Rascal: Facing the Flames. Chris Cooper

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      Rascal was tensed to run, but he could tell that the man was not really threatening him so much as trying to make his friends laugh.

      ‘I don’t think he reckons much to your flaming torch, Rick,’ said Debs. She was opening the top of a big plastic bottle of water. She poured a splash out to wash her hands.

      Rascal couldn’t help himself. When he saw that water he let out a little yap.

      ‘Hold on, I don’t think it is burgers he’s after,’ commented the woman with the ponytail. ‘Look at him eyeing up that water. He wants a drink.’

      ‘Can’t blame him, in this heat,’ said Debs. She poured some of the water into a plastic bowl and handed it to the man with the beard. ‘Poor thing . . . Go on, give this to him.’

      ‘Me? What if he’s got rabies or something?’ complained the man. But he took the bowl and stood up.

      Rascal watched his every step as he came closer.

      The man took a drag on his cigarette and looked back at his friends. ‘Tell you what,’ he smirked. ‘I’ll give him a drink, but first he’s got to do a few tricks. Fair enough?’

      He turned back to the dog and held out a hand. ‘Shake paws,’ he said.

      Rascal watched that hand as if it were a cat in a tree, but he didn’t lift a paw.

      ‘Don’t be so mean!’ yelled the ponytailed woman. ‘He hasn’t got a clue what you’re on about.’

      But this wasn’t true. Back in the old days when he was with his master, Joel, Rascal had seen other dogs in the local park do little tricks like this. Their masters would give some order or other and then the dog would shake paws or sit up and beg, or something like that. He even remembered one dog, a wire-haired terrier, that would ‘dance’ on command, jumping up and letting its master hold its front paws while it hopped around on the back two. On a different command, the dog would whirl round and round, breathlessly chasing its tail.

      A lot of people in the park had laughed, but not Rascal’s master. When he’d seen the terrier, Joel had ruffled his own dog’s ears and whispered, ‘Don’t worry, boy, I won’t ever make you do stupid tricks like that!’

      But now, in the afternoon heat of the forest, many miles from everyone he knew and everything he loved, Rascal watched this bearded man commanding him to do one of those same stupid tricks.

      The dog sat as still as stone.

      The man glanced back quickly at his friends. ‘OK then, we’ll try something else.’ He flicked his cigarette butt away. Then he bent down and patted the dusty earth with the flat of his hand. ‘Roll over and die!’ he commanded. ‘Come on! Roll over and die!’

      Rascal wasn’t sure what this meant, but it didn’t matter. He wasn’t going to perform tricks for the entertainment of these people.

      He threw a glance at the water in the bowl. It looked wonderful, but he knew in his heart that he wouldn’t get a drop of it. He ducked his head down and edged forwards, just to make sure. The man jerked the bowl back – ‘Not yet! Wait for it!’ – and sloshed water on to the dry ground.

      Rascal didn’t need to see any more. He gave a single bark of defiance and began to trot away.

      ‘Hey,’ the man was saying. ‘Don’t you want a drink then?’

      But Rascal didn’t even look back, and soon the laughing voices of the four people were lost in the howl of the wind.