376. Embarrassing moment

'Are you coming?'

Baby has just popped her head into the corridor. 

'Are you going dressed like that?' 

She has a frown on her face that reminds me of her father's, the way he used to look at her sisters when he took on the role of the fashion/make-up police. I am dressed for walking the dog in the rain (yes, it is still raining, am drawing plans for an ark) and wearing my usual assortment of randomly picked items of clothing that belong to various absent members of the family. A pair of walking boots worn out from tackling rocky paths in the Himalayas, ski socks Baby has abandoned because due to neon pink and yellow stripes, jeans my own - with a splatter of mud (unavoidable these days); two scarves, someone's wooly hat; and my son's jacket that has been on too many rugby pitches and this is showing. And because the weather out there is cold and wet and windy I have put my husband's puffer coat to top it all off. I do wonder what I will wear if it starts snowing and the temperature goes sub-zero.

'Yes.'

I shrug my shoulders as if I cannot see what's wrong with the way I'm dressed.

'You look like the Michelin man. I'm not coming.'

And she shuts the door - too hard. Did I ever mention that I needed to get a grip on Baby? I notice proudly that she knows about the Michelin man. I have done something right bringing her up. Still I need to get a grip on her. I open the front door and am greeted by a gale force wind and of course the usual fat rain drops. 

Ralph (the dog, just in case some of you new readers would be wondering, hence the terrible outfit) and I head off into the dark stormy night. We soon reach the canal and go and inspect the water level. This has become a ritual now. We go down to the rowing club to see if the dock is under water or not. This is so absent members of the family can go 'Oh really?' and 'OMG that's incredible!' and other comments like this. It is also something to tell all the people who are suddenly phoning us to see if we are flooded or not. I need little stories to tell them and dramatic details to add to the flow of concerned questions. Then they go 'Yes, I saw it on the television!' I find the one about the rowing club dock a good one to tell. They all seem to like it anyway. The level of the water has gone up again. I pull Ralph towards the water but he refuses, scared. I get closer, leaving Ralph on a long lead and check the water level: it is going down. Which is good. Yet it means going back to regular work soon and that's not appealing at all. No more dramatic tone to the phone calls.

We head straight on and follow the edge of the water and Ralph sniffs every soaking twig and every dripping blade of grass. The sky is so dark. There is no one around except one lonesome youth taking pictures of the big pumps set up against the banks. I do what I always do and keep walking along the water. 

We are both getting a little tired as we have been walking for almost two hours now when I feel a tug on the leash and ... I yank the lead but too late: Ralph has a dead bird in his mouth! I think he's going to let go but no instead he clenches his teeth and holds his head high as if saying look what I can do. 

I tug, I yank, I scream, I pull, I run, I go through my pocket to see if I have a bit of chocolate to biscuits crumbs (after all it is my son's jacket) but nothing does it. Ralph is proud of his first duck and he won't let me spoil the day.

I try reasoning.

'No need to be so proud, it's dead! You just picked it up. Let go. It's going to make you sick.'

Thank goodness there is no-one around. 

I am thinking that he will give it up sooner or later if I keep a brisk pace and don't let him stop and chew on it. I am also hoping that he will be out of breath and will have to let go.

I have this vision of him settling his prey on the grass like a jungle beast and tearing the flesh of the dead bird apart. I am mortified. The footbridge is getting closer and then on the other side the town and people! What will they think of me? A woman dressed like the Michelin man walking a dog that has some beast in its mouth! Maybe they will think it is a plastic toy ... Still I walk between the wall and the parked cars until the small gravel square. And then? Then it will be lights on us, lit shop windows and street lights and Christmas lights. I look sheepish, he looks proud. There are a lot of parked cars tonight - good hiding spots. A car stops to let me cross the road and its high beams shine mercilessly on the both of us. I try to adopt a look that says isn't my dog funny with his favorite toy? 

Just one moe passer by to go abut luckily a car goes by at the same time ad I am reaching home almost incognito. I open the door quickly and quickly slam the door shut behind me.

Home. Me, the proud dog and the dead dog.