THE SILENT BARK

It was one of those rare sunny mild winter days in an otherwise drizzly Victoria that just begged one to escape the confines of the stuffy under-ventilated office where every sneeze ridden individual, thinking that his or her job was indispensable for a day, was hell-bent on spreading their vomit smelling flu to anyone they could give a mistletoe Christmas tongue-down-the-throat slobbering kiss to.

GAWD!

HAD TO GET OUT OF THERE!

The green panoramic fields of Cedar Hill Golf Course with its winding wood chip perimeter trail was just the needed antidote.

AHHHH!

The fresh ocean air with its hint of South Pacific Islands and the blue majestic mountains in the distance added to my settling spirit.

WHIZ!

A young lady with an overstuffed backpack sailed past on a dilapidated bicycle with creaky brakes. As she deliberately slowed down past an open ball field, I could hear a very quiet bark - a dog's bark coming from her - but unless you had exceptional hearing, you couldn't tell that she was responsible. And then another one from her!

Two responding sharp yelps could be heard in the distance from a couple of miniature collies - playing with their elder owner - both standing with military precision, gazing in her direction. The eye spectacled white bearded owner couldn't figure out what was attracting them.

She barked softly again, her curly blond head straight ahead.

This time the dogs pranced stiffly forward, small ears alert, eager for action.

Then the little she imp was gone.

Ha,ha. Pretty funny!

Written by Gerald Tooley