K) Sam Holloway and our dog

On a balmy harvest evening with a breeze from the moor
wafting the scent of sweet hay over the rooftops
and a thin moon grinning lopsided
(he must have known what was coming)
Sam Holloway, fishmonger,
who'd snapped his Achilles tendon skidding on a golden haddock
was stepping out for the first time
gingerly on his crutches

Walnut peered up sideways
from sniffing a telegraph pole
and froze
What a baffling sight -
Sam Holloway had sprouted an extra pair of yellow legs growing from his
armpits

Walnut was torn between
jumping up to say good evening
because it looked like Sam
and backing off because it might be a nasty
variety of spider

In his perplexity he waggled up to Sam Holloway
then chickened out and swerved aside -
grabbing a crutch in his teeth and dashing away with the great idea of
burying it in the garden.
Sam stayed upright but wobbled agonisingly
and never took to crutches again

No more free fish heads
for our cat