“DAFFY! COME HERE! NOW!”

In the snow-white gloom, I see it all in an instant — the monstrous black dog charging down the road toward me, its leash flapping loosely from its collar . . .

“COME HERE!”

. . . its fangs bared, its wild eyes fixed on me . . .

“DAFFY!”

. . . and the monkem-lady farther up the road, chasing after the beast, shouting at the top of her voice, trying to call it back . . .

“HERE!”

. . . and the other dogs she has with her, two nasty-looking brown things, both smaller than the black one, but just as wild-looking . . . both straining on their leashes, yapping and barking and growling at me . . .

“COME HERE!”

. . . and it all explodes inside me with a blinding blast of fear that shocks me into action and sends me scrabbling frantically through the snow toward a barred metal gate on the right-hand side of the road.

The black dog’s less than thirty feet away from me and closing fast, and although I’m fairly sure I can just about get to the gate before it gets to me, I can see now that the gate’s locked with a padlock and chain, which means I’m going to have to climb over it, but I can also see that it’s covered with wire mesh, which means there are no easy footholds, so climbing over it isn’t going to be easy.

I glance over my shoulder.

The black dog’s fifteen feet away now, getting bigger and wilder with every step.

“IT’S ALL RIGHT!” the monkem-dog-lady yells at me. “HE WON’T HURT YOU!”

The gate’s about six feet tall, and as I race up to it, I know I’ve only got a couple of seconds before the dog gets to me, so rather than stopping and trying to clamber over the gate, I just launch myself at it, leaping as high as I can, hoping my momentum will take me over the top, and that the snow in the field on the other side will cushion my fall.

But unfortunately it doesn’t work out that way.

Instead of flying over the gate, I somehow end up draped over the top of it — my upper half hanging down on the field side, my legs dangling down on the road side. I hang there for a moment — just long enough to realize that the top bar of the gate is digging painfully into my belly, and I’m badly winded, and for some reason my left knee hurts like hell — and then the whole gate clatters violently as the great black beast crashes into it, and as it stands there on its hind legs, its front paws against the gate, barking fiercely through the fence at my upside-down face — OWROWROW-OWROWROWROWROW! — I reach down with both hands, grab hold of a metal bar through the wire mesh, and pull as hard as I can. I have to wriggle around quite a bit and kick out with my legs, but eventually my weight starts to shift and I feel myself tipping over the gate into the field. I’m almost there, just giving my body a final heave, when the dog leaps up and clamps its teeth into my Wellington-booted right foot. I let out a yell, and so does the monkem-dog-lady . . .

“NO! DAFFY! LEAVE!”

. . . but the beast takes no notice. It just keeps yanking and tugging at my foot — snarling, growling, shaking its head from side to side — and the only thing that stops me being badly bitten and dragged back over the gate is the fact that the Wellington boots are too big for me. The crazy wolf has hold of the front end of the boot, where my toes would be if the boots fit me properly, so instead of biting my foot, all the beast’s got is a mouthful of rubber and scrunched-up newspaper.

It snarls viciously and yanks hard on the boot again, but this time, instead of tensing up and trying to fight back, I let my right foot go limp. The loose-fitting boot immediately slips off, taking my sock with it, and just for a moment the dog is caught by surprise — stumbling back with the boot in its mouth, not quite sure what to do — and that brief moment is all I need. By the time the dog’s recovered — dismissively flinging the boot to one side and launching itself at me again — I’ve already heaved myself over the gate, and now I’m lying on my back in the snow on the other side.

The beast roars furiously at me through the wire-meshed gate — OWROWROW! OWROW! — and as I quickly get to my feet, I catch a glimpse of the monkem-dog-lady turning the corner into the gateway, red-faced and out of breath, scowling, still struggling to control the two yapping and snarling brown dogs.

“DAFFY!” she screams at the beast. “COME HERE! RIGHT NOW!”

The beast ignores her — OWROWROWROWROW!

She looks at me. “I’m so sorry about this . . . are you all right?”

I turn and run.