Indisciplined play crowds the park. A Hound flees over picnics and small talk, a boy follows with a leash. His smile sours businessmen’s moods, their lunch break peace shattered. Unemployed socialites laugh at the misfortune; grass-route youth groups cheer as the dog dodges.

The field, open to the midday sun, gives way to a forest. White birch shadows the prey. Lost and confused the boy whistles. Tones float and push the spotted dog from the brush. Eyes meet, whimpers and persuasion paint the forest in sympathetic harmony. Leash brought a jingle by his neck, and the mood scatters.

Escape becomes play as the boy throw sticks deeper into the forest. The dog secures each stick and leaves them half-buried. The boy  accidentally threw a small stick into a stream, 

“Come!” he says. The dog runs in the direction of the stick, and the boy runs after.

“Don’t!” he says. The dog jumps into the stream.

At the edge of the water, he sits and watches the playful banter of a dog and a stick. It swims up the river and drops the stick. The boy’s shoulders fall at the sight of the dog: how he plays, how he moves in and out of the stream. Fur matted with muck and debris, 

“Why must you?” He yells and picks up a stone; he aims. The inexperienced eyes throw back a smile.

The dog runs back to its owner. The boy throws the stone far into the canopy. Leash reattached, they venture home. Out the park and down the street, the soaked dog drips the whole way. In front of a large red door, the boy knocks. The dog takes the opportunity to shake himself dry. He sprays a stream worth of muck all over the door, pavement and boy. The door opens to a woman, she gasps and takes the boy by the arm and drags him into a washroom.

“Why must you always get so dirty?” she says. She strips him of his shoes, top and trousers. The front door opens and slams again. A pair of worried faces rush back to the dog. A large man with a long overcoat stares disappointedly at the dog, who has taken residence in its bed.

“Honey, your home early,” she says. His eyes dart to the boy who stood in his underwear with dirty hands and face. She places herself between the two, her hands take his clenched fist.

“I left the door open when I brought the bags from the car. The dog got out, and Alex did such a good job. He chased after him for two hours.”

He takes his hand away and pushes past his wife. Stood over a frozen boy, he raised his fist. The boy clenches his jaw and closes his eyes. A loud bark comes from between his legs. Teeth on display, gums shine in the light of the hallway. After a pause the man replies,

“Go to your room.”

Muffled arguments shake the walls. In bed, a dirty dog lies with his friend. In the morning he is gone. She offers her explanations, but he wouldn’t like a farm. He’s the type who enjoys a fuss. An attention seeker through and through. Now I am alone.

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