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‘Biscuit and Stagger’

 A short story by Harry Riley

We met quite by accident, about seven years ago, and that was how it all began, on one of those rare; hot summer days, when the mere act of walking seems to drain all the energy out of your legs, if you know what I mean?

I was taking my usual woodland walk before tea and had just stopped to draw breath when I heard it.

“Pick your feet up, you clumsy oaf! You almost flattened me just then.”

It was a high-pitched, squeal and I don’t want you to think I’m a racist or sexist, or voice-ist, or any other-ist; but this speaker, didn’t sound quite human, it was more like the false, echo’y sound that comes from a ventriloquist’s dummy. Apparently it came from nowhere and really irritated me. I looked around but I was quite alone, no sign of man or beast.

After shaking my head and thinking I’d imagined it, I carried on my way. Just around a bend in the track I glimpsed a couple of rabbits and might have given chase, but today I couldn’t be bothered, so I sat down and scratched my jaw, the way you do.

Then I heard it again:

“Oh, bother, I thought it was too good to be true, I’d have been better off hitching a ride on a three-legged donkey, I’ll never get home at this rate.”

There it was again, I wondered if I’d caught a touch of the sun.

The screechy echo was coming from right behind my ear. Anyway, deciding to humour it, I asked the obvious question:

“Who are you and where are you?”

 “No, you first: what’s your name and why are you wearing those dark glasses?”

Okay. I gave in. “Because I’m a little past my best and my sight’s not as good as it should be. I’m a Jack Russell, named Biscuit and I object to giving anybody a free ride.”

The invisible man behind my left ear began a long choking laugh, “Oh dear we are a right pair, there’s you: a blind-dog-Biscuit and here’s me, a five-legged flea called Stagger.”