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Post by Old Dragon (Al) on Apr 2, 2009 22:14:29 GMT 1
FREE ENTRY, Short Story Competition - with the theme of 'A Walk in the Woods'. Entries have now closed for this competition, and members may now vote for the THREE entries they consider best, and that answer the original brief for entries. Voting will close at MIDNIGHT on MONDAY, 4th May, and the winners announced on Tuesday. However, if there is a dead heat between any competitors, a further poll will be held, and between those entries only. Brief: Stories should be entertaining, and not exceed 1,000 words, and each member may submit up to three short stories, each having a beginning, a middle and an end. Entries will close on 30th April, when the judges will select those they consider the best, and members will then be able to vote for their favourite. Please post your entries in the thread below, and you may, if you wish, include up to two photographs (which MUST have been taken by you, as the original author of the story) to illustrate your story. Only original stories written by the member submitting them are elegible for entry, and they may not have been previously published or appeared on the internet. Prizes will be vouchers for TRPD goods and to the value of:
1st: £20; 2nd: £15 3rd: £10.Good Luck all, and we will look forward to reading your stories.
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Post by brackensmum on Apr 3, 2009 18:41:01 GMT 1
ok, heres my first attempt!
"Early one morning, Bracken was mooching through the woods. She came across a strange and interesting smell, being a creature of habit she followed it to see where it led her. Sniffing the air, Bracken followed where her nose took her. This unfortunatly had several drawbacks, the most important one being, she had no idea where she was going or where she may end up. The sun was shining, there was not a cloud in the sky so it was a beautiful day for a trek. “Am I equipped correctly for this trek” throught Bracken briefly before getting carried on by the interesting odour which seemed to have changed now. In the distance some smoke was blowing from a log cabins chimney. Now, Bracken was also quite shy so she was now torn between following the smell (which seemed to eminate from the cabin) or returning to the track she'd started on walking through the woods. She decided on the latter. However, just as she was about to turn back, something caught her attention. Standing stock still partly through curiosity and partly through fear of the unknown she watched with interest. Someone came out of the cabin, carrying something. Bracken hid behind a tree and watched, there was that smell again! What was it, no, I shouldn't I really shouldn't. Her intrigue got the better of her, she ventured forward..........
In the cabin, preparations were going to plan. No one knew as of yet about the cabin or what was afoot inside, and it needed to stay that way for a while longer yet, after all, everything was not quite ready. No one could find out yet, no not yet, far too early, had to be kept secret yes, secret, thats right, no one could know or it would spoil everything. That smell, though, could that cause the plan to be learnt, to bring to a halt the preparations? The door creaked open, someone peered out. What was that in the distance? Could it be? No, not yet it wont be. The door closed again, they went back to what they were doing. There was still so much to do, and the time was getting on. Has everything been thought of? Every possible outcome contemplated? What if this all went wrong, it would have all been for nothing. No, put that thought away, thats not going to happen, it will be fine, it will be fine, nothing is going to go wrong............
Back in the woods, Bracken peered back round the tree. It appeared to be safe, so she came out. The problem now was, she had forgotten where she was, she had no map, and unfortunatly, no sense of direction. A mobile phone was out of the question, she was no good with those sort of things. Panic set in! Which way to go? She had no idea, she wanted to cry, although alone she didnt want to sink to that. The only thing she felt she could do, was again to go towards that smell, which was still eminating from the cabin. She was scared, she trembled with fear, and gingerly started off in that direction. Not wanting to be seen yet, she decided to make her way between the trees and often stopped to hide and peer. Edging her way closer and closer, still shaking with fear, doubts crept in, was this the only option open to her, she couldnt shout as her voice wouldnt come out due to the fear and she knew she wouldnt sound calm and nonchalant, so she didnt bother. Finally, and still visably shaking she approached the cabin. Should she knock? No that would alert the people inside and she wasnt ready for that yet. She sat down outside thinking what to do next. As she did this, the door opened again. She got ready to run, but something stopped her, somethng she recognised. That face, she knew that face that was standing in the cabin doorway. She heard crying, and her name, yes her name. It dawned on her, she was with someone she knew. She wagged her tail happily, too exhausted to do much else. She'd been wandering lost for days, the person in the cabin was her owner who had been searching for her. That smell was her favourite chicken dish, she was happy, she was home!
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sars
Member
Posts: 15
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Post by sars on Apr 3, 2009 20:54:10 GMT 1
**************** Winter Woodland **************** I'd done many things in my life. The Rescue that helped me knew none of 'em, my memories - but they knew I needed help. I kept the memories with me... kept them to myself, to dwell on when snoozing. As my mind wandered more in time, I thought more of those times, just before drifting off to sleep. Back then, my legs were getting slower, and I could'nt see things quite as clearly as I used to. I couldn't hear the traffic.. or whether someone was behind me.. might kick me or hit me. I was more than ready to do some supervised travelling (from Ireland to England).. and at a ripe ol' age arrived in a place called Suffolk. In the Winter of my life, I met my Mum. And I found my favorite place. On my first day Home, we went for a walk. Our house - it backed onto 'the woods' - and as we strolled along, at my pace on that first day - I knew I'd finally come home, Mum would help me. We'd be OK, and we would have this wonderful place to explore together, every day. I walked this route every day, twice a day for a wonderful year - we would mooch together to collect the 'little one' from school! I would proudly wait to collect her from the school gates and escort her home. 'Little One' would proudly hold my lead on the way home, and together we'd see different things in that woods. Different Seasons meant different sights/sounds/smells.. all delicious! I relished each one. I loved the Spring, to sniff the freshness of the grass, and have a 'little gallop'!. I loved the Autumn - all those leaves to kick through. Winter.. not so keen.. Mum made me wear a coat.. ! Mum used to 'foster' dogs - mainly little pups - I adored them. They reminded me of my pups, because I'd had a few, over the years. One pup arrived I adored.. he was 'my Laddie'.. and Mum and Dad said he could stay, becuase he made me happy. I taught that lad everything about those woods - the route to walk and how to behave. When I couldn't see anything or hear anything, he became my eyes. The time came when I couldn't walk through the woods daily anymore. Laddie would come home and lie with me. Then we would dream together, and he would show me those woods in our dreams. See that path I walked? See that end spot? That's where I wait.. that's where I wait for my Mum and watch over My Laddie. I saw many places in my life, and met many people. My Spring, Summer and Autumn times .. they were my private memories. My story? I had some very special times in a certain Suffolk wood. I waited all my life to spend my Winter there... AuntySallyDog ?? - May 2008 - missed every day.
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Post by marygiles on Apr 9, 2009 23:46:05 GMT 1
My Dream came True!!!! A "walk in woods" was a dream of mine. I knew there had to be something more than this cage . It was always dark and I only ever saw a shadow of a man who threw food on the floor of my cage for me to eat! I heard him whistling too and to this day whistling unsettles me. I heard sheep baa-ing outside but never saw them! I did not know what they even looked like. I knew happiness occasionally because I had several litters of pups . I loved taking care of them and I did not feel so lonely but they took them all away. I cried , " please let them stay with me " but no-one listened . My eye hurt and I would rub it on the bars of my cage. When the pain became too much, I bit and nibbled my legs---this seemed to stop the pain in my eye for a while. After my last litter I knew things were not quite right and I bled a little and felt so uncomfortable. I did not think anyone had noticed but------ then my world was turned upside down------freedom. But No! Out of my cage to a bigger one ------the Pound! . Not even needed by the puppy farmer now! Was this to be the end for me ? A "walk in the woods", my dream, seemed even further away now. Then mercifully I was taken by a rescue center who found me a loving new home!. They had to remove my eye but I did not mind as I was not in pain anymore. They also had to repair my tummy because we Pugs have quite a hard time giving birth anyway without living on a puppy farm where no one really cares other than how many pups you can have . They said I was very brave and were amazed my tail never stopped wagging at all .But wouldn't yours have wagged too? . I was free at last! And now best of all a "walk in the woods" is no longer a dream .---------I ,Patsy Pug can do it everyday! My Dream Came True!!
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Post by Old Dragon (Al) on Apr 24, 2009 23:46:38 GMT 1
Posted on behalf of TWG member S. Lee...A Reason to Live by S. J. Lee He crashed out of the undergrowth thirty yards ahead; hit the narrow woodland track running. Seventy pounds of black and tan hair and muscle hurtling straight at me. Short of throwing myself sideways into the tangled web of a bramble thicket, there was nowhere to go. No way to avoid the collision. To raise one or other of my crutches to defend myself wasn’t an option. I needed them both just to stay upright. Mother had been right. I wasn’t ready to go walking in the woods. It had taken nearly twenty minutes to cover a mere hundred yards from the house. With little hope of an effect, I yelled one word in my deepest, parade ground voice, ‘Sit!’ I don’t know which of us felt the most shocked, him by the sound of my voice halting his headlong flight, or me that he’d appeared so suddenly and then obeyed the command in a flurry scrabbling feet amongst the leaf litter as he overbalanced, sprawled momentarily, then righted himself and sat facing me, mouth open, tongue lolling, as he recovered his breath. I could smell it, foul in the spring air, he was so close. Another foot and I’d have felt it, hot against my legs and through the cotton of my combat pants, except for one thing, the only legs beneath the fabric were prosthetic ones. They say one should never stare straight into the eyes of a strange dog, I reminded myself, yet was unable to avert mine. I needed to sit down. Weeks of hospitalisation and inactivity had left me weaker than I wanted to believe, and the momentary adrenaline rush hadn’t done me any favours. A few yards ahead, a log seat stood invitingly beside the track. The trouble was, there was a large German Shepherd blocking my way. He didn’t appear threatening or aggressive, just large. Closer inspection, and despite his bright, intelligent eyes, revealed a dull, matted, unkempt and shedding coat over protruding ribs. He wore no collar, and fresh blood dripped thickly from a torn, scab-encrusted ear. Whoever owned him, didn’t deserve a dog. ‘You been in the wars too, fella?’ I said, and at the sound of my voice he wriggled slightly and wagged his tail. Judging him safe, I began to inch my way past; him moving over to allow me passage, his head swivelling around as if checking my progress. The log came in the nick of time. I sank gratefully onto it, resting the crutches either side of me and leaned forward to place my head between my knees. For several minutes I sat that way and, when I finally felt safe to sit upright, the dog was where I’d left him, except that he’d shuffled around to sit facing me, the tip of his damaged ear folding forward and giving him something of a comical appearance, the other ear upright and alert. I pulled a bottle of mineral water out of a pocket and took a drink. The dog looked on, hopeful, thirsty. ‘You want some?’ He licked his lips. I squirted a stream in his direction and he caught it, slurping and slobbering; licking his muzzle to gather every remaining drop. I took some more for myself. Again he licked his lips. ‘Here, boy,’ I coaxed, snapping my fingers. He was with me in a split second, dropping to sit directly in front of me and eyeing the bottle. I drained it into his mouth but it wasn’t enough to satisfy him. He was one thirsty dog. Hungry, too, no doubt. ‘I wonder who you belong to, fella?’ He raised a paw, placing it gently onto my thigh, and I laughed. ‘If only… but I can’t see my mother inviting you to take up residence.’ Glancing at my watch showed that she would return soon from her shopping. I needed to get back. ‘I’ll only be an hour,’ she’d said. ‘You won’t go doing anything stupid while I’m away, will you?’ ‘What do you expect me to do?’ I’d snapped back, tired of the fussing, the constant concern and over-protectiveness. I wasn’t used to it. Not any more - but it is what mothers do, I guessed. ‘Back off then, fella, and let me get up,’ I said, ‘with a bit of luck there will be something at home to feed you with.’ Despite the slow progress, he kept pace with me and as if glued to my left crutch, then sat drooling in the kitchen as I opened a can of corned beef. It didn’t touch the sides and he’d have extracted the empty tin from the bin, had I not ordered him away. I had to sit down to place a saucepan of water on the floor for him to fully satisfy his thirst. It was then that the little bottle of tablets slipped out of my pocket and rolled across the tiles and under the table out of my reach. I cursed – but he was quick; after them and picking them up in his mouth just as I heard the front door open and my mother’s voice. ‘Steven, I’m home, and you have a visitor. Someone from social services.’ Snapping my fingers, the dog responded instantly, returning to my side and slipping the bottle into the palm of my hand so that they could be slid, surreptitiously into the depths of a pocket as the kitchen door opened. I breathed a sigh of relief. Explaining the presence of the dog was one thing, those tablets quite another… besides, something within me had changed. The black dog had been replaced by a black and tan one. One who probably needed me just as much as I needed him.
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Post by Jazz on Apr 25, 2009 12:12:10 GMT 1
A Gem of a dreamI felt so lonely walking in the woods. It was silent except for Shadow and Freddie trotting along ahead. The squirrels were safe, as the dogs were too old to be chasing them. Im 41, nice person, genuine, so why am I single? I stopped and sat on a fallen tree, watching the dogs mooch around. As I got out my sandwiches, a head rested on my knee, brown eyes looking longingly at my food. 'Where did you come from?' I laughed 'Im sorry, thats Gem, she sniffs out food a mile off' said a warm voice. I looked around, straight into a pair of brown eyes, a lovely smile and a rather nice body! 'people get annoyed at her, but what can you expect from a retriever!' he laughed We chatted for hours while the dogs ran around happily playing. We met up every day after that, I looked forward to those times. 6 months later, sitting on 'our log' Vincent dropped to his knees and produced a ring from his pocket. 'Marry me' he said 'yesssssssss' said I! A year later, we are happly married, the dogs were at the wedding of course, and a honeymoon walking in the Lake District, as the dogs couldnt be left out. We have a happy, hairy home all because of a sandwich, and a retriever called Gem
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Post by Old Dragon (Al) on Apr 25, 2009 15:00:53 GMT 1
Posting on behalf of TDJ, a TWG member...A Handy Affair by TDJ. Imagine the scene… Saturday morning, wearing my best jeans, new T-shirt, Reebok trainers and me at the bus stop replying to a text from the red hot Emma Jeffries. Too right I’d meet her in town for a coke and chips at lunchtime. That I was out of bed at all at nine o’clock that morning was only due to Emma, although I wasn’t about to tell her what I’d dreamed we’d been up to all night – not yet! Maybe never. Lost as I was, it was a moment before the voice penetrated my reverie. ‘Andy! Andy! Thank goodness! I need your help.’ Nothing like old Mrs. Pargeter to bring one back down to earth with a resounding crescendo. ‘It’s Herbie, he’s run off again. I can hear him barking out in the wood and I’ve called and called, and rattled his bowl, but you know what he’s like… Please be a dear and pop over and fetch him for me.’ Why anyone in Mrs. P’s state of arthritic decrepitude would choose a red setter for company is beyond me, and whereas a year or two back I’d enjoyed taking Herbie for walks… well, life moves on, doesn’t it? ‘You’ll have plenty of time before the bus comes, Andy,’ Mrs. P smiled. ‘The bus company have cancelled the service at this stop until 10.15 am.’ There was no mistaking the gratitude in Mrs. P’s voice as I turned my back on the bus stop and headed off up her garden path to the little gate that led into the expanse of private woodland behind her home. Private it might be, but more than half the villagers could have been had up for trespass, especially when the bluebells flowered or the conkers and sweet chestnuts were ripe. Were it not for the trespassers, the paths would be long impenetrable and the clearings where villagers liked to have picnics, long overgrown. Finding Herbie was easy, catching him another thing. That especially as he’d found a toy and was having a great game throwing it around, then pouncing on it and having a run around. The closest I managed to get was about ten feet away, and only then because he’d tossed the toy in my direction and was determined to ensure I didn’t grab it before him. It was then that I realised just what it was he was playing with – the bluish-grey, grisly remains of a severed human hand. For a moment all thoughts of Emma Jeffries disappeared and, without thought for the consequences, I dialled 999 as I began to run back to Mrs. P’s house to tell her what Herbie had found. ‘Oh, goodness! Oh, dear!’ was about all she could say as I made her a cup of tea – strong and sweet, to help with the shock. Poor Mrs. P had turned almost the same shade as the hand when I’d told her. The kettle had hardly boiled when the first of the police vehicles arrived, and moments later the place was swarming with officers. ‘You’d best come and show us where the dog found this hand,’ said one, plain clothed detective, who seemed to be taking charge, and between issuing orders to others to cordon off the area. We were halfway up the garden path when Herbie put in an appearance at the garden gate, perhaps curious to see what all the commotion was about. ‘I thought you said he’d found a hand,’ the detective said accusingly as we both stopped dead in our tracks. ‘That, young man, looks more like half a human leg he’s dragging now.’ It did, too and despite the excitement of the occasion, my stomach began to churn and I wished that I’d not eaten breakfast. It took three hours for the police to finally recapture Herbie and to gather up an array of assorted body parts that he’d spread throughout the wood, and for them to identify the source – a black refuse sack that some thoughtless person had thrown over the hedge. Even then, they’d not found the original hand that, I swear Herbie had been playing with when I first saw him. One can only assume that it, as well as all the rest of the body parts, was a latex model made, perhaps, as a stage prop or medical teaching aid, and dumped, like so much else, out in the countryside by a fly-tipper. The proof is out there somewhere – unless, of course, Herbie ate it? As for Emma, by the time I made it to town, she was long gone. That’s if she ever turned up in the first place, but that night I dreamed about Rachel, a young police officer with the bluest, most sparkling eyes I’ve even seen and the kind of figure you only expect to see on an American TV cop show…
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Post by Old Dragon (Al) on Apr 26, 2009 15:11:39 GMT 1
Posting on behalf of Victorsmate of the Fifty Plus Forum Writers Group...Shufflin’ Sid by Victorsmate [/b][/center] He made his way slowly along the well trodden and well remembered path. Once he had run, no raced along this self same path, once he had strode along this self same path, once he had trod stealthily along this self same path but now he shuffled, one of the carers at the Old Folks Home had called him Old Shufflin’ Sid but said with a twinkle not at all unkindly. His senses and his memory were still as sharp as ever and over there to his left he saw the old hollow tree that in his youth had been a castle where the Cavaliers or was it the Roundheads had been fought off, where the US Cavalry had fought off hoards of Apache braves, where the Captain of the ship struggled to save it from the raging sea. Further on there was the gap, like a window, no not a window, like a, yes that was it like a telescope through which you could see passed the old barn right out to the lighthouse still winking its warning to the passing ships. Yes that was it the hollow tree had also served as his lighthouse in those distant remembered days. That tree yes that one there with all the holes round its roots that was where he had snared his first rabbit, how proud when he, aping his dad, had dropped it onto the scrubbed deal kitchen table with a “here yar mum one fer the pot” He shuddered as recalled how later he had realised just how cruel the double loop snare he had used was but it had not seemed so in those childhood days. Further on he stopped by his special tree and there he could still make out the carved heart with SN at one side and SS on the other. SS, Sarah his one love and how different his life would have been had she lived. Funny he thought you never here of young ‘uns dying from Whooping Cough these days. A single solitary tear travelled through the cheek of his well creased face. He remembered another time when he had inherited from his dad the rough shooting rights in the wood. The fateful day when he had shut Judy his gun dog in the outhouse and taken Trixie a young dog he was training to the wood. Seeing a movement in a nearby thicket he had fired the twelve bore and dispatched Trixie to retrieve the kill. It was only when Trixie let out a fearful howl that he had realised something dreadful had happened. Judy had somehow got out and made her way to the wood and he, Sid, had shot her. He had gone straight home carrying Judy’s lifeless form, buried her, took the axe to his shotgun and taken the gun and its licence to the police station and handed them to the Sergeant and he had never been shooting again. As he approached the clearing soon to be filled with bluebells which in happier times he and Sarah had taken home in great armfuls never giving a thought to their unsuitability for once picked their lives were an extremely short one. The wood had been renowned for its flora and as well as the Bluebells there was at the woods edge a ditch with an abundance of cowslips and primroses, the bordering hedge had provided a secluded haven for the delicate violets as shy as his comely Sarah. Underfoot there were the buttercups and daisies and many other that he recognised but even after a lifetime he could not put a name to. In the clearing he had learned to recognise the edible mushrooms that had provided him with many a breakfast, he mused on the foraging he had done in earlier days and the free food the wood had provided Bullaces for jam, elderberries for home made wine and elderflowers for a cordial which when fizzed up with Andrews liver salts also had a medicinal purpose, the blackberries all these flourished in the wood encircling hedge. Soon there would be the aroma of Wild Garlic another free offering and then if you knew where to look there was the most delicious mushroom of all, you had to look up and not down to see the chicken of the woods growing on the gnarled bark of the more ancient trees. Now through the clearing Sid shuffled through the chestnut trees although it was early spring there were still many un-gathered nuts strewn around, “what is wrong with people moaning about prices but not gathering what is there for free” he muttered to himself. His mind went back to his childhood days with chestnuts roasting and spitting on the kitchen range. Just beyond the chestnuts was a solitary walnut tree to his knowledge it had only borne fruit once in his lifetime, how did it go? “A woman and a walnut tree, the more you beat them the better they be” more cruelty Sid thought he would never have laid a finger on his beloved Sarah. Sid pondered the wood is where I had my childhood adventures, my youthful liaisons and it provided me with much of my food and many of life’s lessons, this must be my final resting place, this is where my ashes must be scattered. He continued to wonder, as he always would, how different things would have been had his Sarah not been taken from him. He had been a presentable and shy young man and there had been many village girls who had given him the glad eye but for him it could only be Sarah. I suppose Vicarage Wood has been the nearest thing I have had to a love through my years as he set off out of the wood a damp shiver ran through his wiry frame.
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angel
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Post by angel on Apr 27, 2009 13:29:34 GMT 1
A Walk In The Woods
It was a beautiful spring day, the sun shone through the canopy of the trees, the fresh green of the newly unfurled leaves, made everywhere look extra green. I shivered slightly as I walked along ,I had something to accomplish, it was a sad mission but I knew, it had to be done.
My husband and children had wanted to come , but I knew I had to do this alone, I had spent many happy hours walking in these woods with Simon, my dog. He had been my dog from the first moment I saw him in the re-homing centre, he wasn’t what we were looking for, he was far too big, a mixed breed, exactly what !no one knew. He looked at me and we connected, and that was it, I would not be swayed, after a week the formalities were completed he came home. Any misgivings were quickly forgotten, he settled well, the children still lived at home then, and he became a play mate a confidant, but to me he gave his complete adoration. We walked in these woods most days, he usually bounded ahead, but always looking back, to make sure I was there , but if I had a problem, he seemed to sense it and walked quietly at my side, I would rest my hand on his head. Sometimes I would sit on a tree stump and I would tell him what was troubling me and he would listen and the problem always seem to lessen, by the time I got home.
We had Simon for 14 years but it seemed like he had been with us for ever, I never thought it would come to an end, but a few weeks ago, he started to drink a lot more, weight fell off him, he had lost his joy for life, so with a heavy heart, I took him to the Vets, who after examining him, spoke to me, quietly and gently, I only heard one word in three, hot tears spilled down my cheeks, I stroked his head, scratched his ears. I signed the papers, staying with him as they administered the medication, staying until the last breath left his body, stumbling out of that room into the arms of my Husband who the vet had called.
Two weeks had passed, I had gone through the motions of a normal life, but my heart was broken, talk of getting another dog was quickly silenced as no other dog could compete with Simon.
I had taken the phone-call from the Vets, and here I am today walking in the words we both loved so much. It was time to let go, I hesitated sitting down as I had done many times before but this time I had no Simon to counsel me.
“Oh Simon, why did you have to die” I spoke out loud to the trees and the gentle breeze, which swirled around wafting my hair on to my cheek, I brushed it away it was wet with tears. Suddenly I felt better and opened the precious box I was carrying, the wind blew gently scattering the white ash into the trees, and beyond into the blue sky, flecked with snowy white clouds.
“ Farewell Simon where ever you are and thank you for your love and devotion”
I now knew what I had to do, I wiped my tears walking back with a lighter heart to where my husband, was waiting in the car. His face was anxious he looked at me and I lean over and kissed him on the cheek.
“ I am O k and I know what we should do as a tribute to Simon , we will get another dog. Simon gave us so much, this is the way we can repay him, let’s go to the Rescue Centre”
As we drove away I looked back and I thought I saw or may be it was a trick of the light, a large dog watching us from the woods, as if to say that what I would have wanted.
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Post by Old Dragon (Al) on Apr 29, 2009 22:45:26 GMT 1
A poll will be created tomorrow eveing so that everyone may vote for their THREE favourite stories, so please do read all the entries, so that you can make your shortlist, thanks. There is still time to enter, if you wish and haven't already done so.
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Post by Old Dragon (Al) on Apr 30, 2009 9:59:59 GMT 1
Posting on behalf of the writer...A Walk in the Woods by A. Gent I went for a walk in the woods. I went everyday. He made me go. We always did what he wanted. I always resisted feigning tiredness or disinterest. It was my only sense of control I had over my life but deep down I ached for those walks. It was the only time I escaped these suffocating walls, a small moment of freedom from this once wonderful life. He said these walks gave him peace – a time to think when everything made sense. I say it was the only time he would not have a bottle in one hand. That also gave him peace. I don’t know what I did to displease him. I’d loved him with all my heart but my heat was in a million pieces now. It wasn’t always like this, there was a time when he loved me back. His arms felt safe around me and when his hands caressed me I felt I wanted for nothing in life. I felt home. Now I wince as his hands only ever touch me in anger. A purposeful touch, a determined strike. I‘ve never known such pain. He wasn’t always like this I reminded myself. Surely he loved me like I love him. Maybe I didn’t please him anymore, maybe time had taken its toll on my looks. I reminded myself to try harder. Some nights I could barely sleep from the pain piercing through my body, his foot a reminder of my failure. I must try to do better. He wasn’t always like this. It was the alcohol. He was sick and I knew it. I smelt it on him, I smelt it in the house, and I smelt it in our lives. I reminded myself to be more understanding. I tried to help. I’d empty those bottles but I always paid a price for my help. More anger, another sleepless night. Yet through it all we always went for our walk. I felt he loved me in those moments. He praised me once again. He spoke softly and touched me gently. He cried on those walks. He told me how much he loved me and how sorry he was. He’d convince me he’d get better and in those moments I believed him. Things did change. He drank more, we walked less and I broke a little more inside each day. I went for a walk in the woods. That day I heard him shouting towards me. “Come back you worthless thing, come back you filthy dog!” I went for a walk in the woods. That day it turned into a run. I ran and ran and I never looked back.
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Post by Old Dragon (Al) on Apr 30, 2009 10:05:24 GMT 1
Posting on behalf of the writer...A Walk In The Woods by BillyMalc. We do like our walks in the woods, particularly on a sunny Sunday morning, like the one we had last week. We go early – well, 8.30 is early for a Sunday morning, isn’t it? – and head for a place right next to Manchester Airport. An unlikely place to be mentioned favourably in any other context than “the place that you pass on the way to your holiday abroad”, I know. But there are woods there, and if we’re both early enough and lucky, they are all ours for a while. They are right outside the village of Styal, part of which is still kept in the style of centuries ago, and where the residents take true pride in the upkeep and presentation of their homes and gardens. We go up the narrow path, past a little church and enter our little world. The sun filters through the trees and turns the different shades of green even more vibrant. It reflects on the wings of the insects which are buzzing about, unaware that they are the residents of a wonderful little place – or are they? They might well have flown past Manchester Airport and decided that the woods nearby were a much nicer place to set up home. Birds make sounds that could mean anything from a chirpy welcome to strong opposition to us being there, or are they simply ignoring us and getting on with their lives? We’ll never know. As much as I like the rather breathtaking surroundings, what I enjoy most about going to the woods is watching my dogs Malcolm (13), Kiera (5) and Sparky (4) enjoying their walk in their own way, having freedom that goes beyond the end of a lead, in a place that is full of exciting smells and things to see and squirrels to chase. Although the squirrels have caught on to their arrival pretty quickly and have found refuge up a tall tree. Malcolm disappears into the undergrowth at the first opportunity. Spending a lot of his life in his own bubble, he has now physically withdrawn from our world too. His body language tells me that he’s happy though: tail’s up and wagging, there’s a glint in his eyes and he’s got a swagger and a spring in his step that would make any man of his age jealous. Kiera and Sparky trot ahead side by side, as the best mates that they are. Looking for excitement and trouble, they could just as well have been named Bonnie and Clyde. Soon enough the chase is on, and once they have scared a reckless squirrel back up its tree, they chase each other. When caught, they bark, growl and snap as if their lives depend on it. We all know it doesn’t though, and soon enough a temporary silence is restored – until the next round. A clearing in the woods with a thick carpet of yellow and brown leaves becomes the arena for a ‘roaching-turns-wrestling-match. Fur and leaves fly in the heat of the fight, while Malcolm uses a fallen tree, that makes great front row seats, to have an extensive bum scratch. The woods have something for everyone. The river Bollin runs through the woods, providing both much needed refreshment and an exciting place to explore. Kiera loves a swim, and Sparky loves Kiera so much that, although he hates getting anything more than his feet wet, he wholeheartedly shakes his whole entire body to get rid of the imaginary water. Malcolm loves paddling too, and roaming along the river. Down the bank he goes, and along, sniffing here, there and everywhere, splashing through the water and wagging his tail. Getting back up from the, fortunately very shallow, river appears to be a bit of a problem, however: Malcolm kind of leaps up, grapples with his front legs, but slides back down again onto the pebbles. He tries again and again, before I too slide down, to give him a helping hand. Watching me slide down appears to give Malcolm great pleasure. “Ooh, hello, are you joining us? The water is lovely and the smells very interesting”, I can almost hear him say, with a big smile on his face, and the glint in his eyes that tells me that Malcolm is having an excellent time. “No mate, I’m going to help you back up, away from the river”, I tell him. A harness with a “handle” on the back is proving its worth yet again; with a little help from his friend, Malcolm makes it safely back onto the bank. Up and down hill we go several times, the steep ascents and descents made easier by the provision of big, rough, stone steps. Thank you to whoever puts them there, they are much appreciated. Crossing the river goes via bridges with fairy tale names such as Kingfisher, Ox and Giant Castle. The latter does indeed look like a bridge out of the Japanese Ghibli fantasy cartoons; the castle and the giants unfortunately will have to be imagined as they do not tend to show themselves. Would I really make laughing stock of myself if I confessed to imagining Ghibli cartoon characters living around this bridge? On the way back, the presence of other people and dogs reminds us of the ‘real world’ out there, which has now woken up and wanting to spend time in “our” woods. Having played and sniffed to their heart’s content, Malcolm, Kiera and Sparky do not object to leaving our little world behind, to go and have breakfast in the ‘real world’. With a bit of luck though, next week the sun will be shining and we will be lucky enough to have “our” woods to ourselves again, if only for a few hours.
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Post by Gnasher on Apr 30, 2009 10:18:51 GMT 1
Just a boy He was not like his schoolmates, they liked football, rough games and noise, he played along with them when he had to but his heart belonged in the countryside. The woods were the place he felt alive and he spent his schooldays longing for the evenings and weekends so he could be free in his special place. Today it was Saturday, he had the whole day to enjoy himself and his mum had even given him some sandwiches and a bottle of pop so he could spend the whole day out there. As he walked along the path the sounds came to him, the distant laughing call of a green woodpecker, the mewing call of the buzzards soaring over the woodland, and the high trilling of a wren somewhere close. He sighed happily, this was what he loved, he knew all of the animals, what they did and where they lived. They too were comfortable with the boy, he was a silent observer and they knew he never interfered or harmed them. Today though something felt different – he was not sure what but the usual calm feeling was not there – something just felt wrong. Then he heard it, the call of a horn, baying of hounds and sound of horses hooves. Of course, today was the hunt. He knew all about it but so far it had not touched his corner of the world so he usually paid no attention, today though was different, the sounds much closer and coming closer all the time. Suddenly the grass parted in front of him and the vixen he knew so well came bursting through. He had watched her raising her cubs the previous year and although naturally wary she too had learned the boy meant no harm and had allowed him to watch as long as he stayed still and kept his distance. She checked, startled as she saw him, her eyes wild with fear. Then, clearly recognising him she continued forward and with a last desperate glance behind her disappeared down a hole which he knew was part of a long disused badger set. He was only a boy, there was no way he could do anything to stop the power of the hunt and the vixen was going to he killed. The boys first instinct was to run, get away from the awful thing which was going to happen soon to HIS woods. Then he thought, maybe there was a way after all to help the vixen. Minutes later the first of the dogs burst through the undergrowth and were soon swarming all round the boy. The hunstman was next on his horse and saw a scared looking boy, sitting on the ground, with part of a sandwich in his hand and bottle of pop beside him. He looked like he has been there for ages and the hunstman did not know the woods well enough to know the lad was actually perched over the hole of the disused badger set. He did look terrified though and the hunstman quickly called the dogs away from him and asked if he had seen the fox pass through. The boy pointed a trembling hand in the distance. The hunstman looked and sure enough a coupleof the hounds seemed already to be interested in the ground over there – although if he had been paying attention he might have realised they were not scenting but were eating the rest of the boys sandwiches which he had hastily broken up and thrown that way. The rest of the hunt passed through without further event and the boy had lost his appetite for the remainder of his sandwich and threw it away. He had moved off the hole as soon as he was sure all the hounds and hunstmen had gone and after a while his patience was rewarded with the vixen coming cautiously out and after a few moments of cautiously listening and scenting she appeared to relax and moved off to go about her usual business in the woods. After a few more minutes he realised how hungry he was. Most of his lunch had gone on providing a distraction for the hounds and after being so scared he had not felt like eating so had thrown the remaining scraps away. His mum was astonished to see him back so early. She rolled her eyes at him tucking into a new sandwich he had made wondering how on earth he could still be hungry after a quiet walk in the woods. She knew he could not have been up to anything - after all, he was just a small boy.
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Post by petdesigns on Apr 30, 2009 15:29:42 GMT 1
How on earth am I going to decide?? They are all so good!!! I'm seriously impressed!
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Post by Old Dragon (Al) on Apr 30, 2009 22:59:27 GMT 1
Voting is now OPEN for this competition. Please choose THREE entries to vote for, thanks.
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Post by Old Dragon (Al) on May 1, 2009 17:08:22 GMT 1
If anyone would like to comment or give feedback on the stories, or say what most appealled to them as they read, please do so below, thanks.
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trish
Wolf Team Member
charlie full hammer. Run Free xxx
Posts: 114
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Post by trish on May 4, 2009 22:48:20 GMT 1
I loved reading all of these stories, so difficult to vote. xxx Trish
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Post by Old Dragon (Al) on May 5, 2009 0:35:10 GMT 1
As those who have voted will be able to see, we have an outright winner with 19.7% of the total vote, which was 'A Reason to Live', by Steve J. Lee but tying in second place we have the following three entries! A Gem of a Dream by Jazz. (10 votes, 13.1%) A Handy Affair by TDJ (10 votes, 13.1%) Just a Boy by Gnasher (10 votes, 13.1%) This means that there will have to be a second vote, and between these three entries, and to decide the 2nd and 3rd positions. I'll get onto doing that now...
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Post by Old Dragon (Al) on May 5, 2009 10:35:41 GMT 1
Steve Lee has asked me to pass on his grateful thanks to all here who voted for his winning story, and for the opportunity to enter the competition.
Steve has asked to donate his prize voucher to Angela at Tailends, and I have emailed Angela with a link to the sales list, so that she may choose what is most needed for the dogs in her care.
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Post by Old Dragon (Al) on May 5, 2009 20:19:34 GMT 1
I spoke with Angela on the phone earlier today, and she's asked for summer raincoats for the biggest greys, so I'll make a couple of those up.
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