'An easy life does not make for good copy'

The inlet vibe has turned pretty gothic lately. Mid winter, winter solstice, all that. I'm always coming back to Nora Ephraim's 'everything is copy' and so now I'm going to subject you all to my version of 'everything'.

You know that feeling when you look at your dog a bit differently and think, 'She's actually a wild animal. She's descended from wolves and I forgot all about that while she was sitting on my lap.' Anyway when all the fishing shacks were broken into, a few people expressed concern for me because I live in the bush on my own. I can't see people coming in and out from the shacks and felt a bit bad that I hadn't clocked the thieves. But I felt pretty safe 'cos my dog kills cats!' (More about this incident later.)

My sister came to stay after the borders opened. While I pursued my Sunday afternoon pastime of newspaper and wine on the back veranda, she took Selkie for a walk along the beach just down the hill from the house. 

A few minutes late I could hear, 'Selkie! Selkie! No No! Come here. Oh my God Selkie come here!' I put on my boots and headed for the beach. Sister's yelling changed from commanding to cajoling and then back to screaming, 'Sarah! Get down here. Selkie! Please. Oh Fuck.'

I could hear splashing around in the water and thought maybe the dog had caught a pelican. Negligible chances but anyway. By the time I found my sister along the beach, she was taking off her boots and getting ready to go into the water. 'She's got a roo out there,' she said. 

I called the dog, who was swimming around the kangaroo, and she started coming back but then would turn back to finish the roo off. They were fighting each other in the water. Three times she turned back. Sister was still intent on going after her and I told her to stay on shore. 'You can't wade into an underwater dog fight,' I said. All we could do was watch as the kangaroo's head sank beneath the waves and Selkie returned to shore. 

Kangaroos will lead a dog chasing them into deep water in order to drown or disembowel the dog. Friends have given me anecdotes that have gone one way or the other. Sister and I both knew this, hence our panic. When she finally got to shore, I turned over the dog on the beach sand to inspect her belly and saw ... not a scratch on her. We went back to the house with a totally hyped dog who was wired for at least the next few hours.

She'd chased the roo through shallow water and then they'd both fallen into a hole, which is where they both started fighting. Anyway the carcass washed up a few days later. Sister took Selkie for another walk. 'Don't find any roos!' I said jokingly and she came home with, 'Found that roo.' 

Bugger. Now I have a carcass right next to my home, I was thinking. I tried to keep the dog away from it but she'd take off to inspect her kill. The other day the carcass was on the beach in front of my house. She'd dragged it along the beach and was dragging it closer to the house every day. I could see the marks in the sand where she'd moved it. I mean, this is where the gothic comes in. a dead kangaroo steadily advancing towards my home.

A decision had to be made. I have a dead kangaroo on the shore, disintegrating by the minute that I'm pretty sure Selkie is going to be rolling in soon. She was also guarding the carcass: every time she heard a crow or sea eagle, she'd bolt down to the beach to see it off. This was her kill.

Should I bury it on the beach and cover the grave in corrugated iron and stones, so she couldn't dig it up? Should I shovel the body onto the back of my ute and dump it into the bush several kilometres away? (I've done this one before) But I couldn't stomach either of these options. It was a dilemma. The carcass was too far gone for any respectful treatment. Knowing I come from a black powder family, a friend suggested this:

That's not quite adequate either, really.
In the end I gathered some rope and a house brick today, put on my covid mask and trudged resolutely down to the beach in my gum boots. Selkie followed, watching bemused, as I towed the fifty kilogram dead kangaroo out to sea and set it, like a net, where my dog had drowned it.

'Why can't my life be easy?' I emailed (wailed) my friend last night, as I was trying to nut this whole thing out.
'An easy life does not make for good copy,' she replied.