Wishbone Soup Cures Everything

The dog pack springs apart at the field entrance, scatters out in separate paths, fascinated by smells of ground and air. Claire watches Flooper follow Brasso. He is starting to get braver, even runs to chase a scent by himself; briefly, but this is how it starts, how they rehabilitate, how suddenly things can change, just that littlest shift of attitude. ‘Woff!’ Echo waves. ‘Walk?’ Claire lowers the little chatterbox. They hold hands, and the child stands close as Lady returns, licks Echo’s hair, trots off. ‘Woff, woff, woff!’ Echo squeezes her eyes shut, shakes her head, smiles back at Claire. Hand in hand they follow the dogs, and the dogs follow the stories of scent that they can read from wind or earth. They know everything that has passed. The afternoon sun eases down, makes bold tree shapes, shapes that move and shift, animate the field stories. Dimsum is the first to squat. Claire pulls a poo-bag from her back pocket. ‘Foo-ey!’ She says to Echo. ‘Foo,’ Ec

A-Z Part L Tied but not fettered The warmth of the afternoon is densely packed, cosy. Echo rests her head on Claire’s shoulder. ‘You are still kind of heavy to carry,’ Claire tells her. Echo huffs, as though this is of no real importance. The wind drops, everything holds still in the sturdy heat. Barking dogs break the spell. Claire lowers Echo to ground level. ‘You can do some walking,’ she tells her, ‘at least until the dogs are out.’ Echo takes hold of her hand, leads confidently back up the path until distracted by the sun sifting through the wide leaves of a tree. Echo reaches her hands towards it, palms up, fingers splayed. She tilts her hands, emulates the leaves gentle lilt. Claire feels a pull of affection for the gesturing child. Heartstrings, she thinks; this is where the word comes from. An invisible tie between lives; only there’s nothing fettered about it. Connective. It’s connective .

Part K of the A-Z story challenge...  In which some identity (and other stuff) is cleared up...  She is putting the dried dishes away when she hears the child stir. It is sliding feet-first off the sofa, pulling a face. ‘Ugh.’ ‘Oh!’ Claire says. ‘Nappy! Now what? Improvise!’ She looks around the kitchen, plucks a first aid tin from an open cupboard. ‘This might work,’ she tells the child, who stands, uncomfortably, waiting for a solution to arrive. ‘To the bathroom!’ ‘Ugh!’ the child reiterates, and peers over the edge of the bath. ‘This might be a learning curve, okay,’ Claire admits. The child eyes items on the bath rack. Claire unpeels the tabs. There is some kind of liner inside, which she manages to catch all the contents in.  ‘Good thing we had lunch already, or I might be a bit off my food now. You actually make a worse stink than the dogs, did you know that? Pooey!’ The child laughs. ‘Foo!’ ‘Foo-ey, young lady,’ Claire agrees. ‘I think that can go i

A-Z Part J: In which a splash becomes most reflective Tap water refracts from each plate, splashes the draining board, the dry dishes not yet put away, the windowsill, Claire’s t-shirt. Lines of droplets race down the windowpane. Claire lets them run to conclusion before she wipes the cloth over. She looks out at the precise shadows playing on the ground under the ash tree. The sun, as she understands it, is a sphere of burning gas. Not poetic sounding. But she thinks of how fire burns in a grate, the hiss and twist of escaping gases, the unexpected colours, how ornate and snaky. She sweeps the floor, unsure of when the softly snoring cherub will awake. 

The A-Z segmented story: Part I (as in the letter not the Roman numeral.) In which some further sandwiches and mess occur.   In the house, Claire lowers her little guest to the sofa. ‘Half a sandwich wasn’t quite enough lunch for me: more cheese for you?’ She walks through to the kitchen, opens the fridge; hears an enthusiastic ‘Ah!’ ‘More cheese it is.’ Four slices of wholewheat make a square of squares on the wooden chopping board. Slices of cheese are pressed onto dots of butter. ‘We’ll eat in now. Don’t share yours with the cat this time, or the floor. I’ll put some water in a cup. Can you use a cup? I have seen things like cups, I think, for little ones, with lids and spouts.’ The child resumes its original solemn faced stare. ‘Well, we’ll soon find out, eh?’ Claire brings the slender feast to the front room on a tin tray. The cup of water is taken in two chubby hands. Most of it seems to be washing the child’s neck. ‘Ahh!’ Lips are smacked. Claire c

A-Z story: Part H Oh, those crazy dogs!  The dogs leap up when Claire appears, expecting play. The child clings to her. ‘It’s okay,’ she says, to the toddler and the throng of animals. The hems of the miniature jeans are soon wet from damp noses and tongues. ‘Not now; not now; come on, every one out in the pen!’ The child clings, though curiosity compels her from hiding. She peeks at the bouncing hounds, shrinks, repeats the process. In the pen the dogs fetch toys. Claire kicks a football. ‘Woof,’ she says, ‘see, little one- they are bonkers but they are fun, eh?’ The child observes. ‘Fetch!’ Claire commands. Brasso dutifully retrieves the ball, holds it up, importantly, pushes through the pack. Claire takes it.  ‘Ready?’ She steadies the child. ‘One, two, three, THROW!’ The child gasps, eyes cartoon wide. ‘That’s Blunder, the clumsy one,’ she points; ‘Caribou, chunky; Dimsum, short; Brasso, bossy, Lady, intelligent; Wellington, hmm, lollopy; then there’s

A-Z challenge: Part G presenting the newest installment of story It’s not much different to holding a largish puppy: compact weight, body warmth, wiggling. ‘That’s a cat- that’s Scuro. Scuro says, miaow, miaow.’ ‘Ma-ow,’ the child says, ‘ma-ow, ma-ow!’ It peals into more laughing. A cheese-smeared hand pats her cheek. ‘Nom nom, ma-ow!’ ‘Yes,’ Claire smiles, ‘little jolly thing; Scuro likes cheese.’ Little jolly thing laughs. ‘Nom nom, ma-ow!’ She carries the child down to the cat shed. ‘Shh, sleeping.’ Claire puts a shush finger to her lips, points out Old Gray, slumbering in a sunspot. The child copies her gesture. Claire tiptoes along the path. Behind a raised finger, the child sports a conspiratorial smile. It rolls its eyes from Claire to the cats. They step quietly into the shed. One cat unsprawls, strolls to a dish. It laps, purrs, pads over to rub against Claire’s leg, looks up at the child. Claire watches the enthralled child. Her arms start to