OH, BABY DHOLE

A Tibetan family has moved to G.H. and immediately people are being killed by wild dogs

Oh, baby doll!
When bells ring out the summer free
Oh, baby doll
Will it end for you and me?
We'll sing our old Alma Mater
And think of things that used to be

I remember it so well
Back when the weather was cool
We used to have so much fun
When we were walking to school
If we stopped off to hear
The latest songs they sing
And we just make it in
Before the bells would ring
-- Oh, Baby Doll (Chuck Berry)


The police-blue Lexus pulled up outside the town hall in Boothy Street, Glen Hartwell, a little after 7:30 PM. It was a cool night, and the sweet smell of pine filled their nostrils as the inhabitants exited the car to head up the concrete steps toward the double doors leading into the town hall.


Mi Ling Coen and her father and mother, Tung Wu and Swan Li Chiang, were strolling around the ballroom, greeting the guests as they arrived. A strobe light overhead was blinding the older Glen Hartwellians, but the teens and twenty-somethings were gyrating across the highly polished dance floor occasionally whooping in childish delight.

"Terri," greeted Swan Li a beautiful forty-something Asian, who barely looked older than her daughter, Mi Ling, whose twenty-third birthday they were celebrating.

"Swan Li," said Terri Scott, a beautiful ash blonde in her mid-thirties, the top cop in the local area. Terri gave Swan Li a kiss on the cheek. Waving back toward her entourage she teased: "I tried to shake off Colin and the gang but they kept tracking me down."

"Ha-ha!" said her fiancé, Colin Klein, giving Terri a playful pat on the backside. At forty-nine, Colin was thirteen years Terri's senior, and they had been engaged since early in the year. A tall, handsome redheaded man, Colin had been a London crime reporter for thirty years before coming to Glen Hartwell and starting employment with the G.H.P.D.

Laughing, Swan Li turned to Sheila Bennett, a tall athletic Goth chick with orange-and-black-striped hair. The same age as Terri, Sheila was the second-top cop in the BeauLarkin to Willamby area.

"Sheila," welcomed Swan Li, giving the Goth chick a big hug.

"Mi Ling, or are you Swan Li?" teased Sheila: "I never can tell you two apart."

Blushing in pleasure, Swan Li went over to greet the remainder of the entourage.

Dashing past Swan Li, Tommy Turner raced across to the drinks table, where Donald Esk, a tall brown-haired man of forty (who could pass for thirty) was acting as barman along with his fiancé Lisa Williams, a tall thin twenty-eight-year-old blonde.

"A treble whisky and soda," ordered Tommy.

"We can give you treble soda," said Lisa: "But Deidre has laid down the law about giving you too much alcohol."

"Explain the term 'too much alcohol' to me?" demanded Tommy, seeming genuinely puzzled.

"More than one drink an hour," said Deidre Morton from behind him. An affable brunette in her early sixties, Deidre was the landlady of Terri and the rest of the entourage.

"But we're not at the Yellow House now," complained Tommy, referring to Deidre's addiction to the colour yellow.

"Yes, but we don't need you coming home rolling drunk and throwing up everywhere," said Natasha Lipzing. A grey-haired lady in her early seventies, Natasha had been at the Yellow House more than half of her life.

"Pay me the credit for having some control," lied Tommy.

"A rabid dog has more control than you, Tommy," said Leo Laxman. Born in Jamaica, Leo was a male nurse at the Glen Hartwell Hospital and he also boarded with Deidre Morton.

"How dare you?" demanded Tommy as the others laughed.

"He's got you pegged, Tom-Tom," said Derek Armstrong. A tall black American by birth, Derek had worked as a paramedic in the Glen Hartwell area for half of his fifty years and was dating Sheila.

"Don't call me Tom-Tom, you make me sound like a drum."

"You'll be drummed out of my house," warned Deidre: "If you make a fool of yourself ... again!"

"All right already," said Tommy conceding defeat: "Make it a single whisky with just a sniff of soda."

"That's more like it," said Deidre as Terri and the others strolled across.

Swan Li, Mi Ling, and Tung Wu introduced three newcomers:

"These are our new neighbours from Tibet," explained Swan Li: "Choden Choejor."

"Hello," said a beautiful, tall, thin thirty-something Asian woman.

"Dechen Dhargey," said Swan Li, introducing a nearly two-metre-tall man with grey thinning hair, who looked thirty years older than his wife.

"And Dolma Cimba," their daughter.

"I prefer to be called Dolly," said the beautiful twelve-year-old girl, who was small enough to look nine or ten.

"You all have different surnames?" asked Deidre Morton.

"Most Tibetans don't have surnames," said Dechen: "We have two given names instead. Only aristocrats have surnames."

"We're reasonably comfortable off," explained Choden: "But we're no aristocrats."

"Who'd want to be," said Dolly, before heading to the dessert table to help herself to a large slab of chocolate cake.

"Chocolate, chocolate, chocolate that's all she has wanted to eat since we moved to Australia," said Dechen.

"It's the same with most children her age," said Natasha: "Still, she might as well enjoy it while she can. Once she reaches my age, her teeth won't be strong enough to eat chocolate, unless it's half melted."

As the night continued, the dancing slowed down, and the drinking took off, with most men, except Tommy Turner, getting a little tipsy.

"It's not fair," moaned Tommy to Freddy Kingston: "Why are they allowed to get plastered, but not me." He waves one arm around in the vaguest semi-circle.

"They won't be throwing up in Terri's Lexus, or at the Yellow House," said Freddy. Like Tommy, Freddy had retired a year or so back. Freddy was tall, portly, and balding with just a ruff of curly hair around the back and sides of his head.

"Hey, I've just had a genius idea," said Tommy.

"No!" said Freddy, guessing what it was.

"You could get two treble whiskies and bring one to me."

"No!" confirmed Freddy.

"I thought you were my friend."

"What made you think that?"

While they were arguing, a tall redheaded man, and his equally tall, brunette wife pushed past them.

"Jon," said Arlene Garfield: "You've had enough to drink."

"But it's free here," protested Jon, who claimed to be distantly related to America's most obscure president, James A. Garfield.

"That's no excuse to get smashed." Then noticing their ten-year-old daughter, Steffi, a brunette like her mother, yawning: "Anyway I think it's time we took Stef home, it's nearly ten o'clock."

Looking around, Jon saw his pride and joy, bleary-eyed, and decided he didn't need another drink after all. Walking across, he scooped up his startled daughter, saying:

"Come on sleepy head, it's time we got you home."

"Dad!" protested Steffi: "I'm not five anymore, I don't need carrying."

Nonetheless, Jon held onto his sleepy charge, who was soon snoring with her head on his shoulder.

Seeing the Garfields leaving, Dechen Dhargey called to his wife: "It's ten o'clock. I think it's time we took Dolly home too."

Looking around they found the twelve-year-old dancing on the teak dance floor, one of the few people not too inebriated, or exhausted to dance.

"Come on, Chocolate," teased Choden, her mother: "Time for us to go home."

The girl looked like she was about to argue. Then seeing the Garfields heading toward the double doors, she decided that it was a good time to depart.

"Leaving so soon?" asked Mi Ling as the Garfields headed across to her.

"Gotta get sleepy head to bed," whispered Jon, not wanting to wake his pride and joy. Then to Arlene: "You'll have to drive so I don't wake her."

"Okay," said Arlene, relieved that her tipsy husband would not be behind the wheel.

"Us, too," said Choden: "Gotta get Dolly to bed."

"Do you three live in town?" Dolly asked the Garfields, surprising her parents, since she rarely spoke to strangers.

"In a farmhouse, two Kays straight past the end of Boothy Street," said Arlene, smiling at the beautiful little Asian girl.

"Well, drive safely," said Dolly, smiling broadly at the Garfields.

"We, really do need to get her home," said Choden a little nervously as they headed out into Boothy Street to start home.

As they climbed into their grey 2020 Holden Commodore V6, Dolly sat in the back seat, watching the Garfield family, until they were out of sight.

Half an hour later Dolly and her family were at their home in Lawson Street, Glen Hartwell in the Victorian Countryside.

Dolly had already changed and climbed into bed when Choden and Dechen heard a wolf-like growling coming from her bedroom.

"Oh, no, not tonight!" cried Choden covering her mouth with her hands.

Taking a key from his dressing gown pocket, Dechen locked the door to Dolly's room.

"What are you doing?" asked his wife.

"Protecting us from whatever is in the room," said Dechen.

Taking his wife by the arm, he half led, half dragged her down the purple-carpeted corridor to the main bedroom.

"Poor Dolly," sobbed Choden.

"We have to think of ourselves first," insisted Dechen. He walked across to close the bedroom shutters, then locked the window and the door.


Two kilometres outside Glen Hartwell, the Garfields's white Range-Rover had just pulled up outside the chain link fence ringing the farmhouse yard.

"It'll be good to get sleepy head into bed," said Jon. He somehow managed to climb from the Rover without waking Steffi, whom he still carried.

"She's not the only one who'll be glad to get to bed," said Arlene: "It might be the 3rd of November, but it still feels like winter to me."

"Aw, you're as bad as my mum," teased Jon: "She feels the cold even on forty-degree days."

"This is not a forty-degree..." said Arlene. She stopped at the sound of loud growling: "What the ...?"

Turning Jon and Arlene saw the large canid figure advancing toward them through the dark.

"Oh, my God!" cried Arlene. Grabbing her daughter from her husband, the brunette struggled to open the wire mesh gate. Finally, she grappled it open and raced into the farmhouse yard ... Seconds before the huge grey timber wolf leapt at Jon.

"No you don't!" said Jon, his survival instinct taking over from his potentially numbing fear.

He leapt aside suddenly, so the grey wolf yelped as it landed nose-first into the wire mesh fence. Falling against the woodpile outside the farmhouse yard, Jon grabbed a large tree branch which was waiting to be chopped up.

Taking the wolf by surprise, Jon leapt at it, swinging the branch like a club, whacking the wolf hard on the flanks, making it whine in shock and pain.

"Not, so tough now, Scooby-Doo!" cried Jon as he continued to lash at the wolf.

Inside the farmhouse, Arlene locked Steffi into her bedroom, making sure the window was closed and lashed, then grabbed her mobile and rang through to the Mitchell Street Police Station in Glen Hartwell. After a moment, receiving no reply, she disconnected and rang Terri Scott, who was still at Mi Ling's birthday do at the G.H. Town Hall.


"Terri Scott," said the attractive blonde, brow creasing in amazement as Arlene told her about the wolf attack at their station: "On the way!"

Disconnecting, Terri looked around for Colin, Sheila, and Don Esk.


"Die you worthless bastard," cried Jon Garfield, still a little inebriated, as he lashed at the large grey wolf.

At first, taken aback, the wolf whined and looked like running off. Then, as anger replaced fear, the wolf began snapping at the flailing branch and finally ripped it from Jon's hands.

Snarling almost rabidly, the wolf leapt forward and snapped at Jon, who jumped backwards just in time. But as the redheaded man fell onto the wood pile, the wolf raced across and began snapping furiously, tearing great chunks of flesh away from the farmer.

Screaming, Jon tried to crawl away but was stymied by the wood pile, which acted like a barrier holding him in, as the ferocious beast ripped and tore at him, finally tearing out his throat.

Grinning broadly as the dying man's hot blood sprayed it, the wolf hungrily gulped down large chunks of meat and gristle as it devoured the farmer while he was dying.

"Get away from him, you bastard!" shouted Arlene Garfield, racing across the deal-wood porch of the farmhouse.

The wolf looked up for a moment, without bothering to stop eating, then deciding the woman was no threat to it, the canid lowered its head and continued feasting upon its recent kill.

Swinging up the Winchester repeating rifle, Arlene fired off two quick shots; both going wide of the mark.

Looking up startled, the grey wolf glared at the advancing brunette, considering its options. It hated to leave a meal unfinished but knew how deadly a Winchester could be in the right hands.

"Get away from him!" shrieked Arlene hysterically as she ran across the farmhouse yard.

She fired two more shots, which both missed the wolf, however, with great reluctance the beast abandoned its meal. Spinning around, it raced off into the darkness, as Arlene fired off shot after shot at the retreating creature.


Over at Lawson Street, Glen Hartwell, Choden and Dechen listened intently for any further sound from their daughter's bedroom. Finally, there was a scratching sound, as something climbed back in through the bedroom window.

Inside the bedroom, a blood-splattered Dolly walked across to the door of the small en suite. Stripping, she dropped her blood-soiled clothes into the clothes hamper, then stepped into the cubicle to have a hot shower. Before returning, naked, to her bed to sleep the rest of the night away.


Sheila Bennett was at the wheel of the blue Lexus filled with the police, plus Derek Armstrong and Leo Laxman. Lisa Williams had driven Deidre and the others back to the Yellow House in Don's ancient Land-Rover.

"At least you won't have to worry about Tommy chundering in the Lexus again," said Sheila cheerfully.

"No, boss, I'll have to worry about him chundering in my Rover," complained Don.

"The privileges of rank," said Sheila. Reaching over she switched on the CD player and they heard:

"Oh, baby doll!
"When bells ring out the summer free
"Oh, baby doll
"Will it end for you and me?
"We'll sing our old Alma Mater
"And think of things that used to be!

"When the teacher was gone
"That's when we'd had a ball
"We use to dance and play
"All up and down the hall
"We had a portable radio
"We was ballin' the jack
"We'd be all back in order
"When the teacher got back

"Oh, baby doll!
"When bells ring out the summer free
"Oh, baby doll
"Oh will it end for you and me?
"We'll sing our old Alma Mater
"And think of things that used to be!

"That's a Chuck Berry song, isn't it?" asked Terri.

"Originally," said Sheila: "But this version is a cover by my fave group..."

"The Devil's Advocates!" said Terry, Colin, and Don Esk as one.

"Oh, you've heard of them?" said Sheila pretending surprise: "Any way "Oh, Baby Doll" is the lead in track on their latest LP, "Whacked Out Hippy Drug Fiends."

"Please tell us that's a joke title you made up in a moment of extreme bad taste?' begged Colin Klein.

"Nope, it's the real deal," said Sheila taking the CD case from the dashboard to toss to Colin.

Turning on the overhead light, he read: "Whacked Out Hippy Drug Fiends."

"Sheils isn't the only one with bad taste," pointed out Terri.

Ignoring them, Sheila continued: "There's some awesome tracks including covers of "Riders on the Storm", Chuck Berry's "Down Bound Train", a medley of "Oh, Yoko" and a new track "Oh, no!", called the "Oh, No, Yoko Medley", the "Jean Genie Medley", a mix of "Jean Genie" and "Texas Radio and the Big Beat" which co-incidentally have identical melody tracks, plus the "Wild One Medley", a mix of three songs called "Wild One", including Johnny O'Keefe's big Aussie hit, and Bobby Riddell's Number Two hit on the U.S. Hot 100."

"Should you even be listening to music while we're on the way to a murder scene, Marm?" asked Don Esk.

"Can wolves technically commit murder?" asked Sheila. Nonetheless, sensing the others glaring at her, the Goth chick reluctantly turned off the CD player.

Finally, the Lexus arrived outside the wire mesh fence ringing the farmhouse yard of Arlene and Jon Garfield's sheep station.

As they approached the headlights of the two cars picked up the bloody remains of Jon Garfield, and the prostrate form of Arlene.

"How can Arlene be dead, when she rang us from inside the house?" asked Colin. However, when they went across to check, they found that Arlene was merely unconscious.

"Must've come back out to try to help Jon," suggested Derek Armstrong: "Then fainted when she saw what the wolf did to him.|

Without waiting for permission, the paramedic picked up Arlene and carried her into the farmhouse yard, depositing her on the deal porch outside the farmhouse.

After taking pictures of what little was left of Jon Garfield, they went inside the yard to wait on the porch. Twenty minutes later they heard the sound of sirens approaching as three ambulances sped down the gravel trail from the road running beside the farm yard.

"That sounds like our boys and girls now," said Sheila Bennett.

Getting up, she returned to the farmhouse yard gate to await the arrival of the medics.

Ten minutes later, Arlene and Steffi were in ambulances on the way to the Glen Hartwell and Daley Community Hospital, in Wentworth Street, G.H. The medics had stayed behind to puzzle over the remains of Jon Garfield.

"So how're they hanging, Docs?" asked Sheila.

"Mine are firm and up thrusting, not hanging at all," said Tilly Lombstrom. A tall attractive fifty-something brunette, Tilly was second-in-charge at the Hospital.

"Wish I could say the same," said her boss, Jesus Costello (pronounced "Hee-Zeus") yawning widely: "I had just fallen asleep when I got your call."

"So what's the verdict?" asked Terri Scott.

Kneeling over the bloody remains of Jon Garfield, Elvis Green, the local coroner said: "Arlene said it was a huge grey wolf didn't she?"

"That's right."

"Well, after a quick look-see, there's no reason to doubt her."

"But we'll have to get the remains to the hospital, and perform a full autopsy to be certain," advised Jesus.

Cheryl Pritchard, the chief paramedic of the area, and Derek's boss and friend alighted from the remaining ambulance. Like Derek and Sheila, Cheryl spent her Saturdays at the Muscle-Up Gym and was well-buff.

"Room for one more, Strong Arm," teased Cheryl, high-fiving her friend.

"Good, I was planning on returning to the hospital," said Derek.

"Guess I'd better, too," said Leo Laxman.

Twelve minutes later the ambulance was ready to go.

"We'll head back to the Yellow House," said Terri: "Tomorrow we'll have a busy day wolf hunting."


Bulam-Bulam was a grey-haired elder of the Gooladoo tribe, outside the township of Harpertown in the Victorian countryside. Although he lived in a lean-to in his tribal village, he owned and worked a small grocery shop in town. He also worked as a tracker for the Glen Hartwell Police on a pro-rata basis.

Bulam-Bulam was already setting up his stock at 7:00 AM when Terri's Lexus and Donald Esk's ratty old Land-Rover pulled up outside his shop in Chappell Street. Terri, Colin, Sheila, and half a dozen other cops alighted as the Elder stepped out onto the concrete footpath to greet them.

"Is this just a social visit, or do you have some work for me?" the grey-haired man asked.

"Jon Garfield was eaten alive at his farmhouse last night," said Terri, not wasting time on pleasantries.

"Oh, Christ!" said the Elder.

"According to Arlene, it was a huge grey timber wolf," added Colin.

"There have been legends of a huge black wolf haunting Glen Hartwell since the early 1960s," said Andrew Braidwood. A tall lanky man with long shaggy blond hair, Andrew was in his early sixties and would be retiring in a few years.

"Yes, but wolves in the wild only live twelve to sixteen years," pointed out Colin.

"And Arlene was definite that it was a grey timber wolf," said Terri.

"Okay, let's get going," said Bulam-Bulam.

Thirty-five minutes later they were beside the wood pile outside the farmhouse yard at the Garfields's cattle station.

Staring at the blood-splattered grass and wood pile, Suzette Cummings said: "Well, this seems a good place to start." The short, lithe teen with beautiful long black hair pointed at the splatter.

"Yes," agreed Bulam-Bulam," he pointed to where a set of large canid prints headed toward the neighbouring forest.

"Well spotted, eagle-eye," teased Sheila as they headed back to the two vehicles.

This time the Elder climbed up onto the bonnet of Donald Esk's Land-Rover as they set off again.

They followed the prints slowly for twenty minutes or so, as they circled back toward Glen Hartwell. Then Bulam-Bulam called for Don to stop the vehicle.

Jumping down, the old man raced across to examine the prints upon the pine needles and dried gum leaves that carpeted the forest floor.

"What's up?" asked Don, as he and Suzette climbed from the Rover.

"The wolf prints suddenly end," said the old man.

Terri and the others alighted to look where the Elder was pointing.

They deep canid tracks suddenly stopped to be replaced by prints of a barefoot human child.

"To quote Alice Liddell, 'Curiouser and curiouser," said Terri Scott.

"So what, are we looking for a pigmy werewolf?" asked Sheila.

"Sheila, please," teased Suzette: "These days you say, a vertically challenged werewolf."

"All right, are we looking for a vertically challenged werewolf?"

"Could be," said Colin: "It makes as much sense as everything else that has happened in Glen Hartwell since I came here in 2023."

Returning to their vehicles, they followed the footprints as they looped back toward Glen Hartwell. The prints entered Wentworth Street, then vanished against the hard bitumen road.

"Any suggestions?" asked Sheila, as they stood around, desperately trying to make out the prints up the bitumen.

"We could always try Slap, Tickle, and Rub," suggested Donald Esk.

"How dare you," teased Suzette Cummings.

"I meant my three Alsatian crosses," explained Don.

"It's worth a try," said Terri: "We'll wait here while you go collect them."

"Gotcha, Chief," said Don heading back to his Land-Rover.

It was nearly an hour later before Don returned with Lisa and the three dogs.

"I brought Lisa because she's become better at handling them than me since she spends all day at home with them," said Don as they alighted from the Rover.

They walked the dogs across to the edge of Wentworth Street where the small human footprints could still be discerned.

The dogs sniffed at the prints for a moment, then almost pulled Lisa off her feet as they charged down Wentworth Street with Lisa yelling at them to slow down.

After managing to catch up with them, Don grabbed the leashes of Slap and Tickle, leaving Lisa to struggle against the excited pull of Rub.

"Looks like we're on the right track," said Bulam-Bulam as the elder and the gaggle of police raced after the fleeing dogs.

They followed the excited dogs for twenty minutes or so, before they stopped at a low brick fence in Robinson's Drive (between Boothy Street and Blackland Street).

"Who lives in here?" asked Colin Klein.

"Thomasina Madigan," said Sheila.

"The nurse who lost both of her lower legs?" asked Colin. [See my story, 'The Lily White Boys'.]

"That's her," agreed Terri: "And the last I heard she lived alone."

"So she hasn't taken in a vertically challenged tenant?" asked Suzette.

"Nope," said Sheila.

"So what now?" asked Colin.

"Now we put up warnings about a wild wolf in the area, in the hope of scaring people into staying indoors at night," suggested Terri.


It was nearly 11:00 PM when Dechen was awakened by the growling in Dolly's bedroom next to theirs. This time Dechen had been careful to lock Dolly's bedroom door, as well as their own. Nonetheless, at the growling, he got up and went across to check that the bedroom window was also latched.

For just a second he saw a large red shape whoosh past his window. Then, careful not to waken Choden, he returned to bed but did not sleep again that night.


D'Arcy Norton was sound asleep, in his farmhouse outside Merridale, when he was suddenly awakened. He sat up in bed, at first uncertain what had woken him.

Trying not to awaken his wife, Jennifier, he tried to distinguish the various sounds coming from outside. There was the roaring whoosh of a fierce wind, covering the other sounds. But after concentrating for awhile, his ears managed to block out the wind enough so he could make out the lowing of Angus, his prize bull. Worth three thousand dollars, Angus had won dozens of prizes at showgrounds and fairs right around Australia and New Zealand.

"What's up, Angus," he said in a whisper. Although the bull couldn't hear him inside, even if the Banshee wind had not been shrilling.

D'Arcy had heard rumours of a wolf having killed Jon Garfield, however, he had refused to be scared inside by rumours. 'Sides that was over near Glen Hartwell, he had thought: Damned wolf, if it exists, ain't likely to be over her outside the Dale.

But now, hearing the terrified lowing over the shrieking wind, D'Arcy wondered. No longer caring about waking Jennifier, the farmer threw back the blankets of the Queen-sized bed, leapt out, falling over in the dark.

Cursing as he hunted for his slippers, he clawed his way back to his feet and went out into the lino-covered corridor, then up to the front of the house, to get one of his Winchester repeating rifles, which he kept, illegally, in a glass-fronted cabinet in the lounge room.

He cursed again as he struggled with the lock, this time cursing Jennifier for insisting upon him locking the gun cabinet ... even though their three kids had grown up and were going to school in Melbourne. Why Glen Hartwell schoolin' ain't good 'nough for 'em I don't know, thought the grey-haired man, who looked a decade older than his fifty-two.

Finally, he pulled out a Winchester, which, unbeknown to his wife, D'Arcy always kept loaded. Grabbing a box of spare shells, he headed back down the corridor toward the rear of the white weatherboard farmhouse.

Cows can fend for 'emselves, D'Arcy thought as he stepped out onto the greying deal wood patio and looked around: But Angus is my pride and joy.

He had barely stepped off the porch onto the gum-leaf-strewn ground when suddenly the hurricane wind stopped ... And with it, mysteriously, Angus's terrified lowing.

"What the ...?" said D'Arcy.

He stood just off the porch for a moment listening. At first, he could hear nothing; the wind had stopped, Angus had stopped lowing, and the night birds and crickets had all stopped.

Then after a moment, his hearing adjusted again so he could hear a slurping, gnawing sound muffled by the walls of the barn a hundred metres or so behind the farmhouse.

"What the ...?" said D'Arcy again as he headed at a trot down toward the barn. The barn housed a few hens, and a couple of sheep dogs, Toby and Maddy, but its most important occupant at night was D'Arcy's pride and joy, Angus. Named because he was an Angus bull, and D'Arcy liked to keep things simple.

"Angus?" called the farmer, as though expecting the bull to answer, as he pulled open the rusty, corrugated iron door to the barn.

Switching on the fluorescent lights, at first D'Arcy couldn't understand what he was seeing. Toby and Maddy lay dead, ripped to pieces. Beside them, Angus was lying on his side on the now red straw of the barn, and his flank was undulating up and down.

"Angus?" called the farmer again.

Then the large red figure stopped eating the dead bull and raised its blood-stained snout to glare at the farmer for interrupting its feast.

"What the ...?" said D'Arcy.

Then recognising the beast as a large red fox, he swung up his Winchester, too fast, so that the first shot went a half a metre over the head of the killer.

The fox snarled at the farmer for a moment, considering adding him to its bill of fare. Then, as D'Arcy re-aimed, reluctantly, the fox swung around, so the second shot missed it by centimetres.

Startled as the blood-smeared fox ran straight at him, D'Arcy fell over backwards but managed to hold onto the Winchester. A fact that saved his life, since the wolf leapt straight over the prostrate farmer and ran out into the farmhouse yard, then easily leapt the chain link fence. To start at a run back toward Glen Hartwell, before the farmer could climb unsteadily back to his feet.

"Angus, oh, Angus!" said D'Arcy, starting to cry as he stared down at the bloody entrails and bones that showed through the ripped flank of the dead bovine.

After a few minutes, he came to his senses and returned to the farmhouse to ring through to Terri Scott at the Yellow House in Merridale.


Over at Lawson Street, Choden and Dechen waited in terror until they heard the sound of footsteps in Dolly's bedroom. A few minutes later, they heard water running as the twelve-year-old took a hot shower before returning to bed.

"Let's hope that is it for tonight," said Dechen.

"Let's hope she didn't kill anyone tonight," corrected Choden.


Terri Scott was having a nice dream about finally getting married to Colin when she was startled awake by the sound of her mobile phone.

Sitting up too suddenly, she ended up on the bedroom floor, taking all of the blankets with her.

"Don't hog all the ..." said Colin, reaching back to grab them, only to find no sign of blankets, or Terri: "Terri ...?"

"Hang on, the damn blankets won't let me up. Will you answer my phone?"

Doing his best not to laugh at Terri's predicament, Colin sat up and reached for Terri's phone on the bedside table.

"Colin Klein here," he said. Then, when a hysterical D'Arcy Norton asked for Terri: "I'm afraid she's tangled up at the moment, may I take a message?"

When Terri finally escaped the troublesome bedclothes, Colin explained: "That was D'Arcy Norton, he says his Angus bull, or his bull Angus, has just been eaten by a huge red fox."

"You mean a huge grey timber wolf?"

"Nope, he swears it was a fox."

"Well, foxes are a bigger problem in Australia than wolves. Mainly because we have thousands of foxes around the place and only a handful of wolves."

As Terri went across to bang on the wall to Sheila's room, Colin added: "And wolves aren't usually as savage as foxes. Foxes aren't the sweet little house cat-sized creatures Mary Poppins wants you to believe. Most are the size of Rottweilers and just as savage."

"Wakey, wakey, mad Goth chick!" called Terri.

"But we've just got to sleep ... I've just got to sleep," called Sheila. Then at a whisper: "Quiet, so she doesn't hear you."

"I could be wrong," whispered Colin: "But I think Derek may have slept over again."

"Relax, Sheils is Deidre's favourite, so Deidre has reluctantly learnt to accept the mad Goth chick's shenanigans, as Deidre puts it."


Fifty-five minutes later, Terri's blue Lexus pulled up outside the farmhouse yard fence at the Norton cattle station.

Jennifier Norton, a chubby forty-eight-year-old brunette, had to lead the police down to the corrugated iron barn, since D'Arcy was too overcome by grief at the loss of his prize bull.

"Anyone would think we'd lost one of the kids, the way he's carrying on," said Jennifier as Colin Klein struggled to open the rusty gate.

"Angus was worth three thousand smackers, wasn't he?" asked Sheila.

"Well, yes, but ... " began the brunette, stopping as Colin turned on the barn light.

"Yeech!" said Terri, staring at the bloody ribs and entrails hanging from the left flank of the dead bull.

"D'Arcy was certain it was a fox?" confirmed Colin.

"Yes."

"Not a timber wolf?" asked Sheila.

"What would a timber wolf be doing in Victoria?"

After taking a few pictures of the slaughtered bull, they returned to the wire mesh farmhouse yard fence just as an ambulance pulled up.

"Heard you needed an ambulance," said Cheryl Pritchard as she climbed from the cabin.

"Angus has just been killed by a fox," said Jennifier.

"I'm sorry," said Cheryl: "But the ambulance isn't big enough to take a bull ... Besides, I think the vet has his own transportation."

"No, we're burying Angus on the farm. We need an ambulance for D'Arcy," explained the brunette: "He's not taking the death too well."

"Angus was his pride and joy," said Sheila.

"Couldn't help being a little jealous at times," said Jennifier as they walked across to the deal porch where D'Arcy was sitting, crying into his hands.

"I'll send over some blokes from building and works tomorrow to help you bury Angus," said Terri before they set off again in her Lexus.


Early the following day, they were back at the Norton Cattle Station, with Bulam-Bulam, and Don Esk and Lisa Williams, having come prepared this time with Slap, Tickle, and Rub to follow the tracks from the Norton's barn.

"No doubt about it, they're too small for wolf tracks," said Bulam-Bulam as they started out.

"And foxes are more vicious than wolves," said Don: "They're notorious for taking cats, small dogs, even babies to kill and eat."

Bulam-Bulam sat upon the bonnet of Don Esk's Land-Rover, leading the way at first, then as they reached the outskirts of Glen Hartwell again, Lisa and Don took over the lead with Slap, Tickle, and Rub. Again, they found themselves outside Thomasina Madigan's house in Robinson's Drive.

"Well, either Thomasina has turned into both a werewolf and a werefox," said Sheila: "Or something goofy is going on."

"You don't regard Thomasina turning into both a werewolf and a werefox as goofy?" asked Bulam-Bulam.

"Not by Glen Hartwell standards. So do we go in to interview Thomasina?"

"And ask her if she's a werewolf-cum-werefox?" asked Terri.

"Even if such things are possible," said Colin: "And in Glen Hartwell you can't say they aren't ... wouldn't the werewolf and werefox both have metal lower rear legs, as Thomasina does?"

"Good point, Whiteman," teased Bulam-Bulam: "It seems unlikely Thomsina's metal lower legs would transform into flesh and blood canine legs."

"So, for now we're ruling Thomasina out?" asked Sheila.

"Yes, mad Goth chick," said Terri as they headed back to the cars.

"So can I listen to Whacked Out Hippy Drug Fiends now ... the CD that is?"

"Go on," said Terri with a sigh.

"Yatzy!" cried Sheila, turning on the CD player:

" Oh, baby doll!
"When bells ring out the summer free
" Oh, baby doll
"Will it end for you and me?...."


Over in Lawson Street, Glen Hartwell, Dolly was happy to go off to bed at 7:30 that night, even though, with daylight saving, the sun had not yet set.

Under the pretence of tucking her in, Choden and Dechen were careful to lock her bedroom door to protect themselves.


Outside Harpertown, Leo Leonard was giving his sheep their last feed for the day.

"Come on, my black-faced beauties," called Leo. Not that the Merinos needed calling when they saw him filling their feed trough.

"Come on, my pretties," he continued, liking to talk to his flock as they fed: "Your daddy has to go inside for his own tea soon."

"Mum, he's talking to the sheep again," said Jacob Leonard to his mother as they stood together on the porch outside the farmhouse: "When are we gonna have him put away?"

"Jacob! Your father isn't loony," said the tall, lean strawberry blonde, Abby Leonard: "Just a little eccentric."

"Eccentric as a coot," said the raven-haired eleven-year-old, without knowing what a coot was.

"No, they're his pride and joy."

"I thought I was his pride and joy?"

"If we could make a living selling your wool, you would be."

"Ha-ha," said Jacob, turning to go back into the cream-coloured weatherboard farmhouse.

It was half an hour later while they were in the paisley-coloured kitchen, eating tea, that the Leonards heard the commotion outside.

"What the ...?" said Leo as the Merinos started bleating furiously.

Turning to try to see out the kitchen, Leo slowly stood.

"It's probably nothing, honey," said Abby.

"Like Hell," said Leo. Standing he grabbed a shotgun from what was supposed to be a crockery cabinet near the back door and headed outside: "That damn fox that got D'Arcy Norton's Angus is after my flock."

"Anyone would think he was a preacher, not a farmer," said Jacob, as his father almost fell through the doorway in his haste to rescue his pride and joy.

"Get away from my flock, you damned fox!" cried Leo as he started racing cross the hard dirt toward his sheep pen a hundred metres or so behind the farmhouse.

"Should we go after him?" wondered Abby.

"No, he'll shoot enough of his flock without our help."


As he neared the pen, where the sheep were bouncing around like woolly dodgems, Leo struggled to see what had thrown the fear of death into the black-faced Merinos.

"Where the Hell are you, you damn fox!"

As he looked round the large pen, distracted by the riotous sheep and struggling to see in the failing light, Leo almost ignored the flash of yellow at one end of the pen.

Then, as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he realised that it was not a fox attacking his herd:

"It's a bloody dingo," said Leo.

Raising the shotgun, he fired one barrel, and almost felled one of the erratic, bouncing sheep.

Opening the pen to let the terrified ovines out, Leo slowly stepped into the sheep pen focusing upon a large, yellow dingo which was devouring Daisy, one of Leo's favourite sheep.

"You murderous bastard!" shouted the farmer, ignoring his own safety as he rushed toward the feasting canid.

The dingo looked up long enough to growl at Leo, then went on with its feast, tearing off great chunks of Daisy to scarf down hungrily.

"You bastard!" shouted Leo as he fired at point-blank range.

Only to blow a large chunk away from the dead Merino.

Finally, taking the farmer seriously, the dingo stood up, still carrying the dead sheep in its jaws and leapt to the top rung of the pen.

Leo fired both barrels, which were both empty. Cursing himself, the farmer hastily reloaded, and as the dingo leapt from the pen, Leo shot it with both barrels.

The dingo let out a hellish shrilling. Dropping the Merino, the canid attempted to race off into the forest. But having lost the use of its hindquarters the dingo could only crawl away, dragging itself across the pine needle-coated ground by its front paws ...

Until Leo reloaded, raced across to sit astride the sheep pen and fired both barrels point blank at the dingo. Which shrilled one last time ....

Then transformed back into Dolly!

Hearing the shooting and cursing, Abby and Jacob had come outside to see what Leo was shooting at.

After narrowly avoiding the frantic Merinos, now bouncing every which way in terror, they ran into the empty sheep pen and climbed the fence to look out.

Shining a flashlight she had thought to bring with her, Abby stared in horror at the bloody remains of Dolly:

"You stupid bastard, you've killed that little Chinese girl from Glen Hartwell."

"Tibetan," Jacob corrected her.

"Like Hell I did," said Leo defensively: "I shot a bloody great dingo scoffing down poor Daisy ..." Then realising how lame it sounded: "Then it just sort of changed into the Chinese girl."

"Tibetan."


Forty-eight minutes later, Terri, Colin, Sheila and Don Esk were at the Leonard Sheep Station staring at the bloody remains of Dolly.

Expecting not to be believed, Leo repeated his story to the police.

"Anywhere else except the G.H. region we'd lock you up or send for the blokes in white coats ..." said Terri Scott.

"But in the Glen Hartwell region anything is possible," said Don Esk.

"So what do we do now?" asked Colin.

By way of answer, they heard the sound of an approaching ambulance.

"We let Tilly, Jesus, and Elvis puzzle over our dingo-cum-little girl," said Colin: "While we go around to Lawson Street, to get the low down from Choden and Dechen."

"Yeah," agreed Sheila: "They must have known if their daughter was a werewolf-cum-werefox-cum-weredingo."

"Anywhere else we would lock you up just for saying that," teased Colin.

As the ambulance pulled up outside the farmhouse yard, Terri said: "Leo, tell Jesus and Co. what you told us while he heads around to Lawson Street."


It was just after 10:15 when they reached the darkened two-storey brown-brick villa house in Lawson Street.

"Looks like they've gone to bed," said Colin.

"Then we'll have to wake them up," said Terri firmly. She pressed the buzzer, a rarity in the countryside. When there was no answer, she started hammering on the door.

"Let me," said Colin. He started hammering like a madman.

After what seemed like ten minutes, but was probably only half that, they saw lights come on in the house, and then heard footsteps coming downstairs.

A minute or so later, the door opened and Dechen Dhargey tentatively looked out.

"Yes," he said a little unsteadily.

"Can we come in?" asked Terri: "It's about Dolly."

Dechen looked back at Choden, who stood behind him, they exchanged a worried look, then the man opened the door.

Five minutes later, they were seated in the lounge room. Hesitant about how to start, Terri finally blurted out what had happened at the Leonard Sheep Station.

As Choden started to cry, Dechen said: "We suspected as much, but tried to believe it wasn't so."

He hesitated for a moment before continuing: "We come from Jiaju Village in Tibet. When we were there two years ago, there was a series of savage killings done by a large wolf-like dog. Many villagers claimed they were performed by a Tian Shan Dhole, also known as the Siberian Dhole, an Asian wild dog, like a werewolf, but able to change into any wild dog. We considered moving overseas to avoid being killed..."

He hesitated, so Choden continued: "But we waited too long." She sighed heavily then added: "Then one night our poor Dolma Cimba was slaughtered by the Dhole." Now crying, she added: "I thought I would go insane from grief."

As Choden sobbed heavily into her hands, Dechen continued: "We had already made plans to flee the region ... Then one night while gazing sadly out into the snow, we saw a little girl the same age and size as Dolly had been. The more we stared at her, the more she seemed to be Dolly. Despite knowing it couldn't be Dolly, she had been torn apart and we had buried her ... Nonetheless, I went out to investigate... A stupid thing to do with the Dhole still slaughtering people."

Dechen hesitated, then said: "As I reached the Dhole, as I now know it was, I let myself be convinced it was our little girl. Picking the creature up I carried it into our house, where Dechen and I rejoiced at the return of our lost child.

"But over the next few months, the Dhole kept creeping out at night, and people kept being slaughtered. We should have informed the authorities. But we did not have the heart to lose Dolly a second time ... So we emigrated. First to the U.S.A., where the killings continued ... Then we decided to try the Australian countryside...

"We thought with so many fewer people in Australia, and even less in the countryside we might be able to control Dolly, as we still thought of her. When that farmer was killed, supposedly by a timber wolf, we convinced ourselves that it possibly had been a wolf. Unaware how rare wolves are in Australia. Then when the bull was killed by a fox ... We knew enough about Australia to know the English had imported foxes in the eighteen hundreds, and that there are now hundreds of thousands of foxes around Australia.

"I suppose we knew in our hearts the Dhole wasn't really Dolly, and that we would have to lose her again one day."

"So what happens now?" asked Choden, fearful that she and her husband would be charge as accomplices to the murder of Jon Garfield.

"Now we bury Dolly a.k.a. the Dhole, and hope that is the end of it," said Terri Scott.

"What about us?" asked Dechen.

"You go on with your lives, being more careful in future about any kids you take in," said Sheila kindly.

"What you two get away with by being three hundred kilometres from Melbourne," teased Colin. However, no one was in the mood to laugh.

THE END
© Copyright 2025 Philip Roberts
Melbourne, Victoria, Australia