She knew the bend in the trail where the trees opened to frame a view over the valley, dull greens turning blue in the warm air. She knew to stop at the gateposts my father had cut from standing eucalypts. It was afternoon by now, his secret place hidden by the forest and the hours of travel. I tied her off by the gate that had failed in the winter and now hung askew from its post-hinges. Looping the reins over the timber was a formality. She knew to wait there.

The house was bark over a frame, a shingle roof. It was nothing to admire. Square, modest, at one with the surrounding trees because it came from them. Four apple trees, a pear, a persimmon and a fig, planted long ago in a time of industry.

The dog burst into frantic yelping before I’d passed through the gate and did not let up. She knew me well, yet she maintained this insistence on warning him of my approach. I had never understood why he needed a dog so large—or so vocal.

Soon enough my father would yell at it and the poor animal would stop. I had nearly reached the verandah when I realised he had not. Normally by this point in my approach he’d have sworn at her or thrown a tin, then stumped out to greet me. I studied her, lowered my body to a crouch. She had never rushed me, but the curl of her snarling lip suggested she would not allow me passage without word from her master. I looked up. No smoke from the chimney.

‘Father?’

The dog cocked her ear at my inflection, as if she wondered the same thing I did. She was uneasy, and I could see now that she was chained. I felt sure the chain was short enough that I could pass her by and reach the doorway. Eyes on mine, she anticipated me. A bowl was upturned just beyond her bed of old blankets. She had defecated on the boards of the verandah, within feet of her bed. Her nose was dry: she was thirsty.

And now I saw that she was leaping in distress, not hostility. The chain jerked and its links rang. At the top of her rush the dog reached a paw in my direction and the chain yanked her back. She made a sound of pain as her shoulder struck the boards. I came forward slowly and stroked her. She whimpered.

The door had no lock and wasn’t latched. I knocked and called once more and felt afraid again. I was four hours from town, enclosed in the forest. The dog’s tormented state had worked some ill on me and the shadows all insinuated. I pushed the door and rushed in, wanting to confront whatever trouble it was that had taken root here.