Tippy was a super dog. Best one we ever had.
A kelpie, black as ink with a white patch on his chest. Nothing and no one could stop him. Best dog in town. Easy.
Only thing was, sometimes he liked to run away.
Mick reckoned he was going out rooting, because it’d mostly happen in spring and he’d usually be gone for a couple of days at least. Sometimes he’d come back with long welts across his back, like someone had given him a whipping.
After the fourth or fifth time, Mick reckoned we couldn’t have him loose in the backyard anymore, so he chained him to the water bowl, with a padlock and everything. Tippy’s water bowl wasn’t a normal one like people get from the shops. It was this enormous cast-iron pot we scavved from the tip. Really heavy.
We found him miles away, dragging that cast-iron pot along the road like a complete mental case. He must’ve been desperate for a root, to drag it all that way. It still had some water in it, so he could have a drink when he got tired. That’s what Mick said.
Mick’s my older brother, and he has an opinion on most things, even if he’s wrong sometimes. Mick’s real name is Michael, but everyone calls him Mick, even Mum. He really cracks it if you call him Michael.
Only Nan called him that. She’s the only one who could get away with it. She’s the one who called me Jimmy too. My real name’s Jim, but it was Jimmy that stuck. Mum says I was named after Jim Hawkins in Treasure Island, which is a movie and a book. She says she’s only seen the movie, though.
When the water bowl didn’t work, Mick chained Tippy to the fence out back. He didn’t like it much. He barked a lot. Then he’d go quiet for a bit. Then he’d start up barking again.
I realised later that the quiet time must have been when he was thinking about what he was gonna do. Planning it all out…
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