‘Hang on there, let’s see what you’ve got,’ Justin said, lifting the lid.
‘Yeah, single men get first dibs,’ Hamish agreed. ‘Not greed, sheer necessity.’
‘I didn’t have time to bake; these are Tracey’s lamingtons,’ Roni said as the smell of coconut briefly gave the fried onions a run for their money.
‘Not Tracey’s, mine,’ Hamish said, snagging one of the squares. ‘Awesome as always. Where is Trace?’
Matt pulled a face. ‘Home with Bear. The old fella isn’t doing too well.’
Hamish lowered the cake, his appetite suddenly diminished. ‘Shit. I mean, I know it’s bound to happen, but Tracey and that dog are inseparable.’
‘Yeah. It’s not going to be good,’ Matt said. ‘Since Marian died, that dog has been Tracey’s everything. I mean, Tracey loves our kids, and obviously she’s still out and about in the community, and now she’s got her shop and all, butMarian gave her the dog as a pup, and he’s been with her every minute since.’
‘What are we going to do?’ Gabrielle said. As always, the problem had immediately become a community concern.
Matt lifted one shoulder. ‘Bear’s still going yet, so there’s nothing we can do but wait for the inevitable.’
‘There’s no point getting her a new puppy?’ Gabrielle used the vantage of her unusual height to assess the crowded shed. ‘Are Sam and Jack’s grandparents here? Paul usually has a litter of pups on the go. Would giving her a puppy before Bear dies be a good idea?’ she asked Matt.
‘What do you think, Roni?’ Matt asked his wife.
Roni shook her head. ‘I can’t imagine replacing Scritches with another cat; I think Tracey would feel the same about Bear. They share a remarkable bond. But I reckon we need to chat with Lucie Tamberlani. She told me a while back that she collects her dog’s hair for some eco save-the-planet thing—’
‘You don’t say,’ Hamish interrupted dryly. Lucie and Jack were a pair, dedicated to minimising their eco footprint.
Roni chuckled, but held up a hand to stem his griping. ‘She also said something about having dog hair spun and that keeshond fur is commonly used for knitting.’
‘Commonly, you reckon?’ Hamish snorted. ‘So we’ll be running paddocks full of puppies soon?’
‘Roni already calls her bottle lambs paddock puppies,’ Matt said. ‘So maybe don’t give her any ideas.’
‘I already have an idea,’ Roni continued, shushing her husband with a pat on his arm. ‘If we find a spinner who will handle Bear’s wool, perhaps we could get one of the CWA members to knit Tracey a scarf. You know, to remember him by, when he goes.’
‘Seems a bit off,’ Justin said.
Roni flicked a finger at his jumper: ‘You might be one of the few here who aren’t farmers, but you’re wearing a sheep.’
‘And Europeans wearbears,’ Gabrielle added. ‘Or at least they did until the last century or so. Though there’s a resurgence in upcycled fur, apparently.’
‘Well, that little lesson in history and fashion totally normalises the concept of giving one of our good friends their dead pet to wear,’ Justin said sarcastically.
‘Not sold on the idea of dog-hair clobber, mate?’ Hamish said, his mind scrolling faster than a digital photo album, selecting and rejecting ideas and possibilities. ‘Hey, that pair of eagles you carved for the gateposts at the winery? They were pretty epic, right?’
‘Don’t want to oversell myself, but I’ve had some decent feedback.’ Justin held out his arms, modelling the impressive wingspan of a wedge-tailed eagle.
Hamish nodded. ‘Perfect. You still coming round to mine this week? I’ll nut something out and have a word to you then.’
The conversation fractured into multiple separate discussions, the groups expanding and contracting as people moved around the shed. Hamish wandered toward the barbecue, stopping to swap a yarn here, a comment on the weather there. Pierce and Sam, along with Jack and Lucie and their kids, were setting up Evie and Paul Schenscher in a warm spot near one of the fire drums, so he made his way over to them.
‘Pops, just sit down. I’ll fix you a plate,’ Sam was saying, unfolding a camp chair.
‘It’s not the plate I’m worrying about,’ Paul replied, waving his walking stick around dangerously. ‘These young fellas will knock back all the beer. I’ve paid for my ticket and I want my drink.’
‘It was a donation to the CFS, Pops, not a ticket price,’ Jack said. ‘Besides, wouldn’t you rather have a port, ward off the cold?’
‘I’ll get you one, Pa-pa,’ Keeley piped up.
The kid was cute enough, but Hamish couldn’t fathom how Jack had managed to go from being happily single to having a ready-made family in the space of a few months. The thought was enough to scare a guy celibate—though it obviously suited Jack, as he and Lucie Tamberlani had built on the family he’d adopted.
