The spring sunshine lifted Faith's spirits as she walked the well trodden paths through the park. The transition from dismal winter to a new, brighter Spring had begun, turning the park, once again, into a bright, colourful haven. The one constant, rain or shine, was the dog walkers.
People and pets: old dogs plodding sedately, and noisy young puppies, jumping and yapping.

Faith was not a lover of dogs; James had said that they could sense her fear. James! Oh how she missed him! The years since his death had passed so painfully slowly.

"Rufus, come here." Torn from her reverie by a flurry of yapping and muddy paws, Faith found herself the target of a small white dog, jumping excitedly up her legs. Kicking wildly at the tiny attacker, Faith felt her tights tear as she became more entangled with the animated bundle.

"Keep still. Don't kick him," yelled a firm voice.

Obeying the voice, she could feel the dog calming down.

"I'm sorry for shouting, but he thinks you're playing."

Turning, Faith saw a man, about her age, she thought, restraining two excited dogs; a lead and empty collar dangled from his free hand.

"I'm sorry," he repeated, refitting the collar to his errant dog whilst being pulled in all directions by the others. "Rufus slipped his collar before I could stop him. It's his first time out and he's not used to meeting so many people. He just wants to play."

Willing her heart rate to slow, Faith rubbed at her tights and brushed the mud from her coat.
"You should keep your damn dog under better control!" she hurled at him angrily. "If you can't deal with one, you shouldn't have three out where they can attack people. Look at the mess that your animal has made of my leg."

"I've said, I'm sorry. I'll pay for the tights. I don't usually have three dogs together."

"Now," Faith retorted, "I've got to go and get changed. It's a good job that I haven't somewhere important to be!" she fumed. "Dogs like that shouldn't be allowed in a public park. And don't bother about the tights, just keep that animal away."
With that, Faith marched sternly across the park towards the gate. The truth was that she never had anywhere important to be. Since James's death she had retreated from life. James's life-insurance adequately supported her meagre lifestyle, so she had no need to work, nor did she feel the need for a social life. She was constantly lonely, her only respite being the chats with the people she met on her walks. It was all so very anonymous. Not for her the closeness of another; and if that meant the pain of loneliness, so be it.

A few days after the dog incident Faith returned to the park. She had told herself that it would be foolish to allow 'that unruly animal' to spoil her enjoyment.
Walking somewhat warily, she felt her unease fading as she enjoyed the emerging colours of Spring and traded greetings with other walkers. After an hour of enjoying the fine weather, she became aware of a feeling of disappointment. Something was missing. Carefully considering the events of the day she compared her previous visits to the park and the only difference she could identify was her encounter with 'that stupid man with the dogs'.
It was, she told herself, not an experience she wanted to repeat! She couldn't get them out of her mind, neither the man nor the little white dog.

At home, even settled with her favourite book, her thoughts wandered to the happenings of nearly a week ago. Was it guilt? Had she been too selfish? After all the dog was quite cute, pretty even, and the poor man was trying his best to control them. Slowly she came to accept that the absence of 'that man and his dogs' were the reason for that sadness.

When James had died, Faith had travelled a period of depression, and was familiar with that creeping unhappiness which appeared from nowhere. This new feeling was strange; the more she analysed it, the more she was convinced that it was about the encounter in the park.
Throwing her book to one side she went to bed in the hope of a peaceful night.

After a night of tossing and turning, her mind full of disturbing visions, Faith re-entered the park. Her aim today was to disprove her theories. She took her same route, glancing covertly about her for the man with the dogs. And there he was, wending his way in her direction, across the neatly kept lawns and around the early budding bushes. Something was different! It took a while for Faith to realise that he was only leading two dogs: the white monster and the tall spotted dog. And he was waving to her!
Seeking an escape, Faith's heart leapt as she realised that she would have to face him, and before she could stop herself the words had left her mouth: "Well, I see you took my advice!"

"Good morning," he replied politely, visibly taken aback by her direct assault. "I haven't seen you for a couple days and I was concerned that Rufus here might have hurt you.
But obviously," he added tartly, "you are in the rudest of health." His response set Faith back on her heels as he continued. "We are sorry to have disturbed you. Come on you two." And, with a hurt look in his eyes, he led the dogs away. It was the first time since James that Faith had exchanged anything other than platitudes with another person, and his hurt look made her realise that she had overstepped the bounds of politeness.

"I'm sorry," she called. "I didn't mean to be rude. Please forgive me." She breathed a sigh of relief as he turned, smilingly towards her.

"That's okay," he replied cheerily. "We're all allowed a grump every now and then. I'm Martin by the way, and this is Hero," he introduced, tugging at the spotted dog's lead. "Rufus you've already met."

In any other mood Faith would have considered his grin as sarcasm, but today she smiled. "Hello Hero. Hello Rufus, and hello Martin," she laughed. "I'm Faith; I'll stay. back from the dogs, though. I have always been afraid of them and I don't think that being on first-name terms will change that.

"Hi, Faith. No, I haven't taken your advice," he laughed. "Sheba, the other dog, now has a new home."

"Oh, I'm so sorry," replied Faith. "I suppose you couldn't manage all three."

"They aren't mine," he explained. "I walk them for the rescue centre. It gets me out and the terrible duo here, require one-to-one discipline."

"Ah, I see. Have you been walking dogs for very long?"

Martin hesitated. "I'm a widower. I live on my own and my daughter told me in no uncertain terms that I was becoming a grumpy old man, and that I should find a hobby before she disowns me."

Smiling sympathetically, Faith recognised in this man a loneliness similar to hers. "That's very brave," she replied in admiration. "I don't think I could do it. My late husband, James, always said that animals could sense my fear." Faith stopped suddenly at the realisation that for the first time in years she had spoken of James in past tense. With an embarrassed cough, realising that she had said too much, she made her apologies and walked briskly away, leaving Martin confused.
The rest of Faith's day was spent in her pit of unhappiness. Why had she run away? What would this man, Martin, think of her? With another sleepless night in prospect she shut out the world and prepared, once again, for bed.

For the next couple of days, Faith kept to the periphery of the park, sure that she would not run into Martin. She had seen him from a distance, but now with only the one dog, Rufus. Hero must have a new home as well. Now there was just Rufus, Martin's job was almost done and she wouldn't have to see him again. With that thought slowly permeating through her mind, she suddenly saw things from a different perspective:
No Rufus would mean no Martin!

[THE END]

© scrapyardsummer 2020