There is nothing quite like travelling down the canal path, with the sunshine shimmering off the water and the birds staying at a safe distance in the trees.
The gorgeous mud and majestic rocky peaks of the path itself make it a joyous experience. The wind in my hair, the rain on my back, the flies in my eyes.
Yesterday as I was admiring the various canal boats with their colourful owners when I passed one that I like to call The Dog Dispenser. It was the turn of a Staffordshire Bull Terrier to be disgorged, the golden light playing on it’s glossy coat and teeth.
It greeted me with a happy growl and proceeded to lightly pound alongside me. On every down stroke on my pedal the hound playfully attempted to lock on with it’s mouthful of biker maulers.
Oh, I could have cried with joy with the pure feeling of being alive, if my soul hadn’t actually been filled with horror, fear and despair.
As the little scamp made one last lunge at my leg meat I thought, “Go on take a bite you psychotic piece of shat, it’ll be your fugging funeral! I’ll probably end up in a hospital bed having my hair stroked by a sympathetic (and buxom) nurse, whilst your crap-filled head will be developing a close relationship with a police marksman’s bullet!“