A Park Ranger we had come to know, through being Rock regulars, was sitting in the dust playing with Judi, his Queensland Blue Heeler bitch. It would be hard to say which of them had the more liquid gaze. Altogether I had found that the Uluru National Park Rangers were of a different order of creation from the staff at the Tourist Resort; they were taller, had skin that was more golden, eyes that were more limpid, and shone with that innocent purposiveness which seems to be the reward for working in the open with animals and trees. But of all the Rangers none was more responsive or susceptible than this Ranger. He seemed to glow when you spoke to him – ‘He has a meltdown like a Russian reactor,’ Ros observed, news of Chernobyl having just made it through to Yulara, ‘every time anybody smiles at him he goes in the core.’ And he never glowed more molten than when you spoke to him or smiled at him about his dog.

Wasn’t it a bit dangerous, Ros wondered, keeping a pet when there were so many hungry dingoes around? Yes, yes it was. Which was why so few people kept pets out here. But it wasn’t just for dinner that the dingoes would take them if they could. Some domestic dogs they wanted for skivvies. They actually stole them away to turn them into slaves – to hunt and work for the pack, to attend to whatever dingoes deemed menial, no breeding rights allowed. In the case of its being a bitch who was captured you could almost call it enticement. An erotic gypsy theft. Given half a chance the dingoes wouldn’t hesitate to pull a Heathcliffe on Judi, for example. Let us take you away from all this soft stuff, they would say. Let us plumb together the elemental rock bottom of your nature. Come live with us and be our love and we will all the pleasures prove.

I saw Ros exchange a glance with Judi. Worse things could happen to a bitch, they appeared to agree.

While we were talking an enormous armoured truck, not unlike a vehicular Ned Kelly, pulled in behind us. It was painted a no-nonsense blue-grey – the colour of deadly weaponry. A huge spare  tyre was affixed to its front like a rubber shield. Ladders ran up the sides to the roof. There were grille bars over the windows. I noted that it was a Mercedes Benz Unimog 4-wheel Drive Kestrel, and wondered what German riot police were doing in Uluru.