Smooch & Rose by Samantha Wheeler

1. Rescue

    We found Smooch last strawberry season. I’d just started on my maths homework when I heard fierce barks outside. Lizzie, our Jack Russell, raced to the back door with her ears pricked and her tail between her legs. It was already pitch-black, but Gran and I peered out the door, as if by magic we’d be able to see through the dark.
    â€˜Grab the torches, Rosie,’ said Gran. ‘We’d better take a look.’ Without even blinking, she pulled on her gumboots and tugged on her coat. My gran wasn’t like ordinary grandmothers. She lived in strawberry-stained overalls and wore thick gumboots coated in the red clay soil from our farm.
    Together we crossed the damp, dewy paddocks. The barking grew louder. When we were close to the creek, Lizzie began to growl. Soon all the hackles on her back stood up. Frenzied barking echoed all around us. It sounded like two dogs or three or maybe even four. And they sounded like they were onto something.
    Really onto something.
    â€˜Ratbags,’ whispered Gran. She bent down and scooped Lizzie up, just in case. Lizzie was small and getting old. She wouldn’t stand a chance against a pack of blood-hungry dogs.
    I huddled next to Gran and peered grimly into the dark. The winter’s air was even colder down among the trees and I wished, like her, I’d thrown on my coat. I hugged my arms around me.
    A terrifying, high-pitched squeal shattered the air. My skin prickled. My heart thumped against my rib cage.
    â€˜What was that?’ I croaked.
    â€˜A possum, I’d say,’ said Gran, shining her torch into the bushes. She stepped forwards and squinted into the circle of yellow torchlight.
    I hung back. My legs had turned to jelly. How many dogs were there? What if they turned on us?
    Then Gran did something unexpected. ‘GET OUT OF HERE!’ she shouted, in a deep growly voice.
    I jumped.
    â€˜GO ON, GET OUT! GET HOME!’
    The barking stopped. Just like that. Branches swayed and twigs snapped as the dogs scampered off through the bushes. Finally, it was quiet again.
    Imagine that! Wild, crazy dogs – afraid of my gran!
    When we were sure they had gone, Gran rushed into the bushes, her torch swinging from side to side. Then she stopped and handed me Lizzie. Lizzie’s belly was soaked from the damp grass and her heart raced against mine.
    Gran stooped and shined the torch on the long grass. Fresh red blood stained the blades.
    And then I saw it.
    A large koala was huddled against the base of a tree. Black terrified eyes shone like wet pebbles in Gran’s light. Grey furry sides heaved in and out. Its mouth hung open, panting in fear. The dogs must have shaken it around. My throat grew tight, making it hard to swallow. The koala stared at me, blinking slowly. Begging me to help.
    Gran took off her coat and wrapped up the koala. ‘It’s okay,’ she murmured. ‘We’ve got you now. We’ll keep you safe.’
    I hugged Lizzie close. I hoped Gran was right.
    The vet surgery was closed for the night. Gran rang the after hours bell and our vet, Craig, opened the door. He looked troubled when he saw the large bundle in Gran’s arms. ‘Sit down a moment, Mrs Nunn,’ he said, taking the koala. ‘I’ll have a quick look.’
    Gran and I sat on one of the cold wooden benches in the waiting room. The fluoro lights hurt my eyes. They seemed too bright after all the black outside. Gran breathed too loudly. The clock on the wall ticked too slowly:
    7.15
    7.16
    7.17.
    â€˜Do you think it’ll be alright, Gran?’ I whispered.
    Gran sucked in her lips. ‘Don’t get your hopes up, love,’ she said. ‘It’ll take a miracle to save that one, I think.’
    I forced myself to read the posters on the wall. There were pictures of ticks and worms and stuff about choosing the right food for your dog. But my brain wouldn’t work. I could think of only the koala and