Far away from Cairns, in the middle of Cape York Peninsula on a dusty, wild, Australian cattle station, Bitssy’s mother lay down in a shaded, dry, creek bed to rest. She had been out checking the fences with her Aboriginal ringer, the manager of Boundreesafe station. He hadn’t asked her to come along but he always welcomed her company. Her long years of service had meant that she could now relax and be a verandah dog: a cherished addition to the homestead. But Marnsy always ignored the privilege. She was a working dog and she loved to be out with Sam. Lagging behind, she needed to rest a little just to get her breath back. Parrots and huge black cockatoos played in the trees above her. Their coarse cries were a bush lullaby and the tired old mother soon drifted peacefully into the land of dreams.
Within her sleep space, cattle, dust and flies crept over her mind, beckoning her to awake. But she was so tired, so very tired. One more minute she thought, just one more minute’s rest.
A large grey dog stood in front of her. His eyes were like coals from the night fire, glowing and pulsating. Mother Marnsy jumped up, her tail low and her ears flat against her head. Slowly, the hairs along her back rose clearly showing her displeasure at having her space invaded. Marnsy’s growl, low, deep and long, pushed from her mouth like a mouse scurrying for cover. Her stare fixed on the huge furry grey intruder with the strange eyes. Her body told him that she was a force to be reckoned with.
The furry grey dog threw its head into the air and let go a haunting howl. The howl went on for longer than Marnsy could hold her breath and its tone reached deep into her soul to quieten and caress her lovesick spirit. Magically Marnsy settled, her early warning signs flattened down as though the wolf had poured oil onto swirling, snapping water to feed and calm it. She dropped
willingly and obediently to a waiting position in the dirt.
“A wolf,” Marnsy said aloud to herself, curious and unafraid. “A wolf in the outback. You’re out of place here. Why do you come, brother?”
The wolf ignored Marnsy’s question. He turned his back to her and howled in the direction of the sun beaten, dying, riverbed scrub. Marnsy felt duty-bound to follow the direction of the howl. Looking toward the edge of the scrub, she saw a vision. Her weary old heart jumped like a playful pup chasing a tennis ball. Her mouth, nowadays usually closed and sad, broke into a grin that slid down over her body and turned her into a young cattle pup again.
“Bitola Pride,” she whispered through smiling teeth, “my husband.”
Bitola Pride walked slowly toward his earthly wife. The strange white glow around him made him look like the shining top star of the cattle-rounding world that he was in his younger years. Unable to hold her eagerness, Marnsy galloped toward him and leapt, in a puppy fashion, eager to hug the dog she loved more than raw kangaroo meat. But she jumped straight through her heart’s desire. Marnsy, upset and showing it as anger, thought that the wolf must have been teasing her. She spun around to face him. Crouched low on the ground, growling wildly, every hair spiked as if greased, Marnsy’s body warned the wolf that she would have his testicles as souvenirs.
The wolf blinked at Marnsy and howled his disapproval at her. Not worried by the wolf’s louder and stronger howl, Marnsy prepared herself for an end-of-the-world battle.
“I will die for the memory of my loved ones,” barked Marnsy. “I will die with their names on my lips. Give me my dreams or one of us will become food for the dingoes.”
The fiery Australian sun high in the sky suddenly and magically sucked brightly into a single flare like the Olympic flame. It coached the mottled light in the dry creek bed toward it like a cockroach sprinting from a can of Mortein leaving an arena of night. The only eerie glow left to light the dusty creek bed came from Bitola Pride and the wolf.
Not scared, for she was a brave old dog, Marnsy widened her eyes and looked from one to another. Both dogs were glowing, calmly watching her. Marnsy’s mind raced. She had heard campfire stories about Min Min lights and fantastic dreamtime creations. Dreamtime stories! That was it. This was a dream that was trying to tell her something.
Marnsy stood tall and proud beside her husband. Her love for him created a glow of her own, a glow that would have been visible from outer space. After a long, loving look toward her dead husband’s ghost, she faced the wolf and her head nodded to say that she was ready to receive his message.
Images of Bitssy from a brand new pup to an older Bitssy standing up to Caramel, flashed like gold through a pan in Marnsy’s mind. The wolf showed the cattle dog couple, one of who had been savagely killed before Bitssy was even born, that the pup had developed into a strong, safe and sensible dingo who was succeeding in her city life. A dingo who could recognize her own body as a sacred space that deserved protection. A dingo who would lead the way by showing others that speaking up and body ownership are important issues. A dingo who allowed her own wolf voice to show her how to flush out the prized catch of freedom: body ownership that no one else had the right to interfere with. A dingo who listened to the voice of her dreams and found the howl that needed to be heard. A dingo who stepped through the door of fear and was greeted with a mat of acceptance and support, not only from wolves but from the big people around her too. A dingo whosedreaming had saved her life.
Marnsy’s heart was as light and fluffy as a freshly washed puppy. She knew her Bitssy would go far. Her special pup, sadly born of a violent encounter with Australia’s feral killing machine, was a dingo out of place in an unfamiliar world. She knew that if Bitssy had a chance to go to the city that the obvious looking inbuilt dingo killing genes would be refocused to a useful purpose. She would become more like the father that she should have had.
“I have done the right thing,” Marnsy said to the wolf and Bitola Pride. “I have missed my baby, but she is an Indigenous leader, a link between the dreaming of the Cape and the violence of the city. My Bitssy has shown that plenty of space can be found wherever she goes. She will carry the wide-open country of her homeland in her heart and let it shine through her body. It is her dreaming to fit big space into her body space.”
Bitola Pride looked lovingly to his wife as he settled down to peace, in the earthy, familiar, country of his youth. Marnsy joined him in the dust and closed her eyes to savour a final dreaming with him.
Whistling for Marnsy to come, Sam Boundreesafe began to wonder where she had run off to.
“That old dog one good tracker,” he laughed to himself. “She gonna round up dem clean skins probly an bring em to me. I bin thinking that she be real manager of all this country. That dog got one good nose for seeing. She like a spirit dog. Good medicine dog. I gunna give my dog sum dry tucker and tell her she good. Real good dog, like my best mate.”
Deciding to have some tucker himself before checking out the front fences, Sam headed his horse toward the creek bed to boil the billy. Entering through a well-worn cattle path, he came face to face with Marnsy’s body lying stiff in the bull dust. Her earthly form had been invaded by thousands of meat ants, hungrily searching out breaks in her skin to begin their carnivorous assault. Flies were swarming her face and crawling into crevices and holes that now stared blankly ahead, unmoving and unaffected by the harshness of the bush food chain.
Sam jumped from his horse and ran to help her. While checking her body for snakebite, the grief began to tremble in his hands, shoulders and legs. To the silent wild life watching mournfully from behind, it looked as though he was shaking Marnsy awake. The rousing dingoes, sensing something was wrong, sniffed forward toward the creek bed scrub. Hiding behind the trees they noiselessly watched Sam, sitting cross-legged in the dirt, rocking Marnsy in his arms and wailing an Aboriginal corroboree song to help Marnsy’s spirit find her dreaming ancestors. The wild native dogs smelt Sam’s tears and knew that Marnsy was dead.
In a single dingo chorus of respect, a howl covered the wide-open space like an envelope over a sympathy card. The howling message stick sounded deep in the hearts of every human and animal body within the fences of Boundreesafe station. The knowing settled over them like a cape of dreaming. A special dreaming that would be worn to remind future generations about body boundaries and inner wolf strength. Marnsy’s life, and death, had given them all the gift of knowing.
Eulogy.
On Boxing Day, there was a most unusual occurrence in Jensen St, Edge Hill. Bitssy and Marmalade, in the front yard, were playfully teasing a cheeky little willy wag tail. The tiny black and white bird appeared to be jealously guarding a swarm of termites disrupted by a tropical storm and was most upset by the presence of a cat and dog in her vicinity.
The concept of 
