At precisely a shimmer past a whisker, I bark for my pet to take me on my morning walk. Any later and we might see Max’s pet, Dr Meller on his way to the torture chamber. I cannot have that today, not with this wobbly leg.
I bark again and hear a jangling of a lead in the distance, then catch a whiff of teenage boy: it’s Daniel. Thank goodness! I prepare the wag.
As he rounds the corner, he says, ‘Walkies?’ and I bark in affirmation, then jump up and give him a grateful lick on the lips. He tastes like a chew stick, which makes me ravenous for more, but then he takes my paws in his hands and puts his nose to mine.
‘Come on you. If we’re lucky, we might run into the sausage man.’
Mr Tod! What a pet. He always keeps spare sausages snuck inside his jacket. I don’t know what I’ll do if I see him today. Probably forget about my bad leg and dance for joy! Sausages are good like that—perfect treatment for any injury. Better than that medicine Dr Meller uses, at least.
But when we leave the house, Mr Tod is nowhere to be smelt, so we head down the muddy pathway to the field. I do my business there and try to cover it with soil, but Daniel being Daniel, slowly squelches over to pick it up. I don’t know why he likes to do this, but I reckon it’s because he’s only allowed to poo in one place and he’s jealous of my freedom.
After he places my work in a small red box for safe keeping, I hobble around for a little longer, smelling Sally and Duke and Buddy. Buddy’s tried to claim the football post again, so I leave him a kind reminder that this post was mine long before he existed. I then leave the others a message to say hi and let them know what I had for dinner last night—you know, the usual. I then smell Max on the wind but before I can bark my woof, growl, howls, it’s time to head back again. My pet’s got school today and I don’t want him to be late, so I don’t make too much of a fuss. He seems to appreciate this and gives me a piece of liver.
Still chewing my treat, we trek up the muddy path and soon reach our road. But as we’re about to cross, the liver drops out of my mouth and I smell him. The man, the myth, the legend. Mr Tod! I bolt as fast as I can for the saucy sausage man, wondering what he has in store for me today. Then, I realise he’s in a car and I skid to a halt in front of his headlights, stunned and rather bemused. I hear something like a cup scooping through kibble, I smell iron in the air. When I see Daniel leaking water from his eyes and Mr Tod idle beside him, I wonder what happened.
I can’t move any of my legs now. Maybe a sausage will help?