There’s something poignant about footprints in concrete. The concrete on the bed of Styx Creek is decades old, probably put down in the 1920s. The child who stepped in wet goop is now (if they’re lucky) watching Deal or No Deal in a retirement home. I like the way it looks as though the print’s in bas relief rather than impression. This might be a trick of the light or due to my brilliant photography; a quality my son would describe as “skillage”.
As for the dog, well, his great-grandpups (ten times over) are probably the bloody mongrels that got my chooks a couple of years back. Or is that a cat’s print?