Calibre Writing Competition Shortlist - www.calibreaudio.org.uk

Guiding

I can’t see the point in this. I’ve been walking up and down the street for hours. Well, maybe not hours, but a very long time. I’m getting rather bored. There’s a nice tree on my left, a sniff of nature bursting from the pavement; great big spreading branches and vigorous green leaves hanging over the street, despite the roots being buried under tarmac, and trunk confined within boundaries of paving slabs. My back tingles from the heat of the sun; a rest under the tree’s shade entices me. But I know not to give into temptation – it will only result in a pull on my lead and more laps of the street before treat time. I sigh and trudge on. I take note of all the birds I cannot chase and stray balls I cannot fetch. The things I do for a chunk of beef. 

But today I feel an incentive other than my usual, food related, one. Alongside Lindsay, my usual trainer, walks another girl. She has a stick in her left hand and is linking Lindsay’s arm with her right. We are walking down the street slower than usual. That’s probably why I feel like I have been trekking for hours. I keep going too fast and nearly getting strangled as my lead restrains me. Initially, this irritated me. I am denied bird chasing, ball fetching, sitting in the shade, and now I must tolerate being almost strangled? But as we walk on, my frustration begins to get washed away by a steady stream of compassion. I sense the girl’s nervousness. It flows through the chain of bodies and leads to me. I feel her uneven breath and hesitant steps. Her heart beats faster than Lindsay’s; it’s louder, pounding with a sense of urgency, desperate to be heard above the buzz of traffic and raucousness of the street. 

‘Do you want a go now?’ I hear Lindsay say. I don’t hear the girl reply, but feel my ownership pass into her hand, responsibility or her to me. She holds my lead taut and shakily, as if anxious I may run away. I often consider on my walks what would happen if I decided to sprint away at full pelt. Would Lindsay be dragged after me, or would my brute strength snap the lead and I’d be free to scamper down the high street? I’ve never given it a go, always concluding it was one of those scenarios which was mildly entertaining as a thought and probably anti-climactic in reality. Plus, I live for my beef chunk treats. And that kind of behaviour would not encourage treat giving. 

Although as I walk down the street with the girl, I do not consider sprinting away. I do not consider chasing birds, or fetching balls, or even sitting under trees. I feel her breath relax, slower and deeper, as I stop at the traffic lights, her heartbeat settles as I begin to walk when the signal beeps. As we return, Lindsay goes inside to get, I imagine, my beef chunk treat. But truthfully, for once I have little interest in my treats. The girl bends down and rubs my ear. 

‘Thank you for guiding me,’ she whispers. 

‘It’s ok,’ I want to reply, ‘it is you that has guided me.’