fly | madderton

FOUR

"I tell you, I've seen more than enough of them. They're not that scary," Richard said, smiling at the bundle of black and white fur that came barrelling back at them.

"Not that scary? Name something scarier than horses, I dare you." Taron laughed as he turned to face his friend, grinning at Richard before crouching down to take the ball from the dog in front of them.

Having grown up begging his parents for a dog and not being allowed one due to their work schedule, Taron had become the resident dog walker along his street. His main duty was his grandparents' dog. They'd adopted it during the height of Taron's desperation, and told him they were adopting it for him. He'd never once lived up to the stereotypical behaviour of a pet-crazed child. No, from the very day they'd mentioned the possibility of getting a dog, he'd been saving up to spoil the pet, and had been going round whenever he had a free moment, offering to walk him, or even just sit around and play with him to expel some of his energy.

The dog they'd chosen (with Taron's help) was a six month old Springer Spaniel. He was a beautiful blue roan colour, with a huge waggy tail and bags of energy. It had been five years since then, and Taron was still obsessed. His name was Brandy.

It's true when they say a dog never forgets a friendly face. Brandy always got excited seeing Taron approach the garden gate, but he was even more excited to see Richard by his side. Admittedly, it had taken him a moment to clock on, but as soon as Richard spoke to the dog he was being smothered in kisses.

That day they were taking him on a walk to Jamie's family's house. They had a small animal farm, and Taron was used to helping out there as a form of socialising with his friend. Owning animals is a quick way to deny yourself of a social life, so it was rare that the boys had a chance to interact with one another away from school, and away from the farm. Taron didn't mind helping out, but he had strict rules about exactly what he'd do, and which animals he'd be around. So long as they were smaller than him, he wasn't fussed, yet he just couldn't understand how people stood around horses. Surely standing within a ten foot radius of an animal that leggy was just begging for a kicking?

Taron threw the ball off into the field beside them, smiling as he watched Brandy race after it. "Clowns? Ghosts? The inescapable inevitability of death?" Richard reeled off a list of things he deemed scarier than horses, but Taron was having none of it.

"Clowns are kids entertainers, not scary. Ghosts don't exist, not scary. Death's going to happen anyway, being scared of it only makes your life shorter. Not scary. Horses? Terrifying." Richard laughed at Taron's crazy response, shaking his head. He crouched down as Brandy barrelled back, rubbing the top of his head.

"You're nuts."

"I'm just being sensible, Dicky."

"Whatever, Ducky."

"Stop calling me that!" Taron yelled, making both boys laugh. They continued on their walk in a very similar fashion, both making fun of each other and pushing one another about. Whilst it was nothing special, it was certainly nice.

Things quickly went downhill once they made it to the farm.

"No, I said you need to have a heeled boot. Well, I suppose your wellies will have to do..." Jamie had said, once they were walking together through the farm, "They're almost all ready, just need bridles on. It'll take me five minutes to do the three."

"I can do my own." Richard offered, earning a smile and a thanks from Jamie.

"Hang on. What are you going on about?" Taron asked. The smirks and sudden silence from both boys were all he needed to understand they were conspiring against him. "No, tell me. What are you going on about?"