Arthur's Walk

Arthur’s master was a silly man.  Not in any unpleasant or nasty way, just silly in the way most intelligent people are silly. 

His eyes were perfect, as was his hearing but somehow he never listened very much nor could he sometimes see those things that were so very obvious. 

He was an exceptionally kind man; though often when his heart told him he should do something a voice in his head told him not to be so silly.  Most of the time he listened to this voice and that was the source of all his silliness.

Arthur had no such voices in his head and he always listened to his heart, which was very wise and full of kindness.

His eyes were fading and his hearing wasn’t very good but he didn’t need ears at all to hear his heart speak and although he couldn’t see at all well, he still saw nothing but beauty in everything.

Arthur’s master was always rushing; he had a very complicated life and had to keep himself busy to make sure he got everything done. 

Each morning he woke early and made a list of all the important things he had to do that day and when during the course of the day they were done he put a tick against them.

If he got everything finished and had a little time to spare for relaxing (which he wasn’t very good at and Arthur thought he should practice more), the next day he would add more things to his list to make sure he used every minute of his waking day in doing only those things that were important. 

Arthur’s master was always busy but never seemed very please when he got his list of very important things done.  However, one of the things he always put on his list was Arthur’s walk; it was usually quite near the bottom of the list but this was just another sign of his silliness.

Arthur wasn’t very much interested in lists; he thought if something was important enough you would remember to do it without writing it down, which is why Arthur never forgot to get up in the morning. 

Each day he slept until he woke and then he slept a little more just to make sure he hadn’t missed a bit.

Finally when he rose, he stretched and sighed deeply, and said: ‘Hawoh Mr Morning, how are you?’ and then: ‘What hav’ you got fo’ me today?’ 

Sometimes it was afternoon by the time Arthur said ‘good morning’ to the day, but he didn’t think that this kind of detail was very important. 

Arthur did believe, however, that the morning and the afternoon belonged to the day and to interfering too much with them would be impolite, so he just let the day take care of itself – and it always did.

More than anything, Arthur looked forward to his master returning home each evening from some place he went to that made him very unhappy.  Arthur didn’t understand why he kept going but he thought his master must know best. 

Arthur’s heart was so full of love, that on seeing his master he could not help but jump and yelp like a puppy, even although he was now quite old.

‘Hello Arthur.’ his master would say, followed quite soon after by: ‘Okay Arthur that’s enough.’ As Arthur continued to jump and get under his master’s feet. 

Arthur’s master would quickly forget how pleased he was to see Arthur and throw his hat and coat aside and beginning grumbling about something.  

Usually he grumbled about how untidy the house was and then busied himself rearranging the mess and generally doing things that really didn’t need doing.

When he was in a ‘doing’ mood and Arthur got in the way or distracted him by barking at nothing in particular, he sometimes became short tempered. 

Afterwards he always felt terribly guilty and cuddled Arthur and whispered ‘sorry’ in his ear - though strangely he never managed to stop himself from becoming angry in the first place and really didn’t try as hard as he should.

Arthur knew life became very frustrating when you were intelligent and that problems appeared everywhere that never occurred to a simple little dog, but Arthur was wise enough to know that anger was like a bad biscuit; it made you sick.  Though it didn’t really matter, because Arthur loved his master so much he couldn’t help but forgive him for everything.

Eventually when supper was done, they got to the best bit of the day – Arthur’s walk.

It seemed a long time for a little dog to wait and sometimes Arthur thought his master had forgotten so he nudge him or barked at his lead hanging on the hook.  But his master never did forget and would say:  ‘Come on Artie boy, let’s go’.

They always walked in the woods and across the moor which was right by Arthur’s house. 

Often, particularly when the weather was poor, Arthur’s master walked very quickly and sometimes forgot to enjoy his walk. 

Arthur never walked quickly because he didn’t see the point in rushing something he enjoyed so much. And also he had quite short legs which made rushing rather difficult.  

If it was raining when they set out, Arthur’s master groused and stomped off while Arthur just said: ‘Hawoh rain, how a’ you?  Are you comin’ for a walk wiff us?’

‘Yes, I thought I might; do you mind?’ The rain would reply.

‘No, I should like that vewee much.’  And off they went, Arthur and his friend the rain enjoying their walk together.

Arthur liked to sniff a lot; in fact the only reason he walked was to get himself from one interesting smell to another. 

On the edge of the wood the wild flowers grew and because he was only small, when he walked amongst them their petals caressed his face, which he liked very much.

‘Hawoh Mrs Flower.  How a’ you?’  He would say, sniffing deeply and enjoying the fragrance.

‘I am very well, thank you for asking.’  The flower would reply.

‘You a’ vewee bootiful.’  Arthur always said, as his little heart swelled with love.

‘COME ON ARTHUR!  HURRY UP!’  His master would bellow from far ahead.  And sometimes he would tramp back puffing in annoyance and push Arthur on his bottom to make him move faster.

Arthur only ever did move faster for a few steps, then wondered off again to another distraction.

‘Hawoh Mr Grass - you a’ vewee green and soft beneath ma feet.’

‘Thank you Arthur.  It is nice to see you.’  The grass replied.  ‘Shall we go together for awhile?’

‘Yes please.’

And on a velvet carpet, the grass led Arthur to the wood, where, with a sigh of contentment he would itching his back on the rugged bark of a gnarled tree.

‘Fank you Mr Tree.’  Arthur said gratefully and to which the tree replied: ‘You’re very welcome my friend.’

Arthur’s master didn’t like the wood very much especially if it was getting a little dark.  His mind raced to all the things that might happen to someone alone in a dark place; but he always forgot he was not alone.

Arthur never thought such things, the trees were his friends and he felt safe with them and saw nothing but beauty in the woods and in the majestic atmosphere the shade of the trees created.

If when they were walking the sun began to set and they were not very far on, Arthur’s master would cuss under his breath and snip at Arthur for being so slow - then turn his collar to the evening chill and march on.

Arthur would gaze up at the heavens and say: ‘Hawoh Mr Sunset, you a’ vewee bootiful.’

‘Thank you Arthur.’  The sun would reply and scatter shades of mottled orange across the darkening sky, just for Arthur.  And Arthur’s heart filled with joy and in a whisper he always said: ‘Fank you Mr Sunset.’ And wonder on accompanied by his warm and glowing friend.

When occasionally he met another dog Arthur wagged his tail and pranced and sometimes yelped with delight.

‘Hawoh Mr Doggie, how a’ you?’  He would say, happy to make another friend.

Other dogs were not always as please to see Arthur and sometimes snarled.

Arthur never took offence but rather thought to himself: ‘Pe’haps you just havin’ a bad day or maybe you’ master’s not so good to you as mine.’  And he would toddle on grateful in his heart for having such a good and lucky life.

Arthur loved the moor which, because it sat on the top of a hill, was often windy.

When in the summer a breeze blew, he would stand with his eyes closed and let the warm wind ruffle his coat.

‘Dat’s nice Mr Wind.’ He would say.

‘Hello Arthur my little friend.’  The wind would whisper in reply.

‘ARTHUR!  HURRY UP!’  Again his master would shout; his voice almost lost on the breeze and in the midst of Arthur’s dream.

‘Ops, a…a…a… got to go.’  said Arthur.

‘I will go with you for a while.’ The wind replied.

‘Fank you Mr Wind.  A should like dat.’ 

And the two wondered on together.

Perhaps most of all Arthur liked to swim and when he came to the loch he skipped with excitement. 

When he had time his master would throw sticks into the water which Arthur fetched endlessly.  Though mostly his master was in a rush and Arthur had to enjoy the company of the water alone.

‘Hawoh Mr Loch.  You look pa’ticula’ly nice today.’ He said, and in he paddled.

‘Thank you Arthur.’ The water would reply.

Arthur’s master didn’t mind too much if Arthur swam, as it got him clean.  But the loch was still a way from home and Arthur loved the mud so much that even on the least muddy of days he could find some, somewhere and when they arrived home Arthur was always dirty.

His coat was long and his tummy was quite close to the ground so his master always had to clean him when they got to their house.  He used a sponge and a large bucket of water and dried Arthur with a big old towel.

Sometimes when a walk had taken longer than his master would have liked and he had some other important thing to tick from his list, he would get annoyed and clean Arthur more roughly than he should. 

Arthur sometimes resisted because he thought it was a game but his master soon reminded him that it was not. 

Arthur never minded because he loved his master and knew that if his master took the time to clean him so thoroughly he must love him very much too.

Arthur’s master was not always as mindful of Arthur’s needs as perhaps he should have been.  Sometimes he did not pat him as often or for as long as would have been good for both of them and when he was frustrated he could be harsh with Arthur. 

It was not that he was a cruel man, in fact it was quite the reverse, he was such a gentle man he sometimes let the hard things in life trouble him too much. 

Unlike Arthur, he thought if something was to get done and done properly he had to do it himself. So he was constantly doing things and always trying to solve problems that didn’t really exist, while Arthur knew everything important got done if you just trusted it to take care of itself. 

When eventually everything on the list had been ticked, Arthur’s master would settle wearily into his armchair in front of the fire and Arthur would rest his chin in his master’s lap.

‘A wuv you.’  Arthur would whisper, but his master, still vexed by some complication from his day, was too deep in thought to hear the gentle words of his devoted little friend.

Then one day and quite suddenly, Arthur became ill and died. 

His master’s heart was broken.  He could think of nothing but his missing little friend and of the times when he was harsh with him or inattentive to his needs or when Arthur came for a cuddle and he pushed him away because he was too busy with something so important, he could now no longer remember what it was. 

Everywhere he looked he saw reminders of his constant companion - in his empty basket, in the lead that hung on the peg, in the scratch marks on the kitchen door, and often he would turn to exchange some nicety of the day with his noble little prince but Arthur was gone.

In the long summer evenings and even in the cold and driving rain, Arthur’s master still walked through the woods and across the moor.

He walked more slowly now and noticed things that had previously passed him by: the fragrance and the colour of the flowers that skirted the forest and lay across its floor; the trees, which he had found dark and foreboding, now took on unique shapes and he even thought he saw in the shelter of their overhanging branches, the etching of a friendly face.

For long periods he would stand by the loch and imagine once more his little friend fetching sticks and prancing in the clear fresh water.

And once when standing on the moor, in the twilight of a summer’s day, he closed his eyes and turned his face to the warm and gentle breeze and, as it ruffled his hair, he heard himself say: ‘Hello Mr Wind.’