Kenny the Kelpie

 A new short story...Kenny the Kelpie

Nothing makes any sense any more, Desiree – do you agree?

‘No, nothing does.’ She said, lighting another cigarette, and checking her manicure, bored but wanting to agree. Her husband was always pontificating and she didn’t really have to bother even arguing, not that she would anyway, he was a professor of psychology.

‘The mass psychology hypnosis is prevalent – they are looking for someone to give them ‘rules to live by’. 

‘A crowd arises when people have a lack of structure – they look for someone who offers them structure – an excess of rules, if you like.’

‘But the conditions have to be right for this to occur – firstly, the population has to have a lack of meaning in their lives. For example, so many people were doing ‘bullshit jobs’ that they hated anyway. Then they have to have a social disconnection and then anxiety, a free floating kind of anxiety. Then there has to be an object for that anxiety to latch onto – it can be anything, but the Corona virus was perfect. Experts in modelling the impact of the virus gave wildly pessimistic mortality predictions – for example, in Sweden, they predicted without a lockdown last year, in one month they would have 80,000 deaths – they didn’t lock down and had 6000. 

‘Can a surgeon hypnotise a patient when they’re allergic to anaesthesia? Is this possible? Apparently it is.’

Fletcher answered the question before she had a chance to. She was certainly hypnotised by him when they first met in that smoky bar – he had all the attributes she craved, good looks, charm and that indefinable something. Charisma? Nowadays she could only yawn or try to stifle one. Now he was just boring most of the time. What was his problem? 

It wasn’t as if he’d lost his job or they were on the breadline. Business was booming. His psychology practice was going gangbusters, people practically breaking down the door to divest themselves of their fears and terrors, as the pandemic raged. Although nowadays mostly it was on Zoom, and she had to keep their kelpie quiet while he worked.

Kenny the Kelpie was usually quiet when listening to Professor Fletcher. It was quite fascinating, all that talk about mass hypnosis and how the world was going to hell in a handbasket. Those weren’t the words he used of course, that was Kenny’s take on it. Sometimes Kenny thought the professor was off his trolley, but mostly he made a lot of sense, particularly when he was talking about the current situation.

‘So, when people are in a state of anxiety and are socially isolated with no clear focus for any length of time, this can lead to a mass hypnosis, and all people need is for a superhero to come along to tell them he has the answer for everyone to fall in line. This if course, was not entirely based on my own research, but I am going to expand on it.’

‘So, what do you think, Desiree, I was planning to wrap this up, add a few more of my personal observations and regional figures and deliver it at the Psychology Today lecture that I’m giving next month.’

His wife, pretty and unconcerned, was reading a Who magazine and drying her nails. Professor Fletcher frowned. Kenny raised an eyebrow and then dropped a paw on Desiree’s leg, just to keep her in the loop.

‘Oh, darling, what did you say? Sorry. I think that’s a great idea’ she replied, having no idea what the great idea was.

Kenny himself was very contented to be living in their household, where he had two square meals in a round bowl, lots of love and exercise. Desiree had given him applesauce once out of a desire to spoil him, but it led to an extended visit to the vet. She never did it again and Kenny had no complaints whatsoever.

His early years were spent working hard on a farm but when his owner had to leave the land and move into a bedsit he couldn’t take Kenny with him. What befell him next wasn’t pretty.

His new owner would keep him chained up on a truck all day while he whistled and listened to shock jocks on the radio. He suffered the odd kick in the ribs, but took it in his stride. Kenny couldn’t believe his luck when the tradie literally traded him in at the pound for a pit bull, who would do his guarding job properly he said.

Kenny suffered an anxious few days wondering what was next, but was bowled over when the lovely Desiree patted him through the bars at the Dog Pound and said:

‘Do you want to come home with me?’

Kenny wished he could speak English, and say yes, yes, yes, please, so instead he just whimpered and wagged his tail in appreciation. 

Professor Fletcher was still droning on about a two tier society. Kenny pricked up his ears. What was the matter with humans, didn’t they know there would always be masters and slaves? In his world, that’s the way it was. Dogs had owners, but of course lucky cats had staff. 

He couldn’t see why humans couldn’t just get along. They had everything, they could push a button and machines did their bidding, flick a switch and lights went on, communicate with a moving picture held in their hand.

Maybe it was time canines took charge? All this thinking was making Kenny sleepy and he 

‘Desiree, darling, where are my socks? I can only find one of the Mickey Mouse ones, you know the ones you got me for my birthday’.

Fletcher was such a softie and sook, and so completely incompetent in any day to day situations such as laundry, what to eat, where to go, and so perfect in his calibrations of statistics and his ability to measure social constructs that it was mind-boggling. 

‘Look in the laundry basket. Or they might be on the line, or one of the magpies might have made off with them. Can’t you wear some others? What does it matter/’

‘They’re my lucky ones. I’m giving my presentation today and it’s crucial that I wear these.’

Desiree got up from the couch, dramatically, switched off The Kardashians and went into the laundry. She returned with the sock and made Fletcher run for it, as she bounced around the room, dangling it in front of him. Eventually he caught her and they collapsed in laughter.

That made Kenny very happy, hearing them laugh. And it allayed the fears that he’d had lately, of the authorities coming for the professor, rounding him up like stray cattle, and spiriting him off to somewhere. Kenny had been watching old documentaries of dissenters being brutalised and he didn’t want it to happen to his second favourite human. When Desiree was off getting snacks or polishing her already perfect nails, Kenny had perfected putting his paw on the remote just so, to change the channel. When she came back, she was quite happy to watch what he’d chosen, although she had a rather puzzled look on her face.

Kenny knew a thing or two about rounding up sheep. You just went round and round, barking and giving them an odd nip or two, it was quite harmless, and for their own good, particularly for the cagey ones who wanted to do their own thing and strayed away from the flock. Kenny was an excellent kelpie.  It was in his DNA – but he didn’t think Humans could be spirited off the footpath or anything. That would be just ridiculous.

So it was with wailing and gnashing of teeth, that Desiree and Kenny found out that the professor had indeed been spirited off the footpath and ushered into a large black car, and they even held his head down, lest he hurt himself getting in.

They were watching from the window, as they usually did every afternoon, for Professor Fletcher’s happy whistle as he came down the street from the bus – he always caught the bus, carrying his briefcase, when two men in suits stepped up, said something to him and bundled him into the car.

Desiree raced outside, Kenny’s nails skittering on the floor behind her, but by the time they got to the street, the car had slid away. Kenny wasn’t sure what his next move should be, so he just sat there, jumbled emotions churning away inside him. What had just happened? Was it anything to worry about? He knitted his brows, waiting for orders from his mistress.

Desiree was on her phone.

‘Fletcher, honey, I thought I just saw you come home but…um, call me as soon as you can. Love you…’

Kenny wanted to second that. But he had a bad feeling. And usually he could trust his instincts. The rude way those guys grabbed Professor Fletcher told him everything. They weren’t to be trusted. It’s not as if he could have run after them either. It wasn’t like herding sheep. Those days were long gone and they were in retrospect, enchanting. Endless green fields, a blue sky and the fresh growth of hay. At the end of the day he was exhausted but he felt satisfied and happy and that he was doing his job. Now all he felt was helplessness.

He followed Desiree inside. She sat there morosely for a while, after having tried to message and call her husband umpteen times. When she’d finally remembered to feed Kenny and herself, her phone rang. It was the professor.

‘Where are you?’ Kenny heard her say. He wished she would put him on speakerphone so he could listen. He pricked up his ears and stared soulfully at his mistress, giving her moral support if she needed it. He nudged closer to her and put his paw on her lap. She reciprocated absentmindedly by patting him.

‘Oh my God, they can’t do that, can they?’

Now Kenny was really worried. Where was the professor? What were they doing to him? It didn’t sound too good. He’d seen stuff on television which alarmed him, people being manhandled by police and even dogs involved. They were trained to hurt people. Now that was a new thing. They were herding people like sheep, and attacking them too. He was ashamed of his species sometimes.

‘I’m coming right down. I’ll see you soon.’

He wanted to go too, wherever it was, so once she got her car keys and bag he blocked the front door and just whimpered, those big soulful eyes of his dripping with longing.

‘Oh, alright, you can come in the car.’

Kenny threw himself into the backseat and curled his tail around him, waiting patiently as Desiree hurtled through the dark streets, completely ignoring red lights. He was getting worried they might not make it, that some truck would collect them at a red light and it would be ‘all over, red rover’.

When they got to the brightly lit police station, he waited patiently again and an hour later, he was greeted with hugs from the professor, who was surprised to see him.

Kenny had never been happier, and he was dying to hear what had happened. It turned out the professor had been charged as an ‘instigator’ because of his speeches at the university and while he was currently out on bail, pending a hearing, things were not looking too good.

Kenny knew that things would never be the same again, not now that the professor’s work and liberty were at stake from the wolves of tyranny. He was stumped. Once dinner was over and the professor’s face appeared on the telly with a banner marking him a terrorist and newsreaders alternately shrieking and wagging their fingers in horror at Professor Fletcher’s apparent defection and betrayal of his colleagues, Kenny beat a retreat to his backyard.  He could hardly eat his own dinner, the scenes on the television had so unnerved him and it was unusual for him to leave anything in the bowl. He lay there morosely for what seemed like hours, batting away flies and ants.

However, he kept his ears open and could still hear them whispering anxiously long into the night. What did this mean for him? If the professor went to jail for any length of time, would Desiree decide she didn’t need Kenny after all? Might she move to a tiny apartment and not be able to bring him? He’d put his horrible experience with Tom the Tradie behind him. Those cruel months chained up on the back of the ute, and then in the RSPCA kennels, waiting for a new owner, were something he had almost forgotten. Now the classic fear of abandonment came bubbling up again. 

But it wasn’t like Kenny just to think of himself. He had to come up with a plan. What could he do, as a mere canine, apart from offer solace and support to his owners? He couldn’t let the professor be done over. 

Desiree was always listening to those self-help tapes. There ought to be some wisdom there, some answers to their current predicament. He snuck into the office and put his paw on play, turning down the volume so as not to bother them. 

‘Take a long slow gentle breath…hold it…and let it go…then take another breath…

Soft sounds of the sea washed away in the background and he almost dropped off after the first five minutes, but made himself stay awake to the end. Now finally he had a plan, but it would require direct action for it to be effective.

But then his usual doubt set in. He was numb with indecision. What could he do, as a mere canine? He’d heard Desiree saying she’d put her thinking cap on, maybe that was the way to go. He moped around the living room for a while, trying to find something to put on his head which might assist him, rejecting the cat’s bowl, finally finding a pair of the professor’s shorts, nudging them over his ears, hoping for some enlightenment.

After an hour and a numb feeling of hopelessness he gave up. This was ridiculous. You didn’t start a movement on your own. You had to call on your tribe. He’d call a canine council of war. The neighbourhood consisted of many pedigreed four legged friends, although Donnie the spotted Dalmation only had three. There was Felicity the Foxie at number 10,  Lionel the Labrador across the road at number nine, the various mutts which had no name who lived at Mrs Wilson’s, and his gorgeous best friend Suzie the Springer Spaniel next door. 

Ever since he’d moved in with the professor and his lovely wife, he’d made it his business to get to know his local comrades, whether it was out walking through the park near the flowering gums, or when he’d come across them at the shops, tied up to the railings. A friendly howl or two never did any harm. Now was the time for them to all get together and storm the courtroom. But what about the security? They had alarms and things, and the guards weren’t exactly negligent. Look how swiftly thy grabbed the professor and frogmarched him away. He’d have to consult Suzie, she would have some good ideas and plus, her human was a well-known barrister. Surely she’d picked up some tips during her tenure there. Rome wasn’t built in a day, and nor was this major operation. It would take some expert help.

Kenny the Kelpie snuck out the back door, scampering across the yard, nudging the loose fence paling, and gaining access to the neighbour’s yard. A friendly frog croaked at him, as he waited near the back steps. Suzie was just polishing off her dinner. She was lucky, only the best. Dine with Me, it was called.

He gave his special Woof a try. That would usually bring her out to the backyard, and waited. Dusk was coming up over the trees and it was rather beautiful. He sat there in reverie gazing at the full moon tentatively hanging in the trees. He got a shock when Suzie bounded down the steps. They nuzzled each other and inspected their hindquarters, obtaining important information about where they’d been and who they’d been with. There was no need for the protracted conversations Humans had. This was what had kept their ancestors, the wolves, safe for millennia.

Now to the matter at hand. Saving Professor Fletcher. 

It was a searingly hot Monday. There was a massive crowd swelling outside under the long columns surrounding the courtroom. Novice journalists jostled with spectators, shoving their fluffy mikes in front of anybody who looked important enough to interview. Professor Fletcher’s case was about to be heard. Desiree was wearing dark glasses and had a harness around Kenny. Kenny had finally realised he now had to behave in the opposite way he always had – not to be running around in open pastures and nipping sheep, instead now walking steadily and stopping at traffic lights, looking around anxiously every now and then at Desiree. She played her part with aplomb, wearing a dark dress and jacket, the loud nail polish and lipstick completely gone.

While they were waiting to go through security, Kenny noticed an extraordinary number of ostensibly seeing eye or companion dogs lining up with their owners. That was exactly what he was hoping to see. Kenny and Suzie had been planning this for ages and somehow the Humans had fallen into line, as though through mental telepathy. It was extraordinary, this show of support for the professor. 

It seemed to take hours for everyone to drop their phones and keys and whatever into the baskets, go through the screen and pass an unsmiling guard. 

Amazingly, the dogs were quietly obedient, something Kenny had never seen before. They’d all been friends at the park and in the neighbourhood, barking at each other and nipping and sniffing their nether regions. They realised suddenly that this was a place where justice would be served and they had to play their part.

The crusty old judge barely looked at the crowd in the courtroom, before reading out the 24 and a half complaints against the professor from his colleagues. He had to decide whether Professor Fletcher could continue in his role at the college. The case had been brought by two of his colleagues, who had 12 complaints each. The half a complaint was brought by the college’s cleaner, Myrtle, who actually liked Fletcher but who was tired of emptying the professor’s overfull bin and wanted him to stop creating so much paperwork.

While the judge droned on, Kenny wondered how long his friends could keep quiet. Some of the complaints were clearly ridiculous, like ‘inciting terrorism’ and ‘breaching the peace’– Kenny had never known the professor to even raise his voice.

It would all ultimately depend on the professor’s testimony, his credibility and proving the nefariousness of his colleagues who had reported him to ASIO initially. Although that case had been dropped, he was still in danger of losing his tenure. This hearing was crucial.

After the judge had read all 24 ½ complaints, he looked exhausted and quite simply over it and simply asked Professor Fletcher to explain, in his own words, why he should be reinstated.

Professor Fletcher began:

‘Well, as you know, my hypotheses have been sorely tested recently. But I am a loyal citizen and would never put my students or my family in harm’s way. I am not a terrorist, I am a peace-loving man. The people who have sought to demonise me have other agendas which as you will see from this short video produced by one of my students…may I, Your Honour?’

The judge nodded and Professor Fletcher pressed play. 

What followed was a video of a conversation between two men - Professor Miles and his associate, a rough type– it looked to be in a basement or in an underground carpark. Fletcher turned the volume up.

‘…so, let’s get rid of him then. He’s a pain in the arse. Your classes have always been less popular than his, but with him out of the picture, your numbers will soar, we’ll have less hassles, the students won’t hold demonstrations about their’ – here he crooked both index fingers – ‘rights’ and we can all breathe easier. He always was trouble, wasn’t he?’

‘You’re not suggesting rubbing him out, are you?’ the older one said.

‘Only metaphorically. This remains a non-violent campus.’ ‘I have contacts in ASIO. I’ll get the ball rolling.’

The courtroom was stunned – both humans and canines stared at the video, not quite believing what they were seeing.

The judge cleared his throat.

‘Well, I think I’ve seen enough. It appears there has been some collusion on the part of the College. Which is clearly unacceptable. Professor Fletcher, in view of your own testimony and what I have seen today, I believe you have no case to answer. You are free to go.’