The dusty road full of stones and small twigs crackled under his shoes, here and there a stray pebble got stuck in his sole and a nosey fly flew into his face. The burly bernard walked beside him, huffing and puffing, some of that spittle now and then escaping from his mouth, paying only fleeting attention to the passing people who might have kept their eyes on him. John understood them, he was smugly pleased when the passers-by turned to see the revered Charlie, the furry one deserved it after all.

Price paused at the pond, a family of ducks hiding in the reeds, dutifully swimming after their mother back to the safety of their nest. He swore to God that he took his eyes off his obedient companion for just a second and Charlie was already gone. He looked around quickly in an attempt to find his dog, calling his name. "Fuck," he muttered when he saw one hairy ball rolling on the ground in the distance, tail wagging from side to side. Price picked up his pace. "Charlie, come here!" He called, but as if Charlie cared, he had his mind full of something else. And not just his head. A piece of hotdog was shuffling out of his mouth, which Price had no idea where he'd picked up until his gaze slid to the ground, where was the first victim of a dog that should be saving rather than injuring, lying in the grass.

"Oh my God," he breathed, quickly pushing Charlie off, whom he immediately clipped onto his leash. He offered you a hand to help you to your feet. "I'm so sorry, I have no idea what got into him," he checked your clothes for any damage, ready to reimburse you for the loss immediately. It was only then that he noticed the blanket spread out on the ground and the small picnic basket, a book open beside it. Oh... so luckily he didn't knock you to the ground, you were already on it.