‘I Think I’ll Take A Walk’
Mr Dylan felt disgruntled, and most decidedly fed up.For although he could feel the Spring sun warming his back, he was becoming agitated.
The man was busy working in his small greenhouse and wouldn’t let him in. He could see the woman ‘Mary’ clearly through her kitchen window, but she wouldn’t entertain either; and the boy ‘John’ was just nowhere to be seen. ‘Why is it’ wondered the kitten, ‘when I want to play and have fun nobody else does; serve them right if I cleared off altogether!’
He grumbled and groused through his thoughts. Knowing full well he had no intention of leaving. So there he sat sulking on the bright green of the lawn, staring around him. Taking in the rose trees with their new sprouting growth, the rockery freshly planted with polyanthus and aubretia. Of course to Mr Dylan it was just a heap of muck and dirty great stones. His eyes ran slowly along the hedging that bordered the garden. ‘Wonder if it’s livelier through there’ he thought. Another boy lived next door who, although wasn’t unkind to Dylan would insist on calling him ‘Dilatory’ which he knew wasn’t his name, though it caused many a chuckle.
It was then Dylan had rather a bright idea. So simple he couldn’t think why he hadn’t thought of it before. I’ll go for a walk, not too far of course, and not for long, but just long enough to be missed. He stood and stretched looking around him, but which was to go, he thought. A hole in the hedge bottom helped him to choose his direction, so with no second thoughts he squeezed through.
But sadly the other side offered him no more excitement. Leftover sprouts and cabbage swayed above him on hard nobbly stalks. He edged his way gingerly through, trying to dodge the drips of water still held in their upturned leaves. He froze in mid step staring ahead in disbelief for a thrush was playing tug-of war with a stubborn worm, yet at the sight of Dylan completely ignored him. But how could that be… after all birds were supposed to be scarred stiff of cats… weren’t they?
Dylan watched the struggle between thrush and worm with interest, for he’d never been this close to a bird before. But really it was not a contest, for the huge Thrush made short shrift of the tussle, gobbling down his thick fat victim without barely tasting it. He then looked long and quizzically at the small kitten who had intruded upon his late breakfast, before turning and hopping out of Dylan’s view. Immediately all Dylan’s instincts told him to follow… So he did…
To be cunning and triumphant in his chase (you couldn’t really call it stalking) were his only thoughts as he scrambled and laboured to climb over the newly banked potato rows. It didn’t occur to him once that he was venturing further and further and further away from his home than he had ever been before.
Part 7 ‘Hey Missus, Does This Belong To You?’
This monthly series of short stories is published with the kind permission of the author, Mrs Sylvia Hood. They were written in 1975.