Just Walking the Dog.

Gloria Watkins-Brown was married to Ginger Brown and she owned a thriving little business in the shape of an Art Gallery; which took up most of the space of their old home in Wendouree Parade directly opposite the shores of Lake Wendouree.

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Her stable of important painters enabled them to enjoy quite a positive lifestyle which was somewhat different to her previous position as food editor of a local rag that had neither paid well and had been, she considered, a major dietary setback for her. The wide ranging tastes and calories converging as they did on a collision course with her once youthful figure.

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Their vine covered, weatherboard house was especially beautiful in the Spring when the black boy roses and wisteria blossomed in a tumultuous riot of colour and perfume. Regularly the branches outside the upstairs windows had to be ruthlessly pruned, so that the dappled sunshine could peer into the dusty interiors. Gloria and George’s bedroom had a great wide view of the lake with its’ little winding pathways, old trees and outcrops of reeds. But for all the obvious beauty of the lake there was an ominous underlying sense of danger lurking beneath its surface.

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It was as if the shadows cast by the trees were alerting the casual passer-by to be vigilant; that there was more than just the possibility of problems associated with the depth of the water, men wearing suspect rain coats, swans with their long necks projecting protective malice, or any other potential hazard of a rampant nature. In fact this lake had been known to ensnare the unsuspecting oar of an enthusiastic, unseasoned rower to bring about an early retirement from that great race called life.

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The tufted reeds that grew on the lake’s edge had over the years spread onto the little pathways and would shake, rattle and roll in the late afternoon breeze; while the gnarled old tree trunks managed to project their arthritic joints directly into the right of way used by pedestrians in collaboration with the odd cyclist and dog walker. A secretive yet restful place it was alive with sound, a cacophony of bird song came from the large families of black swans, ducks and moor hens and of course, the inevitable paddle boats.

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Gloria called to Fred, the family retainer who came in the guise of a black and white collie, to come walking with her. She also called in vain for her husband to join them but Ginger was nowhere to be seen, which was a pity really as a bit of fresh air would not hurt him, and he had seemed a little pre-occupied lately; although that was probably due to the long nights working he had had to endure lately. He was a good husband; not like some she could mention.

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Gloria and Fred set off. Once they had crossed the road Gloria released Fred so that he could sniff and roll to his heart’s content. To her immense surprise Fred on this occasion, did not do any of these things instead tail high, he trotted off up the path in a state of huge excitement; in fact she was to think later that it was almost as if he knew what was to come.

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“Fred, wait for me” she called, but her commands were ignored as Fred was on a mission. Past the reeds and along the path he raced, cautiously skirting the swans, barking loudly at the ducks until he came to a small, shaded, private glade that was set back from the pathway, but where a romantic view of the lake was to be had. Gloria was close on Fred’s tail as he bounded happily into this little haven where a half-dressed couple lay entwined in each other’s arms, quite oblivious to the rest of the world.

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Unfortunately their mutual loving absorption was rudely interrupted when Ginger was greeted by a very happy, noisy, tail-wagging Fred! Sprung.

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Surprise!! Surprise!!

a.a.hardy

copyright 1980

all rights reserved

696 words