Short story by Paul Prendergast ©
Lambs on Paul’s property in Woodvale, Victoria, Australia.
MIDNIGHT IN PARADISE
Another night of the full moon in paradise or in my case Woodvale, where I live. Woodvale is a small rural district on the northern side of the Whipstick National Park, but close to Bendigo. This particular full moon had all the natives restless. The natives include me as I have been here over 10 years now. There must be something in a full moon that triggers this restlessness.
Generally speaking most of us sleep pretty soundly during the night here- that is, those of us that are not nocturnal creatures. But on this particular night everybody seemed wide awake.
Take the rooster; I wish somebody would. He was in full and long piercing voice, thinking it was dawn every five minutes. It was only midnight. Technically he is not mine. I never actually bought him, in fact he found me. He just turned up one day and made himself at home with my hens, and has remained. His crowing, or the scent of wandering foxes, also started up the next door neighbour’s dogs. When there are about 20 or so greyhounds they can make a racket, which they kept up. Something was certainly putting them on edge.
Then there was the lamb. His name is Mark and he is only three weeks old. He is being bottle fed by me around every four hours, but not four o’clock in the morning thank you very much! He misses out on that one. He was one of twins, both abandoned by their mother. I could not save his sibling. The mother, an old ewe, was pretty toothless and sick of this mothering caper. She has always had twins, except for one year when she had triplets. Mark is pretty keen on not missing a feed. He can find his way through gaps in the fence now and was at my back door around midnight crying piteously to be fed. Yes of course I fed him, but he will be carrying on again before too long. Some friends remonstrate that I should keep him in the house with me until he grows a bit, but no way.
Then there are the cats. There must have been at least three of them fighting outside my bedroom window. I would have thrown my shoes at them if the window was not fitted with screen wire. Only one cat is mine. No that is not true either, as she also just turned up one day and adopted me and my place and has stayed ever since. Word must have got out that my place is a good place to turn up to. She does not want any further interlopers muscling in on her territory, so she fights any other feline visitors tooth and nail.
Did I mention the cars – it seemed a lot of traffic around midnight, on my supposedly quiet unsealed rural road where there are only a few houses. The next day a neighbour put me right. She thinks they were heading down the road to a rented house where she claims a new tenant, a drug dealer, now lives. Business must be good for him and maybe his clients only sleep during the day?
Then there is a racket from the plovers. They are a nesting pair and never seem to need sleep; either that or they are of such nervous disposition that they brook no intruders on their turf. The moonlight kept them wide awake and they joined the ruckus and tried to sound louder than the others in the chorus.
Another neighbour has a house cow. She was also in fine voice and lives only 150 metres from my house. My neighbour assures me she is in calf. I don’t believe this for an instant. No, she is bellowing as loud as she can hoping to attract a mate. There are a few bulls in the district, and I hear them in the distance answering her. She does not let up. I reckon that one day soon my neighbour will find her missing when she jumps the fence and goes wandering.
Yes, another full moon night in paradise and I cannot sleep.
Paul is a tireless writer of many short stories which he hopes to compile one day. He has about 200 of them tucked away in a personal folder! Every year Paul attends ‘The Writers’ Festival’ held in Bendigo Victoria. This is quite an event, continuing over three days and featuring over 100 writers from a wide variety of genres.
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