Tom held the old 303 rifle across his knees and wept. His sobs shook his body as he rested his head upon his hands on the steering wheel of the old Jeep. Jack, his blue cattle dog nudged closer to take up a position against Tom’s feet as though offering what comfort he could.
Shooting Molly had seemed the final desperate act. He had shot the others calmly, convincing himself it was to end their suffering. The anguish he felt when he held the rifle against Molly’s head overwhelmed him and he had been forced to look away as he pulled the trigger.
Molly had been a favourite. Hand raised since birth and his son Adam had taken particular care of her. Tom was glad his son was still away at school and didn’t have to witness her end.
This morning when Tom looked at Molly he thought the saying ‘all skin and bone’ was an apt description. In the final indignity Molly had bogged in the slush and mud at the edge of the dam where only a shallow pool of stagnant water remained after four years of drought. She had not enough strength to either reach the water or get herself back to solid ground and Tom believed the look she gave him as he stood over her was a plea to end her suffering.
The 303 had given her quick release and Tom, not for the first time, thought how simple it would be to end his own despair.
Eventually Tom’s sobs settled and he drove slowly across the bare black soil to the house. Anna came to meet him and put her arm around his shoulders, taking the rifle from him and walking beside him up the steps to the verandah.
Anna looked beaten he thought again. Her cotton dress hung loose and she had not seen a hairdresser for over a year. Her skin seemed as dry as the paddock and the anxious look on her face had become constant.
Anna set a cup of tea next to his chair and then Tom heard the familiar sound as she locked the rifle into the gun safe. He guessed this time she would hide the key as she had threatened if he didn’t get some help.
Tom started his tea but the weeping began again and he knew he wouldn’t be able to swallow. How could he find the strength to get the tractor and ropes to drag molly away from the dam if he couldn’t even hold a cup, he thought.
Maybe Adam was wise to stay at school, to continue to work towards his dream of becoming a commercial pilot. He was only at boarding school now because Anna’s old man was footing the bills. Tom had dreamt of Adam taking over the farm and he had seemed keen enough. He loved caring for the calves and seemed so at home riding the trail bike around the cattle.
It was two years ago when the drought began to bite that Adam first began to talk of nothing but flying. He had suggested that Tom sold the farm and moved to town so his mother would have an easier life. Tom could hear the echo of his in-laws voice as Adam spoke of discarding the farm. He talked, Tom thought, as though it meant nothing that his grandfather and great grandfather has toiled on the farm and passed it down through the generations.
Adam sat with his head in his hands until his tea was cold. Anna had not reappeared and Adam was both upset at what he perceived as her lack of caring and also relieved that he was spared of trying to explain his feeling of utter desolation.
His dog followed closely at his heels as Tom walked slowly to the jeep and choose a length of strong rope. In the shed he examined the beams that crossed the roof. He knew they were strong. He and Adam had used one just last year to hang a pulley to lift the motor out of the old Torana.
Tom heard the vehicle over his sobs but it seemed to have no significance for him as he sat in total despair until a strong arm lifted him to his feet and held him close. His neighbour said nothing and over his shoulder Tom saw his wife Marie holding Anna close as she too sobbed.
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