Walking the Dog

It was National Puppy Day yesterday, apparently. Or so they said on Classic FM, occasioning requests for Gershwin’s Walking the Dog. He hates it and I hear him groan from his chair in the corner of the room whenever it comes on. A man was walking his dog in the rain this morning as I began mine. He was ahead of me on Northgate Street and looked a little unsafe so I crossed the street. He walked with a lurch and kept tugging at the lead. The dog was big and looked like a sort of retriever-cross. It wasn’t happy, neither of them were. The lead looked like a home-spun affair – a rope of sorts with lots of knots. Was the dog pulling? It’s owner janked at the leash and at one point made the dog lie down on the pavement. I was edgy watching him.

The lit-up fishing boat in the harbour lifted my spirits somewhat. It had obviously just come in for its lights were still blazing and there was a lorry parked up with its lights on and engine running clearly waiting to take the catch. I saw the driver as I walked down the hill talking to one of the fishermen. He was on the quay while the fisherman was still in the boat. It’s a life I know nothing of, I just observe it from a distance as I walk by, umbrella up against the rain.

I’m to have a filling re-done this morning. I really don’t want to.

By Ellen Bell

Artist and writer currently living in Aberystwyth.