Watching

Small boy and mother, suburban London street:

“So you want a dog then?”

“Yes.”

“What colour?”

The colour of friendship, of scrabbling paws late at night, of a floppy ear to lift and whisper into, of never being alone. The colour of breathless chasing and tug-of-war with a slimy rope, of sticks and parks and balls and mud, of cold footpads and warm paws, of hugging and wrestling and dog hair all over. Of slobbering and cold noses and a heavy warmth at the end of the bed.

The colour of always having someone to talk to.