BLACK DOG

I’ve taken a day of entitlement and I’m sitting on a sunny beach, a safe distance from the sea.  It’s early and I’m reflecting on life – poetry, music, art, politics, economics, blah.  There’s not another soul around on the endlessly stretching sand.  Until ...

What the hell is her problem?  She’s running fast.  Fit type, down by the shore where the sand is firm, quite a way from me yet.  Desperate, like she’s pushing herself, as if she’s fleeing.  Oh dear God.  Further up the beach, I can see this black dot, far away yet, but moving so very fast.  The woman will not outrun it.  She’s opposite me now, I can hear her breath shrieking, she looks wildly at me and flings down the bag she’s carrying.  Further up I can see other possessions littering the shore, like she’s been shedding everything she ever owned.  This one’s her handbag, containing mobile, keys, money ...  “I can’t ... keep this up ...” she gasps and flings herself forward.

Evidently she can, because she is still running.  I pull some popcorn out of my beach bag.  I can see what the black thing is now – a massive dog; an evil presence, totally out of place in this Western paradise, terrible contrast to sun and sand and sea.  Yet here it is.  It glances at me as it runs past and I salute it with my popcorn packet.  The woman has progressed quite far, but the dog, all shaggy fur and long powerful legs closes in.  She dodges, rather like a gazelle, turning this way then that, to no avail.  There’s the inevitable stumble, the piercing scream of distress and it’s on her.  I can hear growls, snarls and skin torn by teeth.  I can see her hands flailing as she tries to fight, but her blood is staining the sand and every moment she’s getting weaker.  There’s no way of escape, not now the dog’s jaws are round her throat, cutting off air supply.  She’s a goner.  I watch until she stops twitching and so does the dog, ensuring that she’s really dead and not pretending.  Stupid animal, anyone whose throat is in that much of a mess is totally killed.

Well, that’s something you don’t see every day.  I lose interest, getting up and turning away.  I pick up beach bag, laptop satchel and towel; time to go home.  A movement catches my eye.  Even though it’s a way down the beach I can tell the dog is looking at me intensely, its ears are pricked.  The breeze carries the sound of a low menacing growl.  What’s it doing that for?  I haven’t done anything wrong.  Have I?  Fear takes hold; I grasp my possessions close to me and begin to hurry.  The car park is only half a mile up the beach.  I think I can make it.  I look over my shoulder, I’ve dropped the popcorn, but there’s no time to pick it up ... the black dog is coming.