After the river and the lactose free milk there is the B-O-N-E. Dingo knowingly takes his to the far corner by the old kennel. Willow the other corner with the red, yellow and green bins. Stevie takes hers where it lands. At the top of the ramp, both paws holding the bone firm against the decking, she macerates red flesh, tugs off strings of fat and sinew, then grinds down the remaining nub with her molars. When she’s done she crashes in through the dog door, licking her gums, and rolls herself into the couch.

By midday the sun is halfway up, hot water halfway gone, and we’re at shower three of seven. I shovel cheerios. Give a half damp one clinging to the top of the bowl to the dogs when they’re being good, or good enough. I finish my bowl – Stevie gets the milk-wet bowl and spoon – and fry a leftover christmas ham and swiss cheese toastie for lunch.

Miri’s making sandwiches. Gluten free tiger bread, fluffy for once. The only good brand. Mustard. Swiss. Leftover bolognachos mince. Mixed lettuce. Glad wrap. Baking paper. Sticky tape. Ally returns from Punkah Pantry with a latte, and a decaf latte for Dave, who’s pottering up the lane where the potato lease was, where the roundabout was, where now rests a twelve-foot yacht and a more-foot houseboat and you need to do a three-point turn.

Dave opens the cap of the four-stroke clamped to the stern of the yacht and looks inside. Sees liquid and smells it too. He backs up the jeep and locks the trailer on. Occy-straps the plank with the licence plate and lights to the rear rail, throws the duct-taped cord over the top, winds it around the prow and plugs it in to the jeep. Left, left! Right, right! Brakes, yep! Ally glides her palm along the painted hull.

The esky – blue enamel, two silver clasps, lid bigger than box – is full up with ex-juice-bottle-water-bottles, two kinds of ginger beer, and zooper doopers to keep the rest cool. Four old life jackets in the cabin, I throw the new christmas two on top. Tess – large latte – and Brody – large cap w/ ham and cheese croissant – return from Punkah and we all pile in. Lisa stays home with Dingo, Willow and Stevie for a snooze, finishes her book, and watches the movie of the same book too.

 

Three angry 4WDs overtake us as we roll along the highway at eighty. Ally’s yacht, keeping pace in the slipstream, sails through the wavy mirage air rising from the sun-hot tarmac and clatters over potholes caved in from summer storms. See that cobra! The half moon lifts out of Mt Buffalo, round side up and blue-white like the domed peak of a distant mountain. Eucalypt leaves and yellower mistletoe hang still in the air. Ooh corvette. By Myrtleford the moon was higher and turning, as we fell away and to the right. In its path a glider, or paraglider, far-away, bright and quiet. How’s that speedboat!

We disembark at Myrtleford for a salad roll, a sausage roll (one of the nicest Dave’d had in a long time – roasty, flaky, and a good size too), a custard tart, danish, smartie cookie and- overwhelmed by the unlabelled diversity and expected prior knowledge of Australian baked goods I go for one on the top rack, just this one please, the donut thing with the cream in it and the caramel on top. Miri previously uncaffeinated’s down the street, far from the bakery, iced latte. Back across the roundabout the yacht lies on a grassy corner between bridge, farm and industrial area.

 

‘How good,’ says Miri crunching the last of her ice.

‘How bloody good,’ I reply. The six of us sit twelve feet wide on the grass in the shade of the yacht, looking out over the farm. Dave halves his salad roll and we pass ginger beers down the line. The cream and custard pluff out the sides of my donut and it’s gone in five bites.

Back against the wheel, head on the rusting mudguard, my eyelids shutter out the shining sky. The metal mast, emanating hot, would be tall above me. Cream canvas sail cool and full in the breeze. Speedboat wake lapping at the hull, refreshing our toes.

‘It’ll be great when she’s running,’ says Dave.

‘And registered,’ says Ally.

‘And registered.’

‘And if there was wind,’ says Tess.

‘Lovely day for a cruise though,’ says Dave. ‘Sunday too. How good.’