Red Dog Page #4

to go back to his house.

He probably went

back to sleep, is all.

I'll... it's nearly lunch.

I'll pop over

and take a peek.

- Call me when you find him.

- It will do.

- See that?

- What?

Turn around.

Slow down.

Here!

Oh!

No. Oh!

With all the sadness

and the...

...arrangements for the funeral,

everyone forgot about Red Dog.

Wasn't till

three days had passed

that anyone noticed that...

...he was still waiting

outside John's house.

Nancy made an effort

to claim him, but...

...he was a one-master dog.

So he waited.

In the heat and the cold,

day and night.

For three weeks, he sat

in front of John's house

and barely moved,

his eyes

always on the road.

Then one day,

Red Dog made a decision.

If John wasn't gonna come home,

then he, Red Dog,

would go out in the world

and find John.

Walked in the transport...

and looked into the face...

of every man there.

He was asking

a single question.

"Have you seen John?"

"Have you seen John?"

"Have you seen John?"

"Have you seen John?"

He looked everywhere

at Hamersley. Every department.

And when he couldn't

find him there,

he went to the saltworks.

And then the mall.

And then the pub.

And even the harbour.

Most dogs would have

stopped there, in Dampier.

But most dogs

weren't Red Dog.

And this is how

he became famous.

This is how he became

the Pilbara Wanderer,

Dog of the North-West.

You see, mate...

...he went everywhere.

He travelled for years.

Town to town to town.

He was spotted down in Perth

more than once

and as far north as Darwin.

And I have it

on good authority

that he even hitched a ride

on an ore ship

from Port Hedland

to Saganoseki, Japan.

But in the end,

after all the looking

and the travelling...

...the grief...

...I think he finally knew.

It was time.

Time to come home.

Red?

Red?

Red Dog! Red!

Red Dog! Hello!

Red Dog. Red Dog!

You came back!

Did you hear?

I got a promotion.

I'm an executive assistant now.

Which is really

the same as a secretary

except I get paid

a bit more.

They've put me on the list for one

of the new houses at Karratha.

Oh.

And I finally let

that Kurt bloke take me out.

I don't think so.

Bad dental hygiene.

Shh.

Hello.

- Miss Grey.

- Mmm.

Its come to our attention

that you're in serious

violation of park rules.

- And what would they be?

- You know what.

- No dogs allowed!

- It's a silly rule.

We know you have a dog

in there. No point in denying.

Red Dog is not your

average dog, Mr. Cribbage.

He has privileges.

Everybody knows that.

I don't care if he's

the Queen's bloody corgi.

If you don't get rid of him,

we get rid of you.

Aha!

Red, stop that.

Your contract clearly states

that you cannot own a dog.

I don't own Red Dog.

Nobody does.

- Then he's a stray.

- No. He's common.

What the heck's common?

He's accepted and cared for

by the town.

The community.

Now, there's a laugh.

That's no proper town.

And there's no such community.

It's just a bunch

of dirty miners

working, drinking and whoring.

What happens in this park

is what I say.

And I say that dog

is a dangerous stray,

plain and simple.

And the next time I see him,

I'll shoot him for sure.

Listen to me,

you little bug.

You as much as harm a hair

on that dog's head

and you will have me

and the entire Pilbara to answer to!

You've been warned, Miss Grey.

And so have you.

Now, once more.

We can't be beaten

What'll we tell 'em, boys?

We can't be beaten

There comes a time

when every man must fight

When he believes in

justice and right

He'll take so much

till he'll take no more

They'll hear us coming

when they hear the mighty roar

Shoulder to shoulder,

we're gonna stand

We're gonna fight

to the very last man...

Who was it?

Everyone.

Stop that!

Who are all you people?

Well, they would be

the community of Dampier.

But since there is no proper

town and no such community,

I guess they're just a bunch

of dirty, drunken miners.

- Yeah!

- That's right. Dirty, drunken.

I'll call the police, I will.

There's no need, Mr. Cribbage.

Back here.

Get these people

out of my park!

Now, Mr. Cribbage,

you're just the caretaker.

- Hamersley owns the land.

- So what?

I take care of the land.

You got a problem with that?

What do you all want with me?

Oh, we just have

a small delegation

that would like to have

a private word with you.

That's all.

Oh, whoops.

Seems to be my break time.

Call me if you need me.

- We had a little chat.

- Yeah.

- It was very civilised and all.

- You were very persuasive.

It was nothing, really.

All the Cribbages needed

was a bit of ed-u-cation.

Well,

they were so educated

that they ran away and

took their caravan with them.

The only thing

they left behind...

...was their cat.

So as Red Dog

would never be accused

of being a low-down

dirty stray again,

we all had him registered

at the shire as common.

Ohh...

But...

...there was a reckoning

still to be decided.

The Cribbages

were gone, true,

but let us not forget

that a dark, sinister force

still ruled over

the caravan park.

Good versus evil!

Civilisation versus chaos!

Doggie do versus cat poo!

Red Dog and Red Cat are going

at it! Place your bets, gents!

They fight!

They fight!

What?

Spectacular.

Nobody knows how or why.

Perhaps it was

a grudging respect.

Certainly, they were

the scrappiest and the rangiest

their two kinds

have ever cooked up.

Perhaps they saw more than a bit

of themselves in each other.

Who knows?

But know this.

Mates, they became.

- Red Cat and Red Dog.

- Red Cat and Red Dog.

Shh, shh, shh.

There's an iron statue outside

brought up from Perth

by this fine man, Thomas, here.

It's of that old English

explorer William Dampier.

Paid for, as in all things,

by Hamersley Iron...

...to stand at

the entrance of this town.

Dampier sailed into the harbour

in 16-something-or-other,

spent five minutes,

sailed out again.

The only thing

he wrote about the place was,

"Too many flies."

That's it!

"Too many flies"!

Well, I say,

to hell with that!

Why should we have a statue

honouring a poncy Pommy

fly-hating aristocrat?

Or, for that matter,

a fat bloody general,

or, God help us,

a stinkin' politician?

Yeah!

We should have somebody

that understands this place.

Somebody that lives and breathes

this vastness and desolation.

Somebody that's got red dust

stuck up their nose

and in their eyes

and their hair

and up their arse!

Somebody that's like

all of us.

Men...

and women...

who understand

the meaning of independence

and the importance

of a generous heart.

Mates who are loyal

by nature, not design...

...and who know the meaning

of love and loss.

Somebody

that represents our home.

Somebody that represents

the Pilbara in all of us.

And I say that somebody...

...dammit...

...is a dog!

Guess whose shout.

Way out west

Where the rain don't fall

Got a job with the company

digging for ore

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