My Dog George

My dog George and I walked happily along the street. The day was crisp. It was Autumn, our favourite season. The cool air was invigorating, bird song greeted us, and a breeze played gently in the tree tops, causing movement and a rustling refrain. Then, as George tired, we paused on a park bench to watch a lively willy wag tail dart here and there, in an entertaining dance. Once the performance was over, we stood to continue our walk.

However another dog - a large animal, unmuzzled and unrestrained – shot out of nowhere. George, a small dog , took fright immediately. He ran into the surrounding bush with the large hound in pursuit. Imagining the speed of the larger dog my heart beat wildly and my anxiety momentarily paralysed me. I stood frozen with fright. Then I found my legs.

Aware as I was that a pug is no match for this large animal I rushed in the direction of the chase. Dogs are enlivened by rabbits running ahead of them and how like a rabbit George must have seemed to the larger animal! Yet I could hear my little friend yelping as he ran, which gave me hope that he was holding out and I ran harder in the direction of his call. I held a branch in my hand that I had only minutes before retrieved from the foot path, and envisioned a fight with the greyhound which must surely result in George’s safety.

Alas, however, as time went by George’s call became less distinct. My heart sank, yet I ran on. If he had any chance of survival I must continue the chase. I must quicken my pace. But time was running out. My little dog would be tiring. Thus I was forced to find the strength to continue. And then it happened. In the distance I saw the greyhound, stationary, head bowed, with a small limp cream coloured furry animal in its mouth. I fell to my knees and sobbed uncontrollably, before composing myself. With a deep breath I stood. I moved forward reluctantly, on weak legs, raising the branch above my head. Sickened and distraught I saw the greyhound munch on his prey, oblivious to my approach.

But someone was watching. From the entrance of a small concrete pipe I heard a frantic wimpering. Could it be my little friend? Sure enough, George, hot, distressed and panting desperately, with burrs and scratches on his ears and nose and tail, crawled clumsily out of his refuge and scrambled into my arms. I stood in a state of stunned relief. Clinging together we willed ourselves to walk onward to find the greyhound, casually chewing on a soft toyt. The little furry plaything had saved my dog’s life. We turned homeward, happy and relieved.