The dog days are over

Autumn was officially upon us once more. Not that you would know it had been summer in the months preceding, this is England after all. You could though I guess argue that the constant barrage of rain was an adequate marker that the English summer had been in progress? Still, now it was mid October and a lot of trees had dropped their leaves faster than a female fan had dropped their knickers at a Tom Jones concert at the height of his popularity. From a distance the huge line of orange laying in the gutters was reminiscent of the cheese dust you'd expect to find at the bottom of your Wotsits bag. Nature's detritus carpeting everywhere he looked as it braced itself for winter, expending anything it no longer needed to save energy and survive.  Thousands of dried pine needles spread underneath a tree like it had been a fortnight after Christmas and the latest addition to the family, a newborn puppy, had slammed into it having still not mastered the art of stopping whilst bounding about thinking life was wonderful and incredibly exciting and the poor tree went ping and the needles shot off like tiny arrows in every direction. Squirrels darted about performing feets of Parkour no human could realistically hope to achieve jumping from fence to trees. Others hidden from view making that horrible screeching sound like a scratched vinyl record on repeat just on one repetitive loop until you finally walked out of earshot. 

It was early afternoon as he stretched his legs. Other than the squirrels the only signs of life were a succession of learner drivers taking advantage of the quiet streets whilst the grown ups were all at work and the occasional dog walkers each of whom seemed to look more like their pets than the last person had done. Ever since someone had pointed out to him that owners choose dogs that look like themselves and people who marry do likewise it was something seen that could never be unseen. Next time you're passing someone walking a greyhound look up and it's a decent bet that the owner will too have a long thin face with an angled nose. No one really reads local newspapers anymore, not in physical form anymore so it's harder to test the second theory as easily as it once had. Maybe people didn't really get married anymore. Too busy wasting what little money they didn't have on phone contracts, car leases, subscriptions to watch the football on Sky TV, acrylic nails and big pouty lips that used to only be found on fish and never on dry land. 

Was mid October too late for an Indian Summer he wondered to himself? Well if the actual summer had been a succession of rainy days then a wet October would probably suit the definition of an Indian Summer quite well… in England at least.