australia. She witnesses wonderful and terrible things and gives courage to many different humans.

  But through all her adventures and many names, the little dog remembers Elsie, the girl who loved her best of all. Will she ever find her again?

  My dog of many names is kind-hearted, determined and irrepressible, qualities shared by my husband, Peter Watson. This book is for him.

  Contents

  Cover

  About the Book

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Chapter 1: Elsie’s Princess October 1939 – February 1942

  Chapter 2: Dave’s Dog February 1942

  Chapter 3: Beth’s Flynn Late February 1942

  Chapter 4: Hendrik’s Engel Early March 1942

  Chapter 5: Lee Wah’s Gengi Late March 1942

  Chapter 6: Doc’s Marvellous Flynn April – August 1942

  Chapter 7: Bonnie’s Florence September 1942 – July 1943

  Chapter 8: Hank’s Pooch Late July 1943

  Chapter 9: Matron’s Flynn August 1943

  Chapter 10: Elsie’s Princess Late August 1943

  Afterword

  World War II and Story Timeline

  More information about the historical elements of The Dog with Seven Names

  Acknowledgements

  Also by Dianne Wolfer

  Imprint

  Read more at Penguin Books Australia

  1

  Elsie’s Princess

  October 1939 – February 1942

  My earliest memories are of being shoved and trampled by little paws. I was the runt, the last pup of our litter, and I struggled to reach my mother’s warm milk. When I rolled out of our birthing box onto the verandah, I was too weak to climb back in. Wings flapped around my still-closed eyes. I felt pecking and smelt the sharp scent of blood …

  If Elsie hadn’t found me I might not have survived. She shooed away the crows and held me close. Elsie’s dad was Boss of the cattle station. He was a big man. My brothers and I soon learnt to smell his anger and stay clear of his hard boots. My mother was his favourite dog, but the Boss had no time for a runty pup.

  ‘Weaklings don’t survive in the Pilbara,’ he snarled whenever I got in his way.

  My mother was an Australian terrier, not your average cattle dog, but she was a better herder than any kelpie or heeler. The Boss boasted that Mother was fearless; she wasn’t afraid to get among a mob of angry cattle. But Mother was also old and she’d had many pups before us. Our mouths and paws exhausted her. Mother died soon after my eyes opened on a day called Melbourne Cup, while the humans were cheering for their favourite horses. The Boss blamed us. He kicked our box off the verandah and the crows flapped closer. My brothers scurried under the verandah. I was slower.

  Elsie saved me again. She whispered words of love into my tiny ears and trickled milk onto my tongue. My life hung in the balance, but Elsie was patient. She was sure I’d live because the horse winner, Rivette, was a small female like me. Elsie was like that, she loved looking for connections.

  ‘Be brave,’ she told me. ‘Remember Rivette, the first mare to win the Cup.’

  Station life was hard, but I knew nothing else. My brothers grew strong. They were soon taken by stockmen who’d seen my mother’s herding skill. Our father was a wild dingo, but the stockmen didn’t care. They said dingo blood would make us tough.

  ‘Take the little one too,’ the Boss urged, but no one wanted me. No one except Elsie.

  Elsie’s mother complained that 1939 was a difficult year, what with the drought and War (whatever that was). The Boss said there was no money for extras. Not even at Christmas. Maybe that’s why he gave in to Elsie’s pleading.

  On Christmas morning the Boss lifted me by the scruff of the neck and dumped me in an old kerosene tin. He carried me in from the outside kennel and tucked me under a strange sparkly tree. When Elsie saw me, she danced and I smelt her joy.

  ‘Now that you’re mine, I can give you a name.’ She hugged me to her chest. ‘I’ll call you Princess.’

  While my brothers chased cattle, Elsie wheeled me about in a doll’s pram, brushed my fur and tied ribbons around my neck. Sitting still in a pram wasn’t easy, but I knew that if I managed it, Elsie would give me treats from the pantry. The Boss growled when he saw me wearing bonnets, but he let Elsie spoil me. Like me, she had three brothers, and the Missus said life was tough for a girl on an outback station.

  Whenever Elsie galloped her horse around the stockyards, or when she raced her brothers to lasso poddy calves, or lay in the dirt making sketches of me, the Missus scolded her.

  ‘That’s not ladylike,’ she said.

  Elsie’s mother wanted her to stay inside and read, to practise hymns on a cranky piano and pick at her needlework. Each morning Elsie did as she was told. She stayed out of the sun and practised being a lady. But after the midday meal Elsie belonged to me.

  We loped around the homestead, shrieking, barking and having the best adventures. Elsie taught me to dance on my hind legs and to spin in circles, chasing my tail until she fell against a tall ant hill laughing. In the evenings, as the family gathered to listen to their radio box, Elsie and I curled on a mat together. She tickled my ears and I licked her chin.

  At night I lay on a rug beside Elsie’s bed. She sang me lullabies and smiled into my golden eyes. Elsie said the colour came from my dingo father and that golden eyes meant I’d be clever and able to see things differently. At first I didn’t understand, but as I grew older, sometimes I did sense things that Elsie, and even the other dogs, didn’t notice. One time I felt shadowy figures around a camp fire. Another time I brushed against a big old tree and heard the voices of long-ago hunters. The tails of their spirit dogs wagged the breeze, then disappeared.

  Life with Elsie was perfect, but as I grew into my paws, a thing called War kept creeping closer. Each evening, my humans listened to voices in the radio talk about War. Afterwards the family spoke in hushed tones. I lay beside Elsie and shivered, wondering what War could be.

  One night Elsie’s oldest brother stuck a sheet of paper onto the wall. Elsie told me it was a map. She pointed to a dot that showed where our cattle station was. It looked very small. How could the family, dogs, stockmen and cattle be in a dot that was smaller than a flea?

  Oldest brother had a box of coloured pins. As the radio voices spoke about War, he moved the pins back and forth in the far corner of the map. The pins were a long way from our station dot. Nobody smelt very worried.

  Then the radio voice talked about a Battle of Britain and I heard the hearts of my human family beat faster. Another night the voice spoke about a Blitz.

  ‘That’s it,’ Oldest brother said, throwing down his pins. ‘I’m joining the army.’

  The Boss jumped up and shook his son’s hand. The Missus spilt her tea and left the room. Elsie told me that ‘joining the army’ meant her brother was leaving the station and going away to War. The ‘Army’ were the people he would be going with.

  Like the map, it was confusing.

  Before he went, Oldest brother rode into town. He came back with thick clothes and heavy boots. I rememb
er the intoxicating cow smell of the boots and being smacked for weeing on them.

  Elsie sketched her brother in his new clothes. She smiled but I sensed tension, like the waiting-time clouds that built up before the first big rain. Elsie’s mother couldn’t stop crying. Her tears smelt of pride and worry at the same time. Oldest brother was a brave stockman and he was strong, but War sounded dangerous. As he waved goodbye, I wondered what would happen to him.

  Humans have a lot of words for where the sun is and isn’t. Morning, afternoon, evening, daytime, night-time. They have other words for longer times: weeks, years, months and also exciting times like birthdays. The most special time for everyone on the station was Christmas.

  Christmas was the season of strong winds and bright yellow flowers. Elsie loved flowers. She put them into jam jars with old washing-up water. Then she sketched them. Christmas was also the time when the station people cooked extra food and gave each other presents. Best of all, it was the time when Elsie was allowed to spend all day with me. Elsie told me she loved Christmas because it was the day I became her Princess. I licked her cheek and felt warm inside.

  I was too young to know much about my first puppy Christmas, except for the scent of the kerosene tin and the happy sound of Elsie’s dancing feet.

  I remember the next Christmas better. It was at the end of the year humans called 1940. I was fully grown, although that wasn’t very big.

  After morning lessons, Elsie made paper chains for her Christmas tree and folded Santa hats for me. When she wasn’t looking I licked the floury gluepot. It was tasty in a sticky, salty kind of way.

  Elsie spoilt me with dried liver snacks and a leather collar that one of the stockmen had made. The collar smelt delicious, but I wasn’t allowed to chew it.

  As well as being a season of treats and presents, Christmas was also the time when I chased fat rainy-season lizards and heard rumbling sounds in the sky. Elsie called the rumbles thunder. She shushed me when I barked at the dark clouds.

  ‘Be brave, Princess, remember Rivette.’

  But I couldn’t help growling. My golden eyes sensed fire when I heard crackles and booms in the sky. Huge frightening flames of fire. They weren’t flames that could be smelt or heard, so Elsie didn’t understand. I didn’t understand either, but the booming made my heart beat faster, the way Elsie’s did when the radio voices spoke about War.

  New Year’s Eve came after Christmas. It was a fun, noisy time. We behaved ourselves, so Elsie and I were allowed to stay up late. While the humans cheered the end of 1940, Elsie slipped me chunks of warm damper. I stretched my paws and listened to the stockmen sing ‘Auld Lang Syne’ around the camp fire.

  After the song finished the Boss checked his watch. Then everyone started counting backwards. Elsie did this when we played hide-and-seek. It made my head spin, but I knew from the rise of her voice when it was ‘one’ and time to hunt.

  I wagged my tail as the humans yelled, ‘four, three, two, one,’ then I jumped up, ready to seek. But no one was hiding.

  ‘Happy New Year, Princess,’ Elsie shouted. She kissed me before she kissed anyone else.

  That made me very happy and I danced on my back legs for her. After Elsie hugged the rest of the family, the adults settled down to gaze into the camp fire. As coals crackled, they shared stories about better times; times before the War. Elsie’s mother sighed and wondered where Oldest brother was. Her sad voice gave me tingles.

  ‘Let’s pray the fighting will end this year,’ the Missus said.

  The men raised their mugs and nodded, but Elsie’s middle brother frowned.

  I knew his secret. I’d seen Middle brother marching back and forth behind the shed when he thought no one was looking. He held the rabbit gun over one shoulder, aimed it at tin cans and yelled, ‘Bang, bang.’ I’d seen Oldest brother do the same thing before he joined the Army.

  Life went on and Elsie’s pins moved closer to our station. I’d stopped growing, but Elsie hadn’t. As her legs grew longer, Elsie sat on a chair, not in the dust, when she sketched me, but she still loved to gallop around the stockyard and lasso poddies. Elsie had another birthday and we both ate fruitcake. Elsie said she was thirteen years old and that I was almost two. She used my toes to teach me numbers, and counting made sense until ‘four’. After that I became muddled.

  Elsie had taken over the job of moving Oldest brother’s pins. Every evening she shifted them back and forth on the map. One of the stockmen, Dave, had given her another map. This one was smaller. There was just one big shape instead of lots of different ones. Elsie said it was a map of Australia. She pushed her shiniest pin into the place where our station was. This new dot was bigger than a flea but smaller than a tick. Elsie showed me the same Australia shape on Oldest brother’s map.

  ‘See, it’s the same,’ she said.

  I turned my head, feeling bewildered as I looked back and forth.

  Then Elsie pointed to the space around Australia. ‘This is all water,’ she said. ‘Huge oceans of water, Princess!’

  I barked. The most water we saw was after summer storms when the river came down. Besides Christmas, it was my favourite time. The river began as a trickle, skittering over the dry earth, but soon Elsie and I had to jump aside as the trickle became a racing river. The foaming water brought rocks and branches, beetles and snakes and sometimes even a drowned calf to crash into shrubs along the edges of the wide banks. After the water slowed, it left a string of pools for Elsie and me to play in. Elsie said that the ocean on her map never dried up. It was too confusing. I chased my tail until Elsie laughed and kissed me.

  Seasons changed. Paper daisies, candle bush and mulla-mulla flowers bloomed then faded. New calves grew big enough for us to muster.

  Every day the Boss grumbled about the drought. Elsie and I kept out of his way. The rumbling-sky season arrived. I chased lizards and tried not to bark at the sky. Then it was first frog-call time, but we didn’t hear many frogs singing.

  One night, the radio voice spoke about a ship called Sydney.

  War had smashed it and hundreds of men were missing. I’d seen ships in Elsie’s schoolbooks. War must be huge, I thought, if it can break up a ship. Another night the radio voice spoke about a place called ‘Pearl Harbor’. The humans became even more worried. Middle brother put bullets into the rabbit gun and made louder banging noises as he shot cans behind the shed. Another stockman left. The Boss became angrier. I cowered as he kicked the red dust and complained that War had taken his best workers.

  He watched the sky, cursing at dark clouds, until at last they obeyed him, opening like seed pods and dropping hard rain. Then the radio voice spoke about somewhere called ‘Singapore’ and a dark mood settled over the family. The voice said Singapore had fallen. How can a place fall, I wondered. Elsie pushed a pin into a dot in the ocean just above Australia. The humans were restless. Whenever I licked someone, I could taste fear in their sweat. I growled at the radio. If the owner of that bad-news voice came near my Elsie, I would bite him hard.

  After Singapore fell down, there was talk of evacuation and I wondered what that meant. The family gathered around the radio to listen to the new Prime Minister. I liked Mister Curtin’s voice. He sounded safe. As I rested my nose on Elsie’s warm foot, Mister Curtin said,

  Every Australian has a duty. I call you to your duty. With the fall of Singapore the battle for Australia has opened. There must not be a man or woman in this Commonwealth going to bed tonight without having related his or her working time to purposes of helping to defend Australia. Playtime must be put aside: hours given to sport and leisure must be given to the war.

  I felt Elsie shiver.

  ‘Aren’t I allowed to play any more?’ she asked.

  ‘Of course not, stupid,’ Middle brother said. ‘We all need to do our bit now.’

  I bristled, but Elsie wasn’t angry. She just smelt sad.

  The next day Middle brother and an older stockman packed kitbags. They said they were going to
‘fight the Japs’. Youngest brother kicked a stone around the dust. He was upset but I didn’t know why. The Missus clung to Elsie.

  Each time the humans talked about War, I imagined a giant shadow-creature gobbling everything in its path. But I had no words to explain that to Elsie. For a human, Elsie was better than most at sensing moods. She must have guessed that War confused me. Or maybe I was the only one left that Elsie could talk to, because one morning Elsie drew pictures for me in the dirt. She said that War was when people fought each other for land, or when they thought it was the right thing to do. The lines on the ground reminded me of kelpies and heelers peeing on their territory to threaten other dogs, but I couldn’t explain that to Elsie.

  War had taken so many people away from our station, but one day it brought someone to us. A nervous-smelling stranger came with a letter from the War. He gave it to the Boss. No one spoke as the Boss opened the letter and read the words: ‘We deeply regret to inform you …’

  The Missus fell into a chair. I crept closer to Elsie, nuzzling her leg, trying to lick away her fright. Elsie held me close and murmured that the letter was from the Army. Oldest brother was missing.

  ‘Maybe the Japs have captured him,’ Youngest brother said.

  Elsie’s mother began weeping and the Boss slapped Youngest brother’s ear.

  While the family rested through the heat of the afternoon, I watched the Boss squash the sad-news letter into a ball. He threw it onto the floor and muttered bad words that Elsie wasn’t allowed to say. They weren’t ladylike.

  After the Boss left the room I slunk over to the crackly paper. It held strange smells. I pushed it with my nose and sensed fear; people running and screaming.