Chapter 1: A walk in the park?
Paddy, five years old, nudged open the door with his nose. Mum was busy lavishing coconut-scented cream all over his sister Sam, so he stuck his head inside the cupboard, eased the lid off the tin with his teeth, laid it quietly on the floor then jammed his nose inside and snaffled a custard cream. If he’d stuck to one, he might have got away with it, but Paddy took another and another and another until the tin was empty. With his belly full, he skulked into the lounge and lay in front of the patio door gazing out into the garden. The sun was shining. A good day for a swim. But he’d had bacon for breakfast and that only happened on Sunday.
On Sundays, Paddy had to work his magic on Dad to take him to the park because although a pushover during the week, Mum stood her ground on that one day and insisted he took a turn. But, he had a black belt in excuse-making. Always developed a debilitating backache in Spring that lasted throughout the summer. His pain, it seemed, was relieved only by lounging in front of the telly and dunking custard creams into mugs of hot tea.
On Sunday mornings, Dad liked to read the papers, watch football from the comfort of his favourite chair and update social media on his phone. So, when Paddy’s pleading eyes gazed at him after breakfast, Dad waved his hand dismissively saying, “No Paddy, I’m busy.”
His sixth custard cream of the day broke in half and disappeared under a layer of creamy froth floating on the top of his tea. He peered into the mug, saying, “Ask Mum.”
Paddy tilted his head to the right and whimpered. Err, it’s Sunday. Your turn.
He lifted his right paw just in case Dad wanted to hold it. Ignoring him, Dad called to his wife. “Can you bring me a spoon love?”
Paddy shuffled forward, laid his chin on Dad’s knee, and gazed up at him with his big, brown eyes.
“What do you want?” Dad said, taking the remote control from the arm of the chair to change the channel.
Paddy leaned his head to the left and barked, The sun’s shining. Let’s go out.
Mum, resplendent in a fabulous flowery apron and pink fur-trimmed rubber gloves, shouted, “You need to walk the dog.”
She placed the last clean plate onto the draining board and yanked the plug out of the sink. Noticing the lid on the floor, she picked it up and secured it on top of the tin. She called “You’ve eaten all the biscuits, so you need a walk.”
Paddy bounded into the kitchen and sat on the tiled floor next to her, his tongue hanging from his mouth. Did you say walk?
“Not today darling,” she said. “It’s Sunday, I’m busy.”
Paddy jumped up, rested his front paws on the counter, and watched transfixed as the water swirled and gurgled down the plughole. Mum shook lemon-scented soap suds from her gloves and told him, “Dad will take you, darling.”
Paddy blinked at her. Really? You could’ve fooled me.”
She pulled off one of her gloves to caress his velvety ears. He leaned into her, breathing in the fresh scent of cherry blossom and sweet pea on her clothes, but he jolted back to reality when Mum reached for the bleached white tea towel hanging from a drawer handle. He slipped; his claws scratching deep furrows along the entire length of the cupboard door as they slid to the floor. Now look what you made me do.
“Oh dear,” Mum said, running her finger over the wood. “Another repair that’ll never get done.”
“Those claws need a trim,” Sam said, sliding across the tiled floor on her knees to hug her pet.
Mum nodded, “Yes, I’ll book him into ‘Snip and Clip’ for that. He won’t sit still for me.”
She tore off the other glove, flung it on the draining board and marched into the lounge, snatching the dog’s lead off a hook on her way. Her husband, idling in the armchair, feigned sleep.
Her long, black hair brushed against his face as she leaned in close to his head. His cheek twitched, cracking his expressionless face. She drew in a frustrated breath, letting it blow in his ear on the way out, then she shouted, “Paddy needs a walk.”
Paddy plonked himself in front of Dad. Yep. I do.
“Uh,” Dad’s eyes pinged open. “But my back hurts and you kept me awake with your snoring last night.”
He yawned, “I could do with a quick nap. You take him today?”
Mum’s eyebrows shot up. “My snoring?” she said, planting her hands on her hips. “That’s the most ridiculous excuse I’ve ever heard.” She threw the dog’s lead into his lap. “I’ve taken him every day this week. Today is Sunday, so unless you plan to change the beds and iron your own shirts you need to walk the dog.”
