It was almost a massacre. ..almost

A bloody by the roadside, bones in the dust, body’s murderously mangled type massacre.

Essentially the only thing that saved them was probably the distance that they had travelled. Two more metres would have done it. One more metre out, then the same extra distance back again and I reckon that would have been enough. They wouldn’t have made it.

We were in the outback of Western Australia about two thirds of the way to Adelaide from Perth. Stark dry featureless desert surrounded us on all sides. Small clumps of hardy vegetation the only relief.

The singular lack of trees explains the Latin name given to this part of the world.

Nullarbor. No trees.

It is not the sort of place you would like to be lost in and we unfortunately had lost someone. To be more specific we had lost two someone’s.

First a wife, and then with her an indomitable sister in law.

We had been travelling together up to now on our way to New South Wales, far away to the east. The wife and sister in law in the Mitsubishi and my companion and I in a Toyota camper van. Sometimes we tagged along behind them, but often we ranged ahead. Up to now we had always through communication and planning managed to meet up during the day. To eat together and to relate any experiences of the day.

Now for some reason the system had broken down and they were nowhere to be seen. Fatigue had overcome me at one stage. Being ahead of the others, I had decided to stop and rest in a sheltered spot off the road.

I figured firstly (erroneously as it turned out) that my fellow travellers on seeing me would stop. I assumed secondly that they then would announce their presence. Lastly, I thought we would all travel on together in companionable convoy to the next port of call.
Who knows what happened?

They didn't see me. Or they saw me and thought, oh well; he will catch up, who knows.

What I do know is that when I awoke from my snooze, I had no idea which way to go to find them. Had they broken down behind me, or forged ahead now well on their way to South Australia? Mobile phones were useless as there was no service that far out.

I looked at my friend sitting in the passengers’ seat.

Missy the eleven year old sleek, black, kelpie, looked back at me with a doleful look that said. “Come on let’s go.” “There are things to be seen, smells to be sniffed.”
I decided the best plan of action initially would be to continue to the next roadhouse. There we would find out if they were waiting for us. If not then we could quiz other road users whether they had seen a blue Mitsubishi broken down at the roadside.

So this is what we did.

It explains why we were still at the roadhouse when the massacre almost happened.
The Nullarbor roadhouse has improved considerably since the first time I visited it as a young man. The standard of cuisine had risen to the point where if someone was inclined they could actually purchase a salad. The usual roadside fare of pies, sausage rolls chips etc were still therein their deep fried glory but additions had been made. This didn't make our stay more pleasant however. Half an hour at a desert roadhouse is usually enough for most people to see and partake of most of the pleasures therein.
The puzzle was unfortunately still with us.

No one had reported a broken down car behind us. This would indicate the wife had probably travelled on. However no one at the station could categorically state she had passed through.

There was always the worry that some thing more nefarious had transpired and that the both of them were in a situation from which they would need deliverance. Deliverance being the key word! The flies and heat added to the general perception that we would both rather be somewhere else when something happened that added substantially to our discomfort.
Flip and Flop turned up.

Flip and Flop (my names for them) were a particularly nasty pair of predators. Small in stature but big in bluster, they were working a cruel trick. One they had obviously tried before, and seemingly perfected over time.
Missy left the car for a drink only to find herself set upon by these scurrilous scoundrels.

Flip was a yapping Chihuahua. Flop a nasty blend of Pomeranian and some other equally unpleasant breed. Possibly rat.
Their trick involved a full frontal attack by both aggressors with a pincer movement where by the victim was surrounded front and rear. Then while one provided a diversion with foul yapping at the forequarters the other would strike, biting at the victim’s heels. Poor Missy was quickly overcome and it was only when I interceded and expressed my displeasure (Get back to Pomerania you little bastard) did they smugly retreat to the safety of an owner (surely a loose term) that had obviously lost control.

Then a nice thing happened. A just thing. A levelling of sorts. Some would say Karma
As we retreated to the safety of our van Flip and Flop made the worst decision of their sordid careers. They spied another dog in the distance and made the split second resolution to complete the day’s fun with another victory. With this in mind they both hared off away from the station bent on mischief.
Nullarbor station is almost bereft of wildlife. The dry dusty environment accounts for this fact. Few animals choose willingly to live there. Apart from the ubiquitous flies that are too stupid to go elsewhere and the occasional eagle, snake or lizard not much else chooses Nullarbor station as its address. No one that is except for the dingoes. The target of Flip and Flops reckless headlong charge that day was a male, adult, Australian, Dingo.

Dingoes are Australia's answer to the American coyote. A relative to the Indian wolf it is a formidable and cunning wild dog. Dingoes have a history of attacking and killing big game including kangaroos, sheep and on occasion even people.
To Flip and Flops credit the audacity of their charge was initially enough to put doubt in the mind of the Dingo. He was undoubtedly taken aback. He may never have experienced anything remotely like this in all his years. It took him a moment to weigh up the odds but a moment was all he really needed.
I’m not sure at what stage, of the charge of the exceedingly light brigade it was that Flip and Flop realised their dilemma.

As I said before, two metres was about all there was in it. The distance they ran out equalled the distance they needed to cover to return. The time taken in which the dingo went from disturbed to (almost) diner and Flip and Fop from assailants to (almost) dinner was a split second.
Flip and Flop returned to their owner in a decidedly different fashion in which they left.

Pomeranian legs (I think), are about 3 centimetres longer than Chihuahua’s so Flop led the retreat. Close behind came Flip and behind them with a hot breath and hungry eyes came the Dingo with teeth literally snapping at their heels. Both leading dogs filled the air with a cacophony that (I guess) was the doggy equivalent of “Help!! Mummy Help!!”
The Dingo ran with silent intensity. There isn’t a great deal of food for dingoes in the desert. Apart from the occasional lizard or possibly a rabbit, scraps are probably the best they can do. Dingoes hang around road houses for the food. Here was what easily could be termed takeaway.
A metre from the cars and hunger was driven away by caution. The dingo curtailed the chase and retired again to the plain to await his next opportunity. Newly educated he would not be so slow to make a decision next time.
Flip and Flop while instinctively caterwauling had also had the presence of mind to weave strenuously on their way back home.

This alone had probably saved them. That and a few metres.
Missy and I laughed and laughed. Well I did anyway. I'm sure there was a sense of justice about the whole episode.
We finally caught up to the wife and sister the following day in South Australia.

It was almost worth losing a wife to see such a thing.
The humbling of tyrants.
Always worth watching.