10-23-2017, 12:51 AM
(This post was last modified: 09-09-2023, 05:50 PM by DingoJay.
Edit Reason: Removed extra line feeds.
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This is a fantasy story that I have been working on for quite a few years in fits and starts. I never made an outline and I have no idea where it's going. Even though the disclaimer threatens/promises "naughty bits," I haven't yet added any. It needs another chapter or six and an ending...
Warning: This story has some naughty bits. If you are underage or easily offended, you probably shouldn't be reading this. On the other hand, if you're looking for a wank story, you'll probably be disappointed... © 1998 by Dingo Jay. Free distribution OK, no modifications. NO pay site use!
Dreamtime [Working Title]
A work in progress by Dingo Jay
Hello, my name is Digger. Now of course that's not my real name, but I don't suppose many of us use our real names on the Web then, do we? I'm what you might call somewhat of a regular on the furry chat sites; my avatar is a non-'morphic (Feral, you might say?) Dingo with human intelligence. Nothing remarkable about that. No doubt hundreds of them out there. In real life, though, I'm something quite different—a non-'morphic Dingo with human intelligence! For all you Yanks and Poms and others wondering what the bloody hell a "dingo" is, I suppose I should tell you. The Dingo is the wild dog of Australia. We look a bit like a domesticated dog: medium -sized; long legs; a brush of a tail; pointed, upright ears; and usually a tawny-yellow sort of colour. Most of us live in the Outback bush country, as did I until I came to live amongst humans.
When I was a young sprat, I never realised there was anything unusual about me, except for the fact that I knew I was a bit smarter than the rest of the lot. I was always the trickster, forever beating the others at their own games. My puppyhood was perfectly normal, weaned at five weeks, finished teething at five months, started lifting me leg at eight months, and about a month later had my first wet dream. I took a mate and sired a litter at about a year and a half, and another every year after that. It wasn't until I was seven or eight years old that I came to the conclusion that I was very much different after all. It seemed that all of my mates were getting dreadfully old and grey, and I was not. It really hit home when I lost my beloved lady at the age of twelve years. Before she breathed her last, she had told me she was terribly tired, and she looked every bit of it. She and I were the same age, and though she was totally worn out, I was still young and healthy.
My mate's passing had left me with a horrible feeling of emptiness, and it helped only a bit to think back on my fondest memories of her. She'd been a fabulous lover, patient and gentle, and an exemplary mother to our pups. She had presented our pack with perhaps forty of them over the years, most of them rather ordinary, though I believe a few may have turned out similar to myself. (I'm still not sure if my peculiarities are a blessing or a curse.) My mate was gone, though, and most of our offspring had wandered off to form packs of their own. I felt there was nothing left for me there, so I decided to go walkabout. What I hoped to find, I have no bloody idea, but I was going to keep walking until I found it.
I walked for a week, then two, eating nothing and drinking little. It was the dry season, and I realised it was not the best time for a walkabout, but it didn't seem to matter. After some time, I came to a road. I knew that roads meant humans were probably nearby. Although humans can be quite dangerous, they have a habit of flinging edible rubbish from their vehicles as they pass by. There had been some humans through there quite recently, the pungent fumes from their vehicles still hung in the air. In fact, it was recent enough that one of them was still there. The human—I gathered it was a female—stood in front of the car, the bonnet open and steam pouring from beneath it. She glared at the mechanical monster, flailing her arms and shouting angrily. My first instinct was to run, but it looked as though her anger was directed at the car, and I wasn't sure if she was even aware of my presence. The car's doors were open, and I thought perhaps I could snatch something edible from the inside and be off before she spotted me.
She suddenly turned, and as her eyes met mine, I felt as though my luck had run out. I ordered my legs to run, but I was so weary and footsore, the best I could do was to back away a few steps.
"And what are YOU waiting for, you furry bludger?, " she snapped. "I suppose you'll be gnawin' on me bones by morning!"
I had seen humans before, but had never had one speak to me. I just stared dumbfounded at her. She picked up an object from the front of the car, and tossed it at me. It clanked as it bounced across the road, and came to rest a short distance in front of me. I backed away a few more steps, but something kept me from running, even though I knew I should. How was it that this human had spoken to me in the same way as another dingo would? Most fascinating creatures!
"So, you're a tame one, eh? Must have wandered off from an Abbo camp." She took a few steps towards me, and leaned over a bit. "You look as though you haven't eaten in weeks! You poor thing! Maybe I could spare something."
Tame? Me? Certainly not! But if she was going to throw some food, she was really speaking my language! She rummaged about inside the car, and found some bones and fat left from her previous meal. They were just a bit 'ripe' from the heat, but that's how I like them. She threw them in front of me, and I gulped down the soft bits, then lay down to chew at the bones. She walked right up to me, and did the most curious thing. She brushed the flat of her hand along the length of me back! I felt every muscle in my body tense up, but as she kept it up, it proved to be rather relaxing. The fear was gone from me now, replaced by a most wonderful calm feeling. Perhaps now she'd pull out the knife and slit me throat!
My fears were unfounded, as she went back to wrestling with the car, and after a bit she reached inside of it, and it came back to life with a roar. I jumped back, but she beckoned me to the open door. More food perhaps? I moved closer to investigate.
"Well are you coming with me, or would you rather stay out here and starve?"
Go with her. In that THING? I don't think so. She shoved me inside and slammed the door behind me. I no longer had a choice. She got in the car herself and it began to move. I had never experienced anything quite like this, and I think that if I'd had more in me stomach than what I did, it would not have stayed there! I cowered on the floor at first, but as I became accustomed to the motion, I found it more comfortable to sit up and look out of the windows. The interior of the car had a very faint canine scent to it, probably left over from a long time ago. After a short time my stomach had settled, and I felt somewhat more confident that I wasn't in mortal danger, so I decided it was time to introduce myself.
"I'm Digger." I knew that humans communicate vocally, but since she had 'spoken' to me like this, I decided to try doing the same.
The woman turned 'round with a startled look on her face, and the car lurched, almost leaving the road.
"Pleased to meet you, Digger. I'm Maggie."
"Maggie... Yes, all right. Maggie, can all humans talk to us...?"
"To animals, you mean? No, I'm sort of... well, special. Some people think I'm a loony, actually. I can't talk to all animals, though."
"I suppose that makes me a bit special too, then, no?"
"I suppose it does. You look like you've been walkabout. What are you running from, Digger?"
"Nothing in particular. My mate died a few weeks ago, and I just sort of wandered off."
"I know what that's like. I lost my own mate eight years ago. You don't forget them, but at least the pain fades."
"I certainly do hope so. I've not had the ambition to hunt, I've just been walking."
"Hunt...? Do you mean you didn't live with humans?"
"No. In fact, I have never been this close to one before. Where are we going, Maggie?"
"Well, I had planned to take you to my place, but it hadn't occurred to me that you were a wild animal."
"What difference should that make? One place is as good as another."
"Humans live in houses, so if you want to stay with me, you'll have to learn the rules."
We arrived at Maggie's place, and she led me to a small, fenced area in back of the house. Fences have never stopped me before, but I had no particular desire to leave. She left in her car, but returned a short time later carrying some large sacks. One of them contained something that smelt vaguely edible.
"What's that, Maggie?"
"It's dog food. I know it's not as good as 'roo haunches or emu eggs, but it's got everything you need."
She poured some out for me, and in spite of how dreadful it tasted I ate as much as I could hold.
When I had finished eating, Maggie approached me with a pail of water and some other smallish object. I had no idea what she was about, but it looked like I was about to find out. She splashed the water all over me, then rubbed it into my fur. No worries, I sometimes did this myself when the weather got hot. What happened next almost had me running for the nearest exit. The other thing she carried was a bottle of the nastiest-smelling stuff I had ever known! She poured some of this evil concoction onto my back, then smeared it down my sides, on my head, and around my tail. As she rubbed it into my coat, it erupted into a horrible froth that stung at my eyes, as well as my... er, sensitive bits. The smell was overpowering! Another bucket of water washed away most of the froth, but not the smell. I asked her what the bloody hell she thought she was doing, and she said something about me being 'dreadfully black and dusty after running through the Flinders and the Cinders.' That's how I became acquainted with Maggie's passion for having everything clean and tidy. It wasn't all bad, I suppose. When I was finally dry, my coat did have a rather nice shine to it, free at last from twelve years of dust and muck. And the fleas to which I was accustomed had apparently left me. I didn't miss them as much as I thought I would... But oh, that smell!
The next order of business was learning how to conduct myself like a gentleman in the house. The first few times I was allowed indoors, Maggie watched me like a goanna watches a wounded bandicoot. I only once tried cocking me leg, and the ear-splitting screech that Maggie let out reminded me that my misbehaviour was totally unacceptable! Once I learned that one doesn't mark one's territory indoors, and that newspapers and magazines are not intended to be shredded to make myself a bed, we got along nicely. Oh, yes... and the little roll of paper in the dunny is not there for my personal amusement. As my manners improved, I was allowed to stay in the house most of the time. Maggie even let me sleep on the bed with her. She said her old dog Shep always slept there, and I could see why. Such a lovely, soft place to sleep! We never had anything like it in the bush.
The weeks went by, and as I got accustomed to eating dog food, I quickly fleshed out to my normal, handsome self. I had begun wearing a collar, which took a bit of getting used to, though now I feel a bit naked without it. The most difficult part of domesticated life to take, though, was the trip to the veterinary. They poked and prodded me in places I'd rather not be poked and prodded in, and then they jabbed me hide full of holes. As if that weren't sadistic enough, they tried to convince Maggie to have them lop off my balls, which so far, she hasn't allowed! I know what you guys are thinking. A single woman, and a yiffy bloke like me... Sorry to disappoint you, but I never... er, I mean, we don't... Hey, she's not my mate, all right?!
It's not that I haven't considered taking a human mate. I don't suppose I would outlive her as I did my first one, and there are other advantages as well. Human females are always up for it, whereas female dingoes come in heat only once a year. If you beg and plead and whinge enough, you might get it a bit more often, but personally I've always had better luck with the other blokes. I'm not a poof, but a fellow does what a fellow has to do... After all, what's a bit of sheath-docking amongst friends, eh? The problem is that most of the women I know seem to have this thing about only associating with their own species. All save for one, but I'm getting ahead of myself here. More about that later.
One Saturday morning just before the rainy set in, I woke to find Maggie and some of her friends dragging all of her worldly possessions out onto the lawn. This puzzled me, so I decided to have a geek at what was going on. There were all sorts of people I had never seen before, and they were loading Maggie's things into cars and utes, and driving off!
"Maggie, where are they going with all of your stuff?"
"I'm getting rid of everything. We're moving to America!"
"America. That's about as far from here as you can go, isn't it?"
"Yes, I suppose it is, but I've taken a job at a university there."
"I'm going too?"
"Yes, of course, love! It will be quite a shock for both of us, but we'll see each other through it, I'm sure."
A peculiar feeling started to overtake me. It was then that I realised that I had never been more than a fortnight’s walk from where I was born!
America turned out to be even farther away than I had thought. An entire day and night in the cargo hold of an airplane with only one stop to pee isn't exactly my idea of a fun holiday! Not to mention that it was dark and noisy, with a most unpleasant smell. It seemed more like weeks. When the doors finally opened and two burly gents tossed my crate out onto the bitumen, a terribly cold gust of wind blew in my face. Colder even than the time I stuck my head into the fridge to snatch a bit of meat when Maggie wasn't looking! I sat freezing in the crate for what seemed like hours before Maggie's smiling face appeared at the door. She looked genuinely pleased to see me, and held me close for a moment or two before taking me out to relieve myself. She gave me some water and a few of my favourite sort of bikkies, but then it was back in the crate to go through Customs.
The customs agent was a young woman, tall and dark-haired. She examined Maggie's papers briefly, then spent much longer going through her luggage. Eventually, it was time for me to be inspected. I suppose she had to make certain I wasn't hiding any drugs, bombs, or contraband veggies in my crate. Maggie snapped the leash onto my collar and took me out. The agent was quite taken with me, as most of the ladies are, and her eyes grew wide. I put on my sweetest doggie grin and wagged me tail a bit.
"He's pretty! I see a lot of dogs come through here, but I haven't seen one like him before. What breed is he?"
"He's a cross, actually," Maggie replied. "Probably Kelpie with Queensland Heeler, and some Dingo perhaps. He was a stray."
"I don't know any of those breeds, but he sure is a handsome guy. Oh, your papers from the vet show that all his shots are up to date, so there won't be any need for quarantine."
We were certainly relieved to hear that. Six months in the nick for being an illegal alien just isn't my cup of tea!
Once we were outside of the terminal, I was allowed out of my crate, and this time Maggie took it apart and stacked the bits. I had mixed feelings—I hated being in there, but at least it afforded some protection from the cold wind. As I stood there shivering, Maggie pulled something from her bag that looked like a child's jacket and put it on me. I'm sure I looked silly wearing it, but I was much more comfortable! We hadn't been there long before a van pulled up, and a portly man with grey hair and a beard jumped out to greet us.
"You're Dr. Barrow, I presume? I'm Professor Bill Rose from the university. You'll be working with me."
"Please call me Maggie. And this is Digger. I do hope you don't mind dogs!"
"Not at all, Maggie. I have three of my own, and they're a lot bigger than him. He does seem to be well behaved, though."
They loaded Maggie's bags into the van, and the Professor apologised for the cold weather as we rode away from the airport. At least it was warm and comfy inside the van.
"It's not usually so cold this time of year. Hopefully it'll warm up in a few days."
"No worries." Maggie looked at me and smiled. "We've got the chance to see how dashing Digger looks in his new vest!"
Professor Bill chuckled a bit, then turned more serious. "Do you have a place to stay?"
"I had planned to stay in the women's dormitory until I could find something more permanent."
"Not with a dog you won't! I have a very small apartment over my garage. No one has lived there for a few years, so it's pretty dusty, and some of my junk is stored up there. Maybe I could get a couple of students to tidy it up for you."
"Why, thank you! It hadn't even occurred to me that Digger would present a problem... I'll certainly have a look."
We arrived at the Professor's place after an hour's ride. It was an older house set far back from the street, with trees all round of a sort I had never seen before. Three German shepherd dogs burst through the door as soon as it was opened! Each of them was at least twice my size, and every instinct told me to run, though experience told me otherwise. My numerous encounters with farm dogs had taught me that first impressions were everything. I stood my ground but averted my eyes slightly, and waited for the fur to fly. When the bristling and fang-baring bit had passed, they proceeded to sniff me all over, and I did likewise to them. The most interesting thing I noticed about them was that they were all female. I was already beginning to like this place! They exchanged a few unladylike remarks concerning my gender and the anatomy associated with it, but being the gentleman that I am, I pretended not to notice.
Once we were properly acquainted, I learned that the alpha of the pack was Anna, and the other two were her daughters, Katie and Missy. Katie was the most polite and friendly of the lot, and I found myself spending most of my time with her. Just as I was considering asking her to be my mate, she happened to mention that she and her mum and sister are all spayed. A rotten bunch of luck, that! Even so, she was very sweet and I always enjoyed her company.
It wasn't long before Professor Bill noticed something was unusual about me. He began playing silly little games with me whenever we had a quiet moment together. He would put a ball under one of three boxes and mix them up, and I was supposed to remember which box had the ball. I would get it right every time, but when he tried it with Katie, she would simply knock over all the boxes until she found it. We played other sorts of games as well, my favourite being one where I pulled a string on a box that would drop a biscuit for me. I showed the trick to Missy, but she was unimpressed. She tore the box to bits and ate all the bikkies!
I was doing a fair job of keeping Professor Bill fascinated, so he decided to find out what Maggie could tell him about me. "Maggie, have you ever done any kind of intelligence testing on Digger? I've been playing some admittedly unscientific games with him lately, but he seems to have memory and reasoning way beyond any canine I've worked with before."
"Well, he is a dingo, and they're known for their cleverness. You're right, though. He does have something more than that."
"He always seems to know what you want him to do. As if he can read your mind."
"Bill, I'd like to share something with you, but you'll have to promise not to think I'm mad."
"I'm as open-minded as anyone. What is it?"
"Ever since I was a child, I have been able to share thoughts with animals. Not all of them, mind you. Just certain individuals. In fact, I was nine or ten before I was aware that not everyone could do this."
"Wow. Now I've heard everything! I've read about such things, but I always wrote it off as smoke and mirrors. I hope you won't be making it part of your curriculum...?"
"No, of course not. Digger is one of those who shares my gift, but in addition he has intelligence far beyond the average beast, possibly even near-human. I would like, with your permission, to study him in depth. On my own time, if necessary."
"It would have to be on your own time. That's just too far-fetched to even think about letting anyone else find out about it. We'll have to keep it quiet!"
Maggie and Bill began taking me to a laboratory at the university a couple of evenings a week. The place was at once frightful and fascinating, with a large assortment of new sights, sounds and smells. The first thing that caught my eye was a row of cages filled with small animals. They looked tasty, but Maggie said they were study subjects, and not snacks. They reminded me that it had been much too long since I had done any hunting. Not that I particularly relish killing things, it's just that I'm sure they had to taste better than eating the same old boring dog food day after day. There were also a few humans there, and I recognised them as some of the same ones who came to visit us at home. I like most of them, they're always good for a scritch or a pat.
We played some of the usual games and then some new ones, but after a while they all seemed too simple and I was losing interest. Next, we moved to a different room where there were some boxes with squares and lights. Maggie and I sat in front of one of them, and Professor Bill sat behind it, on the other side of a mirror. Another game! This one proved to be a bit more challenging, it was something Maggie called 'noughts and crosses.' If I could hit the squares to make three circles in a row before the machine could make three crosses, it would drop a treat for me. It took a couple of days, but with some help from Maggie I made a go of it, and after a week I was beating the machine every time!
Professor Bill watched me with a bit of amazement. "Damn! I have students who can't beat that program!"
It was getting later than late, and my poor, canine brain had been pushed to its limits and beyond. I finally convinced Maggie to take me home to bed. As she sat at her computer tapping out letters to her friends back home, I hopped up onto the bed and curled up for the night. I thought about some strange dreams I had been having recently—they seemed so real...
I dreamed that I was human!
I found myself at the controls of an airplane. A small sort, a single-engine Cessna 172... Now, how could I have known that? And a spanking new one at that. I brought up the throttle and released the brakes, and as the plane started to move, I pointed it out onto the scrub-grass landing strip. It picked up speed, and I eased the yoke back to begin climbing. Always amazes me how after more than twenty years and many hundreds of flights, the thrill of taking off is still there! Lord help it be a boring flight, I thought to meself, that's the best sort... I felt rather pleased with myself, and with life in general, and it had been a good day to boot. A lovely family, and a lucrative veterinary practice that had made enough money over the last few years that I had been able to replace my old rattle-trap plane with a brand new one. All the latest avionics, even a LORAN, and best of all, retractable landing gear! Raising the gear cut the noise drastically, and added a knot or two to the cruising speed. I levelled-off and made a right-base turn towards home.
Pride goeth before a fall, in my case quite literally! The sound of the engine had changed drastically, a metallic rattle had called my attention to the problem. I was losing oil pressure! The engine suddenly stopped, and though I was able to restart it, it would only run for a few seconds before stalling again. I tried it one more time, and it ran for another minute before the propeller jerked to a sudden halt with a loud clank. Now, brownish drops of oil splattered the right side of the windscreen, and I realised I was in deep trouble! Bloody Yanks! They'd forgotten to tighten something inside the engine, no doubt. Well, losing power isn't necessarily fatal, it had happened to me a time or two before with my old plane...
I looked around me—too far from Beelzebub Station to try turning back. An emergency landing in the bush is not too difficult, there isn't much to hit if one can keep the plane level on the way down. It's just a rather long walk to civilisation, and your next drink of water! As I struggled to keep control of the plane with no power, all sorts of bells and buzzers were sounding in my ears. The stall horn, oil pressure warning buzzer... and most importantly, the 'lower the gear' warning. I clicked the switch to lower the landing gear, but instead of the usual high-pitched whine of the hydraulic pump, there was only a feeble growl. No doubt I had run the battery flat in my fruitless attempts to restart the engine. I pumped frantically at the small manual lever on the floor until the gear looked as though it were in the proper position. The indicator light did not illuminate, but the battery was so low now that nothing was working. I gave the lever a few more strokes for good measure, and eased the yoke back to level off the plane. Not an easy task without power. As the plane touched down on the sandy ground the nose gear suddenly collapsed with a sickening thud, and I felt myself being hurled forward into the instrument cluster. I must have blacked out, although I was vaguely aware of tumbling end over end, a series of metallic crunching sounds, and the pungent smell of gasoline.
I awoke with a shudder and a yelp—what a horrible dream! Upon a quick self-examination, I found that I still had four legs and was covered in fur. I lay in me own bed (or Maggie's actually), safe and sound. Maggie's hand gently caressed the back of my neck, then drooped limply across my shoulders. My heart eventually quit pounding, and I drifted back to sleep.
I awoke again a short time later, to find a short, dark-skinned man with grey hair and a beard staring down at me. He was clad only in tattered dags and wore a sort of wooden amulet on a string round his neck. I was human once again, though unable to move much more than my eyes. To my left, I could see the twisted, smouldering wreckage of my plane. I tried with what little strength I had left to get up, but the man motioned me to be still.
"Be calm, my friend. Your Dreamtime draws near."
I wanted to ask him what he meant, but found I was unable to speak. He waved his amulet over me, which seemed to have the effect of causing me to close my eyes. I believe now that he was perhaps a shaman, and he was administering me last rites... my God! Is this how it ends, out here in Black Stump with a crashed plane and no one about but a native bloke? Just like in a mawkish old movie, my whole life began to pass before me eyes: my childhood; growing up; school; college... then married life, career and kids... I opened my eyes once again to find a different face looking down upon me, and not a human one. It was a very canine face, but not a breed I was familiar with. My semi-comatose mind put a name to the face: dingo! The bloody scavengers had arrived to drag me off. The dingo's visage faded from my sight and was briefly replaced by a battered human one—my own. A rushing sound filled my ears, and a spinning, whirling sort of feeling overtook me. I found myself standing once again, not on two legs, but four. One last, fleeting glimpse of my life passed before me, then it was gone, as though a door had been slammed. I tried recalling the memories once more, nothing...
I shook my head to be rid of the strange sensations, and looked round me. The thing that had fallen from the sky lay in burning heaps of wreckage, with a lifeless human body nearby. Even in death they were frightful, and this one was saturated with some evil-smelling liquid as well. There was nothing here for me, so I trotted off to rejoin my pack...
I opened me eyes and raised my head abruptly. Bloody hell, another one of those odd dreams! It was morning, so after I had a bit of a stretch I gave Maggie a nudge to remind her that it was time for my breakfast. It was a warm, sunny day, so after I finished eating, Maggie let me outdoors to run with Katie and Missy. All too soon, though, it was time for me to be shut up in the flat while Maggie went off to work. I had learned to switch on the telly and change the channels, at least it was something to ease the boredom a bit. What's this then? Some fellows sitting in a circle discussing... I have no idea what. Yawn! Change the channel. That's better, a programme about... coyotes. Handsome blokes, they look as though they could be relatives of mine. I backed away from the screen for a better look, and my tail caught Maggie's remote on the table, knocking it to the floor with a thump. Some strange marks appeared at the bottom of the screen, changing every time the narrator spoke. Now, that's odd... the marks on the screen seemed somehow to make sense to me, as though they were echoing the narrator's words. I was reading the captions. How could I be doing that? Reading is for humans, and it takes them years to learn it at that.
All right then, I could read. This is most odd. I became a bit bored with the television and switched it off, and decided to try my luck with the newspapers. No good. My canine eyes just couldn't seem to focus on the tiny print close up, and if I backed away, it just became a blur. From what I could see, it was hardly worth the trouble, just adverts telling me why I should buy a car from somebody-or-other. Too much excitement for one day, time for a nap. I do hope I don't have another of those dreadful dreams!
I did have dreams, but nothing unusual. I dreamt I was back home in the bush with my pack, running and hunting and generally doing dingo sorts of things, not performing surgery or flying airplanes or the like. I have had the strange dreams a time or two since, but they've been fleeting and I don't remember too much of them. I was awakened by the sound of the door opening as Maggie arrived home, time for my afternoon walk. She gave me a squeeze and a pat and clipped on my leash.
"And how was your day, love?," Maggie asked as we descended the steps.
"Boring at first, but later on I discovered something very odd."
"Odd? In what way?"
"Well, I knocked down the control for the telly, and some words came on the screen."
"Words... yes, it does that. Nothing so odd about that, then."
"No, the odd bit was that I found I could read them!"
"Are you sure? Digger, you never cease to amaze me. How could you have learned to read? I've never tried to teach you."
I told Maggie about the dreams I had been having, though not in all the ghastly detail. She seemed confused at first, but listened intently as I described bits and snatches of a life I somehow remembered, but had not lived. When I got to the bit about the veterinarian in the airplane, she turned a bit pale and a look of shock came over her face.
“Peter! My God, you’re talking about Peter!,” Maggie shrieked. “He was my husband... he was a veterinary surgeon, and was killed in a plane crash just as you described. But how could you have known?”
“I just dreamt it, Maggie. I can’t understand it either.”
“It must have been that shaman. He committed Peter’s spirit to you. I’ve heard of such things before, but I always thought it was so much superstitious rubbish.”
Warning: This story has some naughty bits. If you are underage or easily offended, you probably shouldn't be reading this. On the other hand, if you're looking for a wank story, you'll probably be disappointed... © 1998 by Dingo Jay. Free distribution OK, no modifications. NO pay site use!
Dreamtime [Working Title]
A work in progress by Dingo Jay
Hello, my name is Digger. Now of course that's not my real name, but I don't suppose many of us use our real names on the Web then, do we? I'm what you might call somewhat of a regular on the furry chat sites; my avatar is a non-'morphic (Feral, you might say?) Dingo with human intelligence. Nothing remarkable about that. No doubt hundreds of them out there. In real life, though, I'm something quite different—a non-'morphic Dingo with human intelligence! For all you Yanks and Poms and others wondering what the bloody hell a "dingo" is, I suppose I should tell you. The Dingo is the wild dog of Australia. We look a bit like a domesticated dog: medium -sized; long legs; a brush of a tail; pointed, upright ears; and usually a tawny-yellow sort of colour. Most of us live in the Outback bush country, as did I until I came to live amongst humans.
When I was a young sprat, I never realised there was anything unusual about me, except for the fact that I knew I was a bit smarter than the rest of the lot. I was always the trickster, forever beating the others at their own games. My puppyhood was perfectly normal, weaned at five weeks, finished teething at five months, started lifting me leg at eight months, and about a month later had my first wet dream. I took a mate and sired a litter at about a year and a half, and another every year after that. It wasn't until I was seven or eight years old that I came to the conclusion that I was very much different after all. It seemed that all of my mates were getting dreadfully old and grey, and I was not. It really hit home when I lost my beloved lady at the age of twelve years. Before she breathed her last, she had told me she was terribly tired, and she looked every bit of it. She and I were the same age, and though she was totally worn out, I was still young and healthy.
My mate's passing had left me with a horrible feeling of emptiness, and it helped only a bit to think back on my fondest memories of her. She'd been a fabulous lover, patient and gentle, and an exemplary mother to our pups. She had presented our pack with perhaps forty of them over the years, most of them rather ordinary, though I believe a few may have turned out similar to myself. (I'm still not sure if my peculiarities are a blessing or a curse.) My mate was gone, though, and most of our offspring had wandered off to form packs of their own. I felt there was nothing left for me there, so I decided to go walkabout. What I hoped to find, I have no bloody idea, but I was going to keep walking until I found it.
I walked for a week, then two, eating nothing and drinking little. It was the dry season, and I realised it was not the best time for a walkabout, but it didn't seem to matter. After some time, I came to a road. I knew that roads meant humans were probably nearby. Although humans can be quite dangerous, they have a habit of flinging edible rubbish from their vehicles as they pass by. There had been some humans through there quite recently, the pungent fumes from their vehicles still hung in the air. In fact, it was recent enough that one of them was still there. The human—I gathered it was a female—stood in front of the car, the bonnet open and steam pouring from beneath it. She glared at the mechanical monster, flailing her arms and shouting angrily. My first instinct was to run, but it looked as though her anger was directed at the car, and I wasn't sure if she was even aware of my presence. The car's doors were open, and I thought perhaps I could snatch something edible from the inside and be off before she spotted me.
She suddenly turned, and as her eyes met mine, I felt as though my luck had run out. I ordered my legs to run, but I was so weary and footsore, the best I could do was to back away a few steps.
"And what are YOU waiting for, you furry bludger?, " she snapped. "I suppose you'll be gnawin' on me bones by morning!"
I had seen humans before, but had never had one speak to me. I just stared dumbfounded at her. She picked up an object from the front of the car, and tossed it at me. It clanked as it bounced across the road, and came to rest a short distance in front of me. I backed away a few more steps, but something kept me from running, even though I knew I should. How was it that this human had spoken to me in the same way as another dingo would? Most fascinating creatures!
"So, you're a tame one, eh? Must have wandered off from an Abbo camp." She took a few steps towards me, and leaned over a bit. "You look as though you haven't eaten in weeks! You poor thing! Maybe I could spare something."
Tame? Me? Certainly not! But if she was going to throw some food, she was really speaking my language! She rummaged about inside the car, and found some bones and fat left from her previous meal. They were just a bit 'ripe' from the heat, but that's how I like them. She threw them in front of me, and I gulped down the soft bits, then lay down to chew at the bones. She walked right up to me, and did the most curious thing. She brushed the flat of her hand along the length of me back! I felt every muscle in my body tense up, but as she kept it up, it proved to be rather relaxing. The fear was gone from me now, replaced by a most wonderful calm feeling. Perhaps now she'd pull out the knife and slit me throat!
My fears were unfounded, as she went back to wrestling with the car, and after a bit she reached inside of it, and it came back to life with a roar. I jumped back, but she beckoned me to the open door. More food perhaps? I moved closer to investigate.
"Well are you coming with me, or would you rather stay out here and starve?"
Go with her. In that THING? I don't think so. She shoved me inside and slammed the door behind me. I no longer had a choice. She got in the car herself and it began to move. I had never experienced anything quite like this, and I think that if I'd had more in me stomach than what I did, it would not have stayed there! I cowered on the floor at first, but as I became accustomed to the motion, I found it more comfortable to sit up and look out of the windows. The interior of the car had a very faint canine scent to it, probably left over from a long time ago. After a short time my stomach had settled, and I felt somewhat more confident that I wasn't in mortal danger, so I decided it was time to introduce myself.
"I'm Digger." I knew that humans communicate vocally, but since she had 'spoken' to me like this, I decided to try doing the same.
The woman turned 'round with a startled look on her face, and the car lurched, almost leaving the road.
"Pleased to meet you, Digger. I'm Maggie."
"Maggie... Yes, all right. Maggie, can all humans talk to us...?"
"To animals, you mean? No, I'm sort of... well, special. Some people think I'm a loony, actually. I can't talk to all animals, though."
"I suppose that makes me a bit special too, then, no?"
"I suppose it does. You look like you've been walkabout. What are you running from, Digger?"
"Nothing in particular. My mate died a few weeks ago, and I just sort of wandered off."
"I know what that's like. I lost my own mate eight years ago. You don't forget them, but at least the pain fades."
"I certainly do hope so. I've not had the ambition to hunt, I've just been walking."
"Hunt...? Do you mean you didn't live with humans?"
"No. In fact, I have never been this close to one before. Where are we going, Maggie?"
"Well, I had planned to take you to my place, but it hadn't occurred to me that you were a wild animal."
"What difference should that make? One place is as good as another."
"Humans live in houses, so if you want to stay with me, you'll have to learn the rules."
We arrived at Maggie's place, and she led me to a small, fenced area in back of the house. Fences have never stopped me before, but I had no particular desire to leave. She left in her car, but returned a short time later carrying some large sacks. One of them contained something that smelt vaguely edible.
"What's that, Maggie?"
"It's dog food. I know it's not as good as 'roo haunches or emu eggs, but it's got everything you need."
She poured some out for me, and in spite of how dreadful it tasted I ate as much as I could hold.
When I had finished eating, Maggie approached me with a pail of water and some other smallish object. I had no idea what she was about, but it looked like I was about to find out. She splashed the water all over me, then rubbed it into my fur. No worries, I sometimes did this myself when the weather got hot. What happened next almost had me running for the nearest exit. The other thing she carried was a bottle of the nastiest-smelling stuff I had ever known! She poured some of this evil concoction onto my back, then smeared it down my sides, on my head, and around my tail. As she rubbed it into my coat, it erupted into a horrible froth that stung at my eyes, as well as my... er, sensitive bits. The smell was overpowering! Another bucket of water washed away most of the froth, but not the smell. I asked her what the bloody hell she thought she was doing, and she said something about me being 'dreadfully black and dusty after running through the Flinders and the Cinders.' That's how I became acquainted with Maggie's passion for having everything clean and tidy. It wasn't all bad, I suppose. When I was finally dry, my coat did have a rather nice shine to it, free at last from twelve years of dust and muck. And the fleas to which I was accustomed had apparently left me. I didn't miss them as much as I thought I would... But oh, that smell!
The next order of business was learning how to conduct myself like a gentleman in the house. The first few times I was allowed indoors, Maggie watched me like a goanna watches a wounded bandicoot. I only once tried cocking me leg, and the ear-splitting screech that Maggie let out reminded me that my misbehaviour was totally unacceptable! Once I learned that one doesn't mark one's territory indoors, and that newspapers and magazines are not intended to be shredded to make myself a bed, we got along nicely. Oh, yes... and the little roll of paper in the dunny is not there for my personal amusement. As my manners improved, I was allowed to stay in the house most of the time. Maggie even let me sleep on the bed with her. She said her old dog Shep always slept there, and I could see why. Such a lovely, soft place to sleep! We never had anything like it in the bush.
The weeks went by, and as I got accustomed to eating dog food, I quickly fleshed out to my normal, handsome self. I had begun wearing a collar, which took a bit of getting used to, though now I feel a bit naked without it. The most difficult part of domesticated life to take, though, was the trip to the veterinary. They poked and prodded me in places I'd rather not be poked and prodded in, and then they jabbed me hide full of holes. As if that weren't sadistic enough, they tried to convince Maggie to have them lop off my balls, which so far, she hasn't allowed! I know what you guys are thinking. A single woman, and a yiffy bloke like me... Sorry to disappoint you, but I never... er, I mean, we don't... Hey, she's not my mate, all right?!
It's not that I haven't considered taking a human mate. I don't suppose I would outlive her as I did my first one, and there are other advantages as well. Human females are always up for it, whereas female dingoes come in heat only once a year. If you beg and plead and whinge enough, you might get it a bit more often, but personally I've always had better luck with the other blokes. I'm not a poof, but a fellow does what a fellow has to do... After all, what's a bit of sheath-docking amongst friends, eh? The problem is that most of the women I know seem to have this thing about only associating with their own species. All save for one, but I'm getting ahead of myself here. More about that later.
One Saturday morning just before the rainy set in, I woke to find Maggie and some of her friends dragging all of her worldly possessions out onto the lawn. This puzzled me, so I decided to have a geek at what was going on. There were all sorts of people I had never seen before, and they were loading Maggie's things into cars and utes, and driving off!
"Maggie, where are they going with all of your stuff?"
"I'm getting rid of everything. We're moving to America!"
"America. That's about as far from here as you can go, isn't it?"
"Yes, I suppose it is, but I've taken a job at a university there."
"I'm going too?"
"Yes, of course, love! It will be quite a shock for both of us, but we'll see each other through it, I'm sure."
A peculiar feeling started to overtake me. It was then that I realised that I had never been more than a fortnight’s walk from where I was born!
America turned out to be even farther away than I had thought. An entire day and night in the cargo hold of an airplane with only one stop to pee isn't exactly my idea of a fun holiday! Not to mention that it was dark and noisy, with a most unpleasant smell. It seemed more like weeks. When the doors finally opened and two burly gents tossed my crate out onto the bitumen, a terribly cold gust of wind blew in my face. Colder even than the time I stuck my head into the fridge to snatch a bit of meat when Maggie wasn't looking! I sat freezing in the crate for what seemed like hours before Maggie's smiling face appeared at the door. She looked genuinely pleased to see me, and held me close for a moment or two before taking me out to relieve myself. She gave me some water and a few of my favourite sort of bikkies, but then it was back in the crate to go through Customs.
The customs agent was a young woman, tall and dark-haired. She examined Maggie's papers briefly, then spent much longer going through her luggage. Eventually, it was time for me to be inspected. I suppose she had to make certain I wasn't hiding any drugs, bombs, or contraband veggies in my crate. Maggie snapped the leash onto my collar and took me out. The agent was quite taken with me, as most of the ladies are, and her eyes grew wide. I put on my sweetest doggie grin and wagged me tail a bit.
"He's pretty! I see a lot of dogs come through here, but I haven't seen one like him before. What breed is he?"
"He's a cross, actually," Maggie replied. "Probably Kelpie with Queensland Heeler, and some Dingo perhaps. He was a stray."
"I don't know any of those breeds, but he sure is a handsome guy. Oh, your papers from the vet show that all his shots are up to date, so there won't be any need for quarantine."
We were certainly relieved to hear that. Six months in the nick for being an illegal alien just isn't my cup of tea!
Once we were outside of the terminal, I was allowed out of my crate, and this time Maggie took it apart and stacked the bits. I had mixed feelings—I hated being in there, but at least it afforded some protection from the cold wind. As I stood there shivering, Maggie pulled something from her bag that looked like a child's jacket and put it on me. I'm sure I looked silly wearing it, but I was much more comfortable! We hadn't been there long before a van pulled up, and a portly man with grey hair and a beard jumped out to greet us.
"You're Dr. Barrow, I presume? I'm Professor Bill Rose from the university. You'll be working with me."
"Please call me Maggie. And this is Digger. I do hope you don't mind dogs!"
"Not at all, Maggie. I have three of my own, and they're a lot bigger than him. He does seem to be well behaved, though."
They loaded Maggie's bags into the van, and the Professor apologised for the cold weather as we rode away from the airport. At least it was warm and comfy inside the van.
"It's not usually so cold this time of year. Hopefully it'll warm up in a few days."
"No worries." Maggie looked at me and smiled. "We've got the chance to see how dashing Digger looks in his new vest!"
Professor Bill chuckled a bit, then turned more serious. "Do you have a place to stay?"
"I had planned to stay in the women's dormitory until I could find something more permanent."
"Not with a dog you won't! I have a very small apartment over my garage. No one has lived there for a few years, so it's pretty dusty, and some of my junk is stored up there. Maybe I could get a couple of students to tidy it up for you."
"Why, thank you! It hadn't even occurred to me that Digger would present a problem... I'll certainly have a look."
We arrived at the Professor's place after an hour's ride. It was an older house set far back from the street, with trees all round of a sort I had never seen before. Three German shepherd dogs burst through the door as soon as it was opened! Each of them was at least twice my size, and every instinct told me to run, though experience told me otherwise. My numerous encounters with farm dogs had taught me that first impressions were everything. I stood my ground but averted my eyes slightly, and waited for the fur to fly. When the bristling and fang-baring bit had passed, they proceeded to sniff me all over, and I did likewise to them. The most interesting thing I noticed about them was that they were all female. I was already beginning to like this place! They exchanged a few unladylike remarks concerning my gender and the anatomy associated with it, but being the gentleman that I am, I pretended not to notice.
Once we were properly acquainted, I learned that the alpha of the pack was Anna, and the other two were her daughters, Katie and Missy. Katie was the most polite and friendly of the lot, and I found myself spending most of my time with her. Just as I was considering asking her to be my mate, she happened to mention that she and her mum and sister are all spayed. A rotten bunch of luck, that! Even so, she was very sweet and I always enjoyed her company.
It wasn't long before Professor Bill noticed something was unusual about me. He began playing silly little games with me whenever we had a quiet moment together. He would put a ball under one of three boxes and mix them up, and I was supposed to remember which box had the ball. I would get it right every time, but when he tried it with Katie, she would simply knock over all the boxes until she found it. We played other sorts of games as well, my favourite being one where I pulled a string on a box that would drop a biscuit for me. I showed the trick to Missy, but she was unimpressed. She tore the box to bits and ate all the bikkies!
I was doing a fair job of keeping Professor Bill fascinated, so he decided to find out what Maggie could tell him about me. "Maggie, have you ever done any kind of intelligence testing on Digger? I've been playing some admittedly unscientific games with him lately, but he seems to have memory and reasoning way beyond any canine I've worked with before."
"Well, he is a dingo, and they're known for their cleverness. You're right, though. He does have something more than that."
"He always seems to know what you want him to do. As if he can read your mind."
"Bill, I'd like to share something with you, but you'll have to promise not to think I'm mad."
"I'm as open-minded as anyone. What is it?"
"Ever since I was a child, I have been able to share thoughts with animals. Not all of them, mind you. Just certain individuals. In fact, I was nine or ten before I was aware that not everyone could do this."
"Wow. Now I've heard everything! I've read about such things, but I always wrote it off as smoke and mirrors. I hope you won't be making it part of your curriculum...?"
"No, of course not. Digger is one of those who shares my gift, but in addition he has intelligence far beyond the average beast, possibly even near-human. I would like, with your permission, to study him in depth. On my own time, if necessary."
"It would have to be on your own time. That's just too far-fetched to even think about letting anyone else find out about it. We'll have to keep it quiet!"
Maggie and Bill began taking me to a laboratory at the university a couple of evenings a week. The place was at once frightful and fascinating, with a large assortment of new sights, sounds and smells. The first thing that caught my eye was a row of cages filled with small animals. They looked tasty, but Maggie said they were study subjects, and not snacks. They reminded me that it had been much too long since I had done any hunting. Not that I particularly relish killing things, it's just that I'm sure they had to taste better than eating the same old boring dog food day after day. There were also a few humans there, and I recognised them as some of the same ones who came to visit us at home. I like most of them, they're always good for a scritch or a pat.
We played some of the usual games and then some new ones, but after a while they all seemed too simple and I was losing interest. Next, we moved to a different room where there were some boxes with squares and lights. Maggie and I sat in front of one of them, and Professor Bill sat behind it, on the other side of a mirror. Another game! This one proved to be a bit more challenging, it was something Maggie called 'noughts and crosses.' If I could hit the squares to make three circles in a row before the machine could make three crosses, it would drop a treat for me. It took a couple of days, but with some help from Maggie I made a go of it, and after a week I was beating the machine every time!
Professor Bill watched me with a bit of amazement. "Damn! I have students who can't beat that program!"
It was getting later than late, and my poor, canine brain had been pushed to its limits and beyond. I finally convinced Maggie to take me home to bed. As she sat at her computer tapping out letters to her friends back home, I hopped up onto the bed and curled up for the night. I thought about some strange dreams I had been having recently—they seemed so real...
I dreamed that I was human!
I found myself at the controls of an airplane. A small sort, a single-engine Cessna 172... Now, how could I have known that? And a spanking new one at that. I brought up the throttle and released the brakes, and as the plane started to move, I pointed it out onto the scrub-grass landing strip. It picked up speed, and I eased the yoke back to begin climbing. Always amazes me how after more than twenty years and many hundreds of flights, the thrill of taking off is still there! Lord help it be a boring flight, I thought to meself, that's the best sort... I felt rather pleased with myself, and with life in general, and it had been a good day to boot. A lovely family, and a lucrative veterinary practice that had made enough money over the last few years that I had been able to replace my old rattle-trap plane with a brand new one. All the latest avionics, even a LORAN, and best of all, retractable landing gear! Raising the gear cut the noise drastically, and added a knot or two to the cruising speed. I levelled-off and made a right-base turn towards home.
Pride goeth before a fall, in my case quite literally! The sound of the engine had changed drastically, a metallic rattle had called my attention to the problem. I was losing oil pressure! The engine suddenly stopped, and though I was able to restart it, it would only run for a few seconds before stalling again. I tried it one more time, and it ran for another minute before the propeller jerked to a sudden halt with a loud clank. Now, brownish drops of oil splattered the right side of the windscreen, and I realised I was in deep trouble! Bloody Yanks! They'd forgotten to tighten something inside the engine, no doubt. Well, losing power isn't necessarily fatal, it had happened to me a time or two before with my old plane...
I looked around me—too far from Beelzebub Station to try turning back. An emergency landing in the bush is not too difficult, there isn't much to hit if one can keep the plane level on the way down. It's just a rather long walk to civilisation, and your next drink of water! As I struggled to keep control of the plane with no power, all sorts of bells and buzzers were sounding in my ears. The stall horn, oil pressure warning buzzer... and most importantly, the 'lower the gear' warning. I clicked the switch to lower the landing gear, but instead of the usual high-pitched whine of the hydraulic pump, there was only a feeble growl. No doubt I had run the battery flat in my fruitless attempts to restart the engine. I pumped frantically at the small manual lever on the floor until the gear looked as though it were in the proper position. The indicator light did not illuminate, but the battery was so low now that nothing was working. I gave the lever a few more strokes for good measure, and eased the yoke back to level off the plane. Not an easy task without power. As the plane touched down on the sandy ground the nose gear suddenly collapsed with a sickening thud, and I felt myself being hurled forward into the instrument cluster. I must have blacked out, although I was vaguely aware of tumbling end over end, a series of metallic crunching sounds, and the pungent smell of gasoline.
I awoke with a shudder and a yelp—what a horrible dream! Upon a quick self-examination, I found that I still had four legs and was covered in fur. I lay in me own bed (or Maggie's actually), safe and sound. Maggie's hand gently caressed the back of my neck, then drooped limply across my shoulders. My heart eventually quit pounding, and I drifted back to sleep.
I awoke again a short time later, to find a short, dark-skinned man with grey hair and a beard staring down at me. He was clad only in tattered dags and wore a sort of wooden amulet on a string round his neck. I was human once again, though unable to move much more than my eyes. To my left, I could see the twisted, smouldering wreckage of my plane. I tried with what little strength I had left to get up, but the man motioned me to be still.
"Be calm, my friend. Your Dreamtime draws near."
I wanted to ask him what he meant, but found I was unable to speak. He waved his amulet over me, which seemed to have the effect of causing me to close my eyes. I believe now that he was perhaps a shaman, and he was administering me last rites... my God! Is this how it ends, out here in Black Stump with a crashed plane and no one about but a native bloke? Just like in a mawkish old movie, my whole life began to pass before me eyes: my childhood; growing up; school; college... then married life, career and kids... I opened my eyes once again to find a different face looking down upon me, and not a human one. It was a very canine face, but not a breed I was familiar with. My semi-comatose mind put a name to the face: dingo! The bloody scavengers had arrived to drag me off. The dingo's visage faded from my sight and was briefly replaced by a battered human one—my own. A rushing sound filled my ears, and a spinning, whirling sort of feeling overtook me. I found myself standing once again, not on two legs, but four. One last, fleeting glimpse of my life passed before me, then it was gone, as though a door had been slammed. I tried recalling the memories once more, nothing...
I shook my head to be rid of the strange sensations, and looked round me. The thing that had fallen from the sky lay in burning heaps of wreckage, with a lifeless human body nearby. Even in death they were frightful, and this one was saturated with some evil-smelling liquid as well. There was nothing here for me, so I trotted off to rejoin my pack...
I opened me eyes and raised my head abruptly. Bloody hell, another one of those odd dreams! It was morning, so after I had a bit of a stretch I gave Maggie a nudge to remind her that it was time for my breakfast. It was a warm, sunny day, so after I finished eating, Maggie let me outdoors to run with Katie and Missy. All too soon, though, it was time for me to be shut up in the flat while Maggie went off to work. I had learned to switch on the telly and change the channels, at least it was something to ease the boredom a bit. What's this then? Some fellows sitting in a circle discussing... I have no idea what. Yawn! Change the channel. That's better, a programme about... coyotes. Handsome blokes, they look as though they could be relatives of mine. I backed away from the screen for a better look, and my tail caught Maggie's remote on the table, knocking it to the floor with a thump. Some strange marks appeared at the bottom of the screen, changing every time the narrator spoke. Now, that's odd... the marks on the screen seemed somehow to make sense to me, as though they were echoing the narrator's words. I was reading the captions. How could I be doing that? Reading is for humans, and it takes them years to learn it at that.
All right then, I could read. This is most odd. I became a bit bored with the television and switched it off, and decided to try my luck with the newspapers. No good. My canine eyes just couldn't seem to focus on the tiny print close up, and if I backed away, it just became a blur. From what I could see, it was hardly worth the trouble, just adverts telling me why I should buy a car from somebody-or-other. Too much excitement for one day, time for a nap. I do hope I don't have another of those dreadful dreams!
I did have dreams, but nothing unusual. I dreamt I was back home in the bush with my pack, running and hunting and generally doing dingo sorts of things, not performing surgery or flying airplanes or the like. I have had the strange dreams a time or two since, but they've been fleeting and I don't remember too much of them. I was awakened by the sound of the door opening as Maggie arrived home, time for my afternoon walk. She gave me a squeeze and a pat and clipped on my leash.
"And how was your day, love?," Maggie asked as we descended the steps.
"Boring at first, but later on I discovered something very odd."
"Odd? In what way?"
"Well, I knocked down the control for the telly, and some words came on the screen."
"Words... yes, it does that. Nothing so odd about that, then."
"No, the odd bit was that I found I could read them!"
"Are you sure? Digger, you never cease to amaze me. How could you have learned to read? I've never tried to teach you."
I told Maggie about the dreams I had been having, though not in all the ghastly detail. She seemed confused at first, but listened intently as I described bits and snatches of a life I somehow remembered, but had not lived. When I got to the bit about the veterinarian in the airplane, she turned a bit pale and a look of shock came over her face.
“Peter! My God, you’re talking about Peter!,” Maggie shrieked. “He was my husband... he was a veterinary surgeon, and was killed in a plane crash just as you described. But how could you have known?”
“I just dreamt it, Maggie. I can’t understand it either.”
“It must have been that shaman. He committed Peter’s spirit to you. I’ve heard of such things before, but I always thought it was so much superstitious rubbish.”
