winkinatcha

Read Part 1 First!!! Will be the post BEFORE this

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One time when feeling flush I discovered the joy of dogbones. I'd gone into one of the two
butchers in town and asked for a big lump of rump steak for me and a bag of bones for the
dog. The man came back with half a ribcage from a lamb, some beef knuckles and trimmings
with at least a couple of handfuls of meat mixed with the fat. All he wanted was a couple of
bucks, so I went to the other butchers, and for another couple of dollars, I got much the same.
Now I don't know if these lads figured out I was eating the stuff as well, but they always
seemed awful generous with what they called "offcuts".
These and trimmings from the bones and larger joints, I boil up with some spuds, and carrots,
and anything that comes to hand or fancy. Into my giant pot, to boil and simmer for a day or
so then the three or four day's worth of food I share with Hapenny.
Dog-bone stew. It doesn't keep me fat, but it keeps me fed, and I can still blow enough money
for a roaring drunk when required.
Now the swing of the work and the length of the days doesn't see me drinking too often. I’m
out of my aluminium cage more times than in, and the cottage is taking shape.
What began (or what was left after the ravages of time) as two corners of a cottage, fire place
and ten foot of chimney slowly grows from the earth. I hoped I'd have the four walls and roof
done by the end of autumn, but I surprise myself. The quickening of spring fills me with
gumption I didn't know I had.
First I clear out the rocks that used to be the walls, now tumbled. Two more corners of the
cottage reveal themselves and I dig foundations to fill in the gaps and buttresses to keep them
steady.
By the time summer is certain in its grasp, I am well into the task of raising the walls, and day
by day they get bigger. While this is happening, the walls of Hapenny's belly get bigger too.
The pups are coming, they’ll be here any time now.
One morning I awake to squeaks and mewls of new-born pups. I look beneath the van, and
there’s Hapenny, suckling six little pups, blind handfuls of life, little more than bellies and tiny
legs, big heads and noses too small.
The next two days I spend most of my time fussing over Hapenny, and lying under the van,
watching the strength of growing life manifesting itself, doggy-style.
Six puppies, they’re going to be a handful when they start to grow.
After two days of dog- and self-indulgence, I’m back to building the house, the gaps between
the corners now stand at chest height, so I have to build scaffolding of sorts, from deadfall
logs on top of dry stone buttresses so that I don't have to lift the rocks so high.
I have the form of the windows and maybe two thirds of the door area blocked in. Now the
door has me worried. I want to put in a rock lintel. I guess I could use wood, but a rock lintel
would be an achievement for any man. A piece of stone, raised above head-height, maybe
three feet long and six inches wide and high. In weight, pretty close to the maximum that I
could carry. A big lump of rock and a serious job of work.
Another week and all the walls are at head height. The pups are staggering around exploring
their ever-expanding world, first within a few yards of the caravan, then further and further until
they can happily cover the fifty yards or so to the strategically placed pile of rocks that now
almost looks like a house.
The time has come to place the lintel in position. The rock's already chosen and shaped. It
took me most of a morning to move the rock from down by the stream just 200 yards from the
house. A supreme effort of will to lift it to my knees, but once there I could shuffle-walk and
carry it maybe twenty yards without rest, holding it off the ground for maybe three or four
minutes.
Hapenny regularly leads the pups up to the house so they can all watch me work. It's nice to
sit down and have a smoke while they play around my ankles. I think it might be time to start
weaning them a little, give Hapenny a rest. When I go into town tomorrow, I'll get a few more
dog bones, maybe a bit of offal as well, some liver and hearts, and make another pot of stew.
I'm going to have to get rid of those puppies soon enough though. I don't really have a need
for seven dogs. Maybe I'll keep one and sell the rest. Hapenny is smart enough and I'm
pretty sure that their sire is the neighbouring farmer's sheepdog, so they might be okay as
working dogs. I'll check out the town tomorrow, who knows, I might be able to get a few
dollars for them. Don't know how moral that is though.
To get the lintel up over the door, I will have to work in stages. I spend the rest of the day
building a ramp up to the top of the doorway, strong enough to take me and the rock. I
maneuver the rock to the foot of the ramp, and leave it there for the following morning. It's
dark and I'm hungry, and I want the morning's energy to complete this simple yet concentrated
task.
Sharing the last of the current pot of stew with Hapenny and the pups that night, I rejoice that
I'm getting somewhere. Once this lintel is in place, it will only be about another week to bring
the walls to roof height, and then maybe two weeks for the roof. I almost have a cottage. I
clean out the pot and hang it on the fire, setting kindling and paper and all grades of wood in
place… After the lintel is done tomorrow I'll knock off early and go into town, bring back a
mountain of food and have a feast.
The next morning, I'm up with the dawn chorus, making myself a pot of tea and walking up the
cottage to survey what needs to be done. I take my time over the first cigarette for the day
and then I am ready, pumping myself up like a weight lifter at a competition.
Hapenny has brought the pups up to watch the show, and they seem amused as I heave the
lintel up onto my knees. Clasping it to my hips as though carrying a sleeping child to bed, I
start the shuffle up the ramp. The weight of the rock stretches my muscles out in protest.
One of the pups must have climbed up the ramp in front of me and I don't notice it, my eyes
on where the lintel will be, the doorway at the end of my ramp.
I put my foot down on something soft, and the pup screams. Trying to get my weight off it,
and control the rock, I lose my balance and feel incredible pressure as all my weight and more
comes bearing down on one leg, not yet ready to accept it.
The pup wedges itself beneath my other foot. I have to transfer weight from my other leg
before it dislocates or worse. The pup screams and I feel it give. The stone is too heavy and
starts to slip. I can't stop it as it comes down to crush the pup; all I can do is try to control its
and my inevitable fall.
In a desperate effort to get my feet out from under, I wrench my back, leaping sideways and
down to land heavily against the ramp, the rock mere inches from my foot, the pup crushed
beneath, and my back, like a block of ice, beyond pain, sending a message to my head of
unutterable wrongness.
Somehow I stand and walk, ever so gently, ever so carefully, back towards the caravan,
balancing my body like a pole, eyes straight ahead, every sideways twist sends messages of
terror from my back.
My body holds itself together.
I walk up the steps into the caravan and I ease myself backwards onto the bed and let the
pain and shock rise up in waves and wash me away.