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The Hill - a (true) short story by Dougie
There’s nothing much better than being on the hill.
We’d escaped the sleepy city that morning, together, and went to work. When the work was done we made a run for it. Not too far, but far enough to lose the ringing of traffic in our ears and forget the straight lines of the city. Shoes were swapped for boots and wet set off.
I walked and he ran. We followed the curve of the bays as the sun warmed our backs but the breeze kept us cool. I found a rock that looked like a chair so stopped to finish reading a chapter of my book. Just as I placed the bookmark on a page, I spotted him winding hard, up ahead. He had his mouth closed and one hind leg forward of the other - solid as a statue. It was like he’d paid attention and seen my glimmering eyes when I watched my favourite black and white Strongheart films. His eyes flicked back to mine and gave me a big toothy smile. “Let’s go” I told him.
Up the hill and around to the next bay and I spotted what he smelled. It was what I was here to get away from – other people! It’s funny how often owners look like their dogs. A short, plump woman waddled along the track away from us with her equally plump Labrador dragging his feet behind her. Their gate nearly matched exactly and the wind ruffled their short brown hair just the same. I looked up at Jet ahead of me – his shimmering black fur showed off his strong, muscular legs. His eyes were keen and intense, his gate deliberately slow but still powerful. I only hoped that I too looked like my dog.
With one movement I whistled once and crouched to the ground. Jet’s ear’s pricked. He turned on a dime that dog and barrelled down the track towards me. Luckily the wind covered the sound of his paws pounding the dirt. He stopped just in time to bury his shoulder into my chest and bring his face to mine. “Good boy.” I felt his heart thump against mine. They hadn’t seen us.
The salty wind burnt my face as we climbed the ridge. The fat pair were still oblivious of the hunter’s eyes watching them. If only they were deer I thought, but still grateful for the practice. I day dreamed of how I would manage to send the dog to the other side of two hinds and bring them back to me, and how I would manage to bring one down with only the pocket knife that was clipped to my shorts. I wondered if the hunting stories in my book were true. I grew bored of watching Christmas puddings plod along the track and sent the dog after a sparrow flitting around the broom above us.
The track was too easy and the hill looked like too much fun. We splashed and slid through a big orange slip that the weather had brought down. Orange mud dried to brown dust on my bare legs. The salty wind whipped up my hair and stung the fresh cuts on my hand from grabbing a branch of gorse. Still – my face hurt from smiling.
Time ticked away and we were soon at the top with nothing more to climb. We could see city again and that reminded me that I had a timing to make. I sighed and turned to follow a fence back down the hill to the coast. I lost the dog to a maze of rabbit trails under the thick scrub.
We reunited at the beach. I sipped from my drink bottle only once I found a fresh water puddle for him. He greedily lay in the mud and slopped up the water before retiring to my lap. I chewed my lunch. I was still hungry but felt his ribs against my soft stomach so gave him half of my sandwich before we set off again.
We rounded the last bay. I had accepted the straight lines of the old fences but the moment I saw the sun reflect a beam of silver off the back of the car, my heart sank. Jet slowed to walk beside me, my hand on his head. There’s nothing much better than being on the hill.
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