Free Follow Me Home by Cathy Woodman Page B

like you to see how wonderful he is.’ Keeping on my side of the dog, he brings Mick right up to the hurdle. I take another step back, but there’s a sheep in my way.
    â€˜That’s making my heart beat faster,’ I say, touchingmy throat as I try to make light of the fact that I’m really scared now.
    â€˜That’s what all the girls say,’ Lewis teases.
    â€˜Not you, the dog,’ I point out.
    â€˜Oh? I guess I’ll just have to try harder.’ Lewis kneels down in the straw to face me, hugging the dog who sits between his thighs. ‘See if you can walk across to us.’ I shuffle one step forwards. Mick cocks his head to one side. ‘When you approach a dog, use their name and speak to them.’
    â€˜How?’
    â€˜Nicely.’
    â€˜What do I say?’
    â€˜You can say what you like, as long as you say something.’
    â€˜Mick, it’s great to meet you.’ I suppress a sudden urge to giggle because it seems so ridiculous trying to make conversation with a dog, especially when I’m trying to be cool and completely amazing in front of Lewis. ‘What do I do now? Ask him what he thinks about the weather?’
    â€˜That’s better. You’re beginning to relax. Come in a bit closer.’
    Before I know it, I’m within arm’s reach of the hurdle, with Lewis and the dog on the other side.
    â€˜You see, it’s easy.’
    â€˜It is for you.’ I feel rather silly talking to the top of Lewis’s head, so I perch on the corner of the bale of straw.
    â€˜Would you like to stroke him?’ Lewis asks eventually.
    â€˜I don’t think so.’ I gaze at Mick. I thought strokinga dog was supposed to lower your blood pressure, but the very idea sends mine rocketing. ‘I’m not that brave.’
    Lewis rubs the dog’s ears and sighs. ‘She doesn’t like you, Mick.’
    â€˜It isn’t personal. I don’t like dogs and that’s all there is to it.’
    â€˜He isn’t just a dog though, is he? He’s an individual. He’s his own person.’ Lewis pauses. ‘That’s what I really want to show you. Dogs are all different, like people and sheep, and some of them are more lovable than others.’ He looks at me, his eyes twinkling with humour, as if he’s trying to tell me he’s one of the more lovable people in the world, and I’m so absorbed in him that I don’t notice until afterwards that he’s slid the hurdle along with one hand so there’s nothing between me and the dog. Lewis curves his arm around the dog’s chest, keeping him back. ‘Are you sure you wouldn’t like to stroke him? He’s like a teddy bear, aren’t you?’ Lewis plants a kiss on the top of Mick’s head. Yes, he actually kisses his dog.
    â€˜Uncle Nobby didn’t kiss his dog,’ I observe. ‘He reeked of fags and rotten teeth, for a start.’
    â€˜Poor dog. Mick doesn’t smell much, just vaguely doggy. He wants to say “hi” to you.’
    â€˜Hi, Mick.’ To my amazement the dog draws back his lips and pricks his ears. ‘He’s smiling at me. Is he smiling?’
    â€˜Here, hold out your hand.’
    Slowly, I reach out until my fingers are within inches of Mick’s nostrils. Suddenly, his tongue darts out andtouches my skin. I pull back. Lewis laughs. I can feel the heat rushing to my cheeks as the dog looks at me with a quizzical expression, as if he’s both surprised and a little offended by my reaction.
    â€˜You can stroke him now, Zara.’
    â€˜I can’t,’ is my immediate reaction, but I realise he’s right. This is a different situation, a different dog, and I’m apprehensive maybe, but not scared. I reach out my hand again and touch the top of Mick’s head. Breathe, I tell myself as my body tenses. It’s fine. His coat is soft and silky and his skin warm as he leans