Now the frosty mornings were becoming less frequent, I had no real excuse for not re-starting my morning jogs around the neighbourhood. I'd walked the route last Sunday morning and the frost patches on which he'd slipped so dangerously in early January were now confined to the shaded edges of the path.
I got dressed in my old sweats, tightly fastened my new running shoes and began to jog up the hill at the rear of my house, keeping my breathing steady. It was a difficult start but it meant that the route led downhill towards the end, so I'd finish at an impressive pace should any of the neighbours be out of bed to witness my return.
Just over the brow of the hill I entered wood that had also become less hazardous underfoot since dog walkers had been targeted and fined for allowing their dogs to foul the pathway. Dogs were rarely off the leash now, so the chances of having your heels bitten were also less, despite the large numbers of dogs being walked here each morning.
I emerged from the wood with my head down, watching my footing as the path sloped downwards and tangled tree roots began protruding through the rain-eroded soil.
I didn't immediately see the large, mongrel dog sitting on the path at the bottom of the hill and when I saw it I would have given it a wide berth had it not been for the fact that its owner was sitting next to it on the cold, damp grass. I slowed down to a walking pace. From the knitted hat and woollen coat it was apparent the dog owner was an old lady and so probably wasn't sitting there out of choice.
"Are you alright?" I wasn't sure whether to whisper or shout the words. She was facing away from me and the dog had hardly reacted to my arrival. It looked pretty ancient itself.
"Ooh it's my ankle. The bloody stupid dog thinks it can still chase rabbits and pulled me down that hill." she laughed bitterly and turned to look up at me. I could see she was in pain and had shed a tear or two of frustration at her plight. "Could you help me up please?" she said and reached a hand up towards me.
Now middle-aged, slightly overweight joggers are not a normal profile for rapists, muggers or murders. It hadn't struck me before but this vulnerable person didn't consider me a threat. I guess there are some benefits to getting older. I helped Jean - as she introduced herself – to her feet, or rather to her foot, as it was clear that she couldn't put any weight on her left ankle.
I put Jean's left arm over my shoulder and, taking the dog's leash out of her hand, placed my right hand on her right side. By lifting her slightly, I subtly demonstrated I could easily take all her fragile weight without humiliating her.
"Right, Jean. Let's get you both home. Which way is it?" I said in the cheerful and practical tone that I'd heard the ambulance guys use on tv hospital soaps.
By a combination of hopping and lifting I got Jean and her pooch to her front door in ten, fifteen minutes. She called her daughter, while I made her a cup of sugary tea. I said that I'd sit with her until her daughter Lucy had arrived. Lucy was both apologetic and grateful and I'd performed the usual male act of attempting to minimise my contribution and making weak jokes before affecting my escape.
Anyone would have done the same. I'd performed a random act of kindness that entailed no obligation on either party. So why did I feel compelled to go round and knock on Jean's door later that week to check if she was ok? In truth it is a curse of polite modern society that it is considered rude not to allow someone you have been kind to, to thank you in the manner of their choosing. No wonder super heroes keep their identities a secret!
Thankfully, Jean did a double take when she opened the door. At least my role in rescuing her from her misfortune hadn't been elevated to hero status through the re-telling.
"It's you! Oh it's kind of you to come around." she said and then, continuing without drawing a breath she asked "Could you take the dog out for 5 minutes? Lucy won't be round for another hour and Max is pacing the floor through here. I don't want him to pee on the carpet again. I'll put the kettle on and make us a pot of tea while you're out."
Whilst I was standing there open-mouthed Jean handed me Max's leash and he burst out of the door, tail wagging and circling me. I bent down, clipped the leash to Max's collar and without a further word I was being dragged off down to the woods by a mightily relieved Max.
I gave the dog five minutes exactly before heading back to Jean's house. She must have seen me coming because the front door opened as soon as we opened the gate. Max trotted into the house and I followed. Jean was heading to the back kitchen on her crutches calling out over her shoulder "Can you bring the tray through? I can't carry a bloody thing with these crutches."
"Of course." I said moving past her into the small kitchen and picking up the tray of tea and biscuits "How long did the doctor say it would take for your ankle to heal?"
"Eight weeks at least! It's a bloody nuisance Peter. And Lucy is already moaning about coming round to walk Max every day." she said dropping onto the sofa and flinging her crutches to one side.
