Hounds

Hounds

‘These dogs don’t bark when chasing a fox, instead they “speak”. It’s more like an excited cry.’

‘Of course,’ the commentator continued quickly, realising his slip, ‘they no longer chase foxes, they follow a dummy trail. All very humane.’ He ended with a reassuring smile.

‘If any children would like to meet the hounds, please come onto the field.’

Children looked at each other and at their parents. But no-one moved.

‘Come on,’ the commentator encouraged. ‘They won’t bite you.’ He let out a nervous laugh.

A brave child opened the gate and began walking across the showground. With a collective sigh, children started to pour onto the field from all sides, like water swirling inexorably around a drain. Faster they ran, some tripping up, in their haste to make it to the hairy prizes.

Soon the hounds were lost within an army of small arms and faces. Occasionally a dog would break free and sprint to the edge of the field. Even then, it couldn’t escape the sticky fingers of the smaller children who hadn’t yet made it to the middle.

‘OK, children. I hope you all enjoyed that. Please can you now make your way back to your seats?’

The tide of small bodies turned and started to stroll back, feet dragging in the dust, tracks criss-crossing and disappearing. The children seemed to shimmer and glow in the heat, merging into packs, then breaking apart to become individuals again; lesser somehow. The sun leeched the colour from their clothes. Faded rats deserting the pied piper.

****

Later, in a terrace, built in the shadow of the slag heap:

It had been a long shift at the factory. But Andrew’s spirits lifted as he saw Sarah lying on the sofa wearing a shortie pyjama set. She must have got Archie to bed already. It was unusual for their only child to go down so early, but perhaps the day at the show had worn him out. Andrew wasn’t complaining though. Perhaps this was a night they could take for themselves.

In a small town:

‘Good show? Left the kids at your sisters?’

‘Yeah,’ she replied dreamily. Not really listening. She never really listened to him.

In a large town:

‘Did you enjoy yourselves at the show?’ Steve asked his wife.

‘Yes,’ she replied. ‘It was really good.’

‘Where are the kids?’

‘What kids?’

Somewhere a hound spoke and was answered.