February 15

The dog leapt over the fence like a Derby racer.

It pounded the ground, pumping legs, jaws open in anticipation – a big grey mongrel. It headed straight for me.

I felt a shiver of childish panic, with me ever since I was bitten on the bum by James Dixon’s labrador puppy. I stopped short, stepped back, braced myself. It was coming straight for me.

No it wasn’t. It just looked that way.

The dog bounded past me and onto the stone railway bridge.

‘Eh! Get back here!’ A weak, male voice called.

The dog turned and looked back but ignored the command. I walked on, past the gate the dog had jumped. It was a low wooden structure. Behind it were three other dogs: another grey mongrel, something equally big but with shaggy golden hair, and a yorkshire terrier. Two young men were walking towards the gate, both swaggering in a bored, hung-over fashion.

‘He got over it!’ said the first, a mass of blond hair like the third dog.

‘Yeah, reckon,’ said the second, grey hood up but no bite to his speech, no pounding in his lazy walk.

‘How’d it get over?’ I thought it was obvious. The dog was taller than the gate. Then suddenly, with comic ease, the Yorkshire terrier passed under the gate, barely lowering its body. And it ran off to the join the first dog.

Something suggested this happened a lot.

‘For the sake of fuck!’ said the first man. ‘Get a hold of the others. I’m going after them.’

The second young man reacted slowly, eyelids drooping, arms swinging, bored by it all. ‘Yeah, yeah.’