Everyone was staring at me. The arena held a collection of inscrutable eyes. Then there was Pamela, whose own pair offered me hope. Hers were soft and blue, like the lake we would walk round every Saturday morning.
I didn’t want to be there but Pamela had insisted, and she was the boss. We had religiously practiced for six months though it had felt like seven years. She had set up the basics of an obstacle course in the tiny patch of grass she called a garden at the back of the bungalow. The hurdles were made from dented soup tins and ragged twigs. After each training session, if the twigs hadn’t moved, I would get a treat. She filled my heart with her crooked smile and my stomach with cheesy crunch.
The announcer boomed on the mic adding to the wall of noise in the arena. Pamela gave a slight tug on the lead and that was my cue to start trotting. My legs wobbled as she jogged beside me wearing some bedazzling mini-skirt suit that defied belief, and my colour-blind eyes.
I bounced along the floor which had the spring of carpet but was coarser to the paw. We circled the edge of the floor, passing rows of empty seats. Everyone seemed to be sitting miles away but I could still smell them sucking on boiled sweets. My stomach curdled.
We reached the beginning of the course and Pamela gently pushed my rear to get me to sit. Just ahead was the first hurdle. My body twitched and I swallowed. I knew how much this meant to her. Just because I was a dog didn’t mean I wasn’t aware of the tears she shed at night; how much she missed Derek and saw the trials as a means to escape from the hurt.
I looked up at her and she met my goofy gaze. Her hands shook as she unclipped the lead from my collar and passed it to some bald-headed man, who looked like he’d overindulged in cheesy crunch.
I could hear the sound of my heart despite the cacophony of cheers and clapping that echoed around me. It pounded, as if I was running free. My collar felt tight around my neck. I scratched behind my floppy ear and shivered.
Pamela bent down and whispered to me. I smelt the sharp tang of her citrus perfume.
‘You’ll be amazing, Pete.’
Then, with a light tap to my back, I was off.
Tongue flapping, I bounded towards the first hurdle and took flight. But I misjudged its height. It was a lot higher than two tins of mulligatawny, and I felt my paws scuff the smooth pole. My heart stopped, and I landed in a stumble to see the pole shudder.
I closed my eyes and froze. Seconds felt like days. This was it; I had fallen at the first hurdle. I was going to break her already broken heart. I wanted to whimper, cry out, return to a time when we were all still together – when Derek was alive – lying in front of a roaring fire, listening to records, as Pamela tunelessly hummed along. A time when we were all happy; when Pamela was happy.
‘Go, Pete, go.’
I heard her call my name and I opened my eyes to see her frantically waving me on to the next obstacle. I glanced back and saw the pole was calmly sitting in place. I grinned my goofy grin and bounced on the spot. I heard a ripple of laughter in the crowd and saw Pamela laugh, and my heart took flight.
I bounded towards the next hurdle as my tail danced in time.
About the author
Hamish Hutchinson is a communications professional, playwright, filmmaker, journalist, and author of children’s book series, Three Friends and Crumbs. He lives in Stirling with three bundles of fun who inspire him daily. www.hamishhutchinson.com
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