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He could look out for his dogs. That was never an issue.
Up with the sun, stubbies, tee, retrieve the tatty Dunlop volleys, grab the leads from the hall-stand and wince to the grind of the front gate, all within ten minutes. The dogs knew the pack drill. Enthusiasm was all, bounding, drooling, wrestling, barking, not only allowed, but mandatory. Just he and his shadows.
This morning was no different, the pattern was ingrained. Legs a-tangle, bound the hedgerow, slow trot down the lane, round the old tram curve into The Cascades, over the dual-carriageway, dodging the pats that litter the cobblestones from the Mounted Police horses each morning and, within fifteen minutes, into the bliss of the park. His dogs obeyed his every command. Stop. Sit. Wait. Chase. What he wanted suited them just fine.
Dogs were a known quantity, but a child grew a mind of its own.
3 comments:
You certainly are a multi-style writer. I’m most impressed.
What makes this stand out for me in this one is the sentence structures.
“Enthusiasm was all, bounding, drooling, wrestling, barking, not only allowed, but mandatory.” Reads like the action. Ditto: “Stop. Sit. Wait. Chase.”
BTW I think he’ll be a good father. :)
Yes there is a real richness in your riffs. I know if it was me doing the writing I would be stuck in some sort of rutt by number 22. I have to say that I get as much pleasure from the images, this one has a lovely light and action about it.
i know a bit about dogs and children and would say,
"amen!"
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