‘Mal’ by Anita Pati

Mal Them dogs won’t touch us three. On Pendle Hill, no wind can whip us, no brack of clouds from Chorley pall us. Look. Dogs here are bogbounce happy, kiddies snuffing balls and whatnot near Malkin, families tripping from the corrugated towns. They skirl around me, my own dog Whistler: springer spaniels, border collies, Sunday walkers flush-cheeked fed. Proud marchers in their slimy wellies, clodding … Continue reading ‘Mal’ by Anita Pati