Walking The Dog

School run in the morning is currently a slaloming, throwing-the-children-and-cellos-around-in-the-back-of-the-car, break jumping and hence stop-starting, sharply indrawing of breath and shouting of "You stupid birds!", hair-raising activity, owing to an apparent surplus (?) of suicidal pheasants. The chaps see you coming, wait ... wait a bit longer, ruffle their tail feathers in a 'you might not be there in a moment sort of a way,' wait ... puff out their chests ... and step off the verge onto the road. Is this a stiff-upper-beak way of saying to the others, "No, you have my share of the food, lads - there isn't enough for us all"; or is it bloody mindedness - the pheasant version of the game 'chicken'; or could it just be the pheasant-Gump version of 'stoopid is as stooopid does'!? It's usually the men - who slowly and with stately air glance along their beak at you, as everything hits the windscreen, school bags empty themselves ...

Awkward turtle ... not know what I mean? Oooh, lucky you. Picture this - hold your hands out in front of you, palms facing the floor; place one hand on top of the other and curl fingers over; thumbs should remain parallel to the floor and at 90 degrees to the hands; then start to roll thumbs in a forward-turning, circular, pedalling motion: this is the 'awkward turtle'. Ask any teenager and they will demonstrate an array of other awkward animals - from 'awkward giraffe' to 'awkward frog' - in fact, be prepared to face a menagerie of awkward beasts that will sneak rudely into conversations, or encroach on your peripheral vision when things get ... well? - just a bit uncomfortable in the social, conversational department. Frequent awkward turtles include chatting happily to a friend - one who you see on an almost daily basis outside school, who you have met for coffee, played tennis with, and (let's make this as bad as possible) have not only enjo...

In the time that it takes to walk Littlest and Four-legged-friend, it might be possible to read a novel, compose an entire symphony, solve the Eurozone crisis, define the underlying difference between the male and female mind - but perhaps I exaggerate, if only a little.The problem is that our Fidlee-diddlee-aye (otherwise known as Littlest) - who declared recently that fiddling with things in her own room was boring - has become a Fiddlee-diddlee-walker. First, it's picking flowers time Then, throwing bread into the stream for Four-legged-friend time (actually, this is not strictly speaking a Fiddlee-diddlee activity, as I was in charge of the bread and we had planned to do this anyway) Climbing trees time follows and hiding in the crop time and 'No, you go under, I go over' time. Next it's 'You can't catch me' time (which hurries us along for a bit, until she starts running in the wrong direction). Almost ...

"I'm just going out - to walk and recite my German oral - I may be some time." This said at approximately 8.10pm as son disappeared out of the door. Dinner served at 8.40pm (ten minutes later than planned, having given up waiting for him). Son's dinner gets cold. 9.15pm realise it's really quite dark. Text son, no reply. Phone son, transfers to answering machine. Pulse quickens. Go outside into the garden and shout his name several times. Four-legged-friend starts to bark. As do several other, more distant dogs. Four-legged-friend and I go for a walk to look for son and promptly slide down a muddy slope on our knees. It's very dark. Imagination now several paces ahead of me - has he put his foot down a rabbit hole, walked to his girlfriend's, met someone who has bought him a drink in the pub, fallen into the rain swollen river, tripped up and landed in a ditch. Pause with Four-legged-friend at a stile and phone - no, he's not at his girlfri...