Bohemia Village Voice

‘Walking the Dog’

“Is that you Frank?” His wife’s shrill voice echoed through the bungalow. Of course it was him, who else could it be, for they rarely had visitors?
He did not answer, for he had something on his mind. He had been out for his daily excursion, taking in the town, the park, and anywhere else that took his fancy.
He had long thought of it as ‘walking the dog’, but had kept that to himself. There had always been a dog when he was young, his mother having great affection for a succession of rescue dogs. Before they were married he knew Edna was not keen on animals, but he had hoped to bring her round. They did try looking after her sister’s dog one weekend, but it was not a success. He had had to do the walking and it had rained. ‘Don’t bring that dog in here all wet. Dry it off and put it in the garage, and use that old towel I’ve left out’, Edna had said.
“Did you remember to get some tea and milk? And take your shoes off!” Edna’s command took his mind away from his thoughts. He always remembered the shopping, even today, and he quietly removed his shoes.
Over the years of his outings he had come to know other walkers, some just by sight, with others a nodding acquaintance had developed, but not with dog walkers. They only spoke to other dog walkers, just as parents with children only spoke to other parents. The lone walker did not exist, so could be ignored, or thought of as a bit suspect.
There was however an exception, a dog owner he spoke to quite frequently, though not at first. He was to be found in a draughty underpass in the town centre, with his dog and hoping for a donation, but he never asked, and rarely spoke. Scruffy in appearance, but shaven, and the dog looked cared for. He was the one dog owner that other owners did not speak to, nor anybody else. Frank also passed him by.
‘Why should I give him money? He looks fit enough to have a job, just another scrounger’. But as time went on, Frank thought there might be a good reason why he sat in that unwelcoming spot, so every now and then he would drop him the odd coin. The dog man would acknowledge and Frank would move on. His donations gradually became more frequent, and the dog man would say, ’Thanks mate’, and occasionally, ‘Enjoy the walk’, but no more than that, and Frank would stroke the dog.
But Frank had not seen the dog man for some weeks now and he missed him and he wondered about the dog.
“You still there, Frank? Make me some tea and bring the paper.”
Later Edna said, “There’s a bit in the paper about that beggar in the underpass, seems he’s passed on – ‘good riddance’, I say.” Frank was thinking about the dog.
Edna went on “It says that anybody who knew him, or of him, should go to this firm of solicitors in the Square next Friday at 11.00 o’clock. Did you ever see him, Frank?”
“Occasionally, but I never took much notice,” Frank replied.
On the following Friday, Frank was at the solicitors along with a few other people, not knowing what to expect. A well-dressed, professional looking man entered the room.
“I represent Alan ——-, whom some of you will know as the man with the dog in the town underpass,” he said.
“Alan has left most of his estate, which you will be surprised to learn is substantial, to a local animal sanctuary. But there are other bequests including, ‘to my regular donor who always stroked my dog, I leave my pitch, and my dog’.”