John looked down at Barge, frisking around happily. “Ready for walkies, hey?” muttered John, pulling gently on his leash. “Let’s go then”.
Pushing eighty-seven, frail, shaky, and burning with anger at his dimming light, walkies with Barge was the high point of John’s day. He credited his health and mental acumen to Barge’s companionship, and he was probably not wrong. As they stepped outdoors, John felt a momentary sense of elemental joy and gentle ease of the dull ache of being alive.
Barge strained at his leash, eager to feel grass beneath his paws, and John stumbled, almost falling over. A woman passing by gave him a concerned smile and reached out her hand
“Careful mister!” she exclaimed. “You don’t want to fall at your age!”
John bit back the urge to say something caustic in return, he was perfectly capable of walking, and satisfied himself with scowling at her. She nodded in a friendly manner- she must be used to angry old geezers and went on her way.
“Alright, alright!” Barge was barking impatiently.
There were no more people in sight. John made his way carefully to a bench- no matter how much he resented what the woman said she was right. Hadn’t his own wife Clara died after a fall, followed by a hip operation and hospital infection? On Saturday they had been walking right here on this street, him and Clara and Barge. Wednesday morning she was gone and the hospital was very sorry. He saw her beautiful face on the bleached hospital bed.
Barge growled softly. John jerked out of his doze. Three hooded youth were walking towards him.
He eyed them angrily. Fools! he turned to Clara, sitting beside him on the bench. “Look at them! Swear we need another war to take care of this lot.”
Clara smiled. “They just need good education and work, that’s all”
They didn’t even ask for anything, just stood there, pulling jeering faces and hooting. John yelled at them to feck off. One reached out and cuffed him sideways. Poor Barge barked, but he had already died many years ago, soon after Clara, and they couldn’t see him.
John got up from the bench, shaking with anger and tried to hit the one who had cuffed him. They howled with laughter and one of them kicked sideways at John’s legs, sweeping them out from under him. As his head hit the gravel, Barge’s desire to protect John broke through and the three youths were suddenly confronted by a large attacking dog. Two of them ran screaming, the third one fell, Barge on him, his jaws clamped tight on his bloodied throat.
It was still light. Clara took John’s hand, helping him to his feet and led him away, sparing him the sight of spurting blood. Barge’s work was soon over, and he left the still-twitching body and happily joined Clara and John, holding hands as they walked through the streets by their home.
