6am, the weather was crisp as plantain chips. Enough bite to attend the lazy drawl. Enough bite to attend the gusto call. The walk from Basa’s flat was serene.

Up on top of the wall, a two-tone brown feline caught sight of him. The four-legged chap turned around wagging its tail at Basa, strolling off:

Feline – Nuh mate, what are you looking at?
Basa – Boss, I don’t know who you are talking to.
Feline – That’s rude. I can’t see no one else in view.
Basa – You assumed I was looking at you, whilst I was taking in the scenery.
Feline – Whatever, clever clogs.

Basa narrowed into the distance, picking up pace as he started his morning jog along Saji Canal moorings. Paused, enabled his GPS watch to record his mileage, you know, modern tings init! Then, hitting the tarmac, strides at the ready, the olympic marathon runner was an eager beaver.

He ran past a middle-age couple walking their dogs, an obedient Dobermann and a Pitbull. The dobermann approached Basa, who was a dog enthusiast. The elderman’s little shouts of “come here, come here, come here” echoed, probably waking the sleeping in the neighbourhood. Basa thought such verbal lashings and for what. If only the elder could hear what they were saying!

Dobermann – Yeah, we do speak bro, not to our so-called parents though.
Basa – Mate why do you put up with it?
Dobermann – Fam, look at the size of me, if I did, they’d be putting me down. I do nick him now and again.
Basa – Not surprised!
Dobermann – Only a little nick one though, no violence, seet.
Pitbull – They do take the mick. The shouting is long tings. We are “pets” but we do have feelings, two-legged friends.
Basa – Init!
Pitbull – I wouldn’t mind a tear up still.
Basa – Boss, calm it.

Pitbull and Dobermann went on taking commands from the couple and sniffling for some nibbles.

Basa continued his run, clocking 3.5 miles, done.