Mike Dixon

They resembled paddling pools with chicken wire to stop
the little crocs from jumping out. Lights hung above them at
night and attracted moths which fell into the water and were
gobbled up.
Daryl had explained the principle. It seemed that in the
early days of crocodile farming, people spent a lot of time
preparing dainty morsels for the fussy palates of tiny hatch-
lings. Then someone noticed their fascination for insects.
After that it was easy. You hung up lights and free grub was
delivered under its own wing power.
The crocs looked like they had just emerged from their
eggs. David wandered from pen to pen, counting. There
were about 200 of the little reptiles. Daryl had told him how
much the hides and flesh would fetch in three years.
David had not liked mathematics at school but had learnt
enough to run the dive business.
Aunt Grace had once re-
marked: David can only do
sums when there is a dollar
sign in front of the numbers.
At the time, he had taken it as
an insult. Now, he realized it
was a compliment.
He did the sums and they
didn‟t add up.
More pens caught his eye.
They were much larger than
the nursery pools and most were built from pieces of wood
fastened together with wire and rusty nails. The crocodiles
inside were big enough to be dangerous and their loss would
be financially damaging if they escaped – which seemed
more than likely.
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