iDIDJ Australia Didgeridoo Cultural Hub

Depths of dog dreaming
DAVE TACON
June 12, 2010
SUNDAYS pass slowly in Maningrida and, on this particular afternoon, traditional landowner Joy Garlbin, her family and five of their dogs have sought respite from the blazing Arnhem Land sun.

In a patch of shade beneath a gum tree on the edge of a long stretch of mangrove-flanked beach, they have spread an old green tarpaulin with a sheeted single mattress and pillow at its centre. Teenage granddaughter Kayleen Simmons checks on a large trevally, freshly caught and roasting on hot coals, while a 12-week-old puppy licks at a bowl of sugar intended for their billy tea.

Maningrida, an indigenous community of 3000, lies nearly 500 kilometres east of Darwin on a coast dotted with snaking estuaries. As in mainstream Australian society, dogs are kept for companionship and security. However, for many in this community, the relationship goes far deeper.

This is frontier Australia and the land of the Gunabidji. The oldest residents of Maningrida can still remember their first contact with white Australians. For many, English is a fifth or sixth language. Ancient traditions still run strong.

Many owners believe that dogs possess spiritual and supernatural power. Some clans believe dogs, as ancestral beings, created their land. Between mouthfuls of trevally, Garlbin explains, ''We like dog because we've got sacred site. Some of us, we've got dog dreaming. That's why we keep our dogs … Here in this community, we've got a lot of curse … Black magic come around at our house and that dog … let us know … Dogs save us. [They] chase that killer.''

Yet some dogs in Maningrida present their own danger. Garlbin acknowledges that she and her family often feel threatened by what locals refer to as ''cheeky dogs'' - aggressive and territorial animals that roam in packs.

On November 15 last year, police called to a domestic disturbance arrived to find a 22-year-old man face down on the ground being mauled by a pack of 12 dogs. He died a short time later. The exact cause of death is still subject to a coronial investigation, but according to Dr Ted Donelan, a Melbourne veterinary surgeon who administers the Maningrida Dog Health Program, it is only a matter of time before someone is killed by dogs.

Donelan has been returning to Maningrida twice yearly for eight years. Dog control is one of many aspects of his program. He believes the ''cheeky'' dog problem can only be tackled through long-term strategies to change attitudes rather than short-term ones such as enforced culling. Dog control is a highly sensitive issue in a culture where belief systems can deem dogs blood relatives.

Despite the threat posed by some dogs, Donelan, who also runs a practice in Doncaster, has experienced gradual success during his part-time tenure. The initial aims were to address animal welfare and for indigenous health to benefit from animal treatment. Many indigenous health workers have noted a correlation between skin disease in dogs and humans - particularly children. Hairless, mangy and malnourished ''leatherback'' dogs have become a rarity through Donelan's intervention.

But Maningrida's increasing population density compounds every problem associated with dogs, including health. The population is growing at a rate of 10 per cent a year while the increase in new housing lags behind at 1-2 per cent.

Today, the low-ceilinged iron and cinder block homes that line Maningrida's red dusty streets house an average of 20 people. It is not unusual to see tents pitched on verandas as rudimentary housing extensions. Although not every home keeps dogs, Donelan's annual dog census gives a figure of five dogs to each house.

The 700 or so dogs in Maningrida approximately match the human-to-dog ratio in the rest of Australia, but given the cramped living conditions of the township, there is far greater potential for disease to be spread from dog to human.

When Donelan began his program in 2003, he met considerable distrust from indigenous dog owners. ''The first thing they would say is, 'Don't kill my dog!' '' he recalls. The trust and respect of the community has been hard won.

Donelan's relationship with dog owners has been built through house calls, which take place in the first weeks of each visit to the community. Each time he is accompanied by an indigenous environmental health worker. On this occasion, his colleague is a lean and wiry 46-year old of few words, named Frank Sinatra.

Their working day starts with preparing slices of buttered white bread laced with ivermectin, an agent that treats mange, intestinal worms and other parasites. Each slice is cut into quarters, which represent a single dose for an average-sized dog.

''[This] is a way of treating dogs that is easy for indigenous health workers like Frank to learn,'' Donelan explains. ''I know capacity-building is a terrible word, but it's really important. Ultimately, we should be dealing ourselves out of the equation.''

The pair head out on their rounds in a decrepit West Arnhem Shire ute with a failing clutch. As soon as they arrive at their destination the dogs take notice.

''[Being fed the treated bread] is a pleasant experience for the dogs compared to having a tablet pushed down their throat or an injection,'' Donelan points out. ''The dogs know the routine and they're happy to come up and get their treatment.''

Outside one house at a T-intersection, Donelan and Sinatra are surrounded by about 20 dogs of varying size, colour and condition, the largest no bigger than a border collie. The dogs look up expectantly, their ears at attention, while the boldest plants its front paws on the environmental health officer's hip and points its nose at the bread-filled plastic container above. Sinatra ensures that each animal gets its dose while the surgeon documents each dog and makes notes on its health.

At each home Donelan asks owners whether they have any cheeky dogs they would like to get rid of, and books animals into his desexing program. The dog health program is approaching 1000 neutering operations, but owners are less receptive to putting down problem dogs.

While some owners identify their cheeky dogs, most are reluctant to have them destroyed. Progress is slow. During Donelan's first visit, not a single dog owner agreed to have their dog put down, yet on his most recent trip this month 11 cheeky dogs were voluntarily surrendered.

During one visit, 23-year-old Nicole Kala Kala reports, ''We've got a black dog and he's a cheeky one. He bite all the people when they go past.'' The dog, which belongs to Kala Kala's grandmother, is nowhere to be seen and although an indigenous resident has complained about being bitten the previous evening, the grandmother has warned the aggrieved neighbour that the animal is under her protection. The best Donelan can do is suggest Kala Kala ask her to think about it.

Meanwhile, he books two healthy-looking dogs, Bulldog and Oyster, in for surgery.

Once the dog census and ivomectin treatment are complete, Donelan's surgery begins. Operations are conducted in a makeshift theatre under the shade of Maningrida's ''grog shelter'' - a small pavilion with two shipping containers that hold the town's alcohol, a vice only available fortnightly to those with a permit from the Maningrida police.

It is a deliberate decision on Donelan's part to operate in the open, to ensure that his work is transparent. On this occasion, he is assisted by two recent graduates of Melbourne University and a veterinary nurse from his Doncaster clinic.

As he makes an incision into an anaesthetised dog's belly, three children pass by, dragging dirt-filled Coca-Cola bottles on strings. Curiosity gets the better of them and they crowd in and peer over Donelan's shoulder. The operating theatre is close to the Maningrida Community Education Centre, which schools primary and secondary students. As none of the properties are fenced, the nearby road has become the territory of many animals from local homes. It now presents a significant risk for the children who attend classes, as well as the teachers. Several dog bites are recorded each week.

An additional challenge faced by Maningrida is an ever-changing non-indigenous administration. During the past four months alone, four CEOs have passed through the West Arnhem Shire. The incumbent, based 240 kilometres away in Jabiru, was expected to leave at the end of May. The past 12 months have seen four different infrastructure directors. The high staff turnover reflects the difficulty of finding administrators who will commit to sustained stints in such isolated communities. It also means Donelan is often confronted with fearful new staff who are ignorant of his activities and impatiently demand that he kill more dogs.

He is confident of his program's continued success. ''We've still got a long way to go but there's definitely change happening.''