Boy leaps from the car and nosedives into long grass. He inhales each chlorophyll filled blade, the dew on them, exhaust fumes from the nearby road, rubber soles, crumbs of bread, meat, cheese, other humans, other dogs, birds and insects and all life rubbing against one another until the friction is electrified and the entire park is lit up.

Go, Boy, go!

Boy is fast and weaves through the dog-paths, paths that have been ground down not by feet or tarmac, but hundreds of paws. He spots Wiley, the Airedale, barking up the wrong tree as usual, a squirrel chittering in an oak nearby. Percy, a dachshund, appears next to him, parting the long grass while Flora, a whippet, leaps deerlike over it. Boy zips faster, barking his hello. It is so good when the pack gets back together.

Bumblebee, an old greyhound, is too mature for such frivolity, preferring to mosey at the bluebells, greeting each one with a gentle sniff while the others loop and whirl around. Olli, a tumbling fluffball of a collie, follows, a little less gentle with the flowers. He sneezes and with a snap of his jaws accidentally beheads it.

What is this? Wiley points.

Boy, Flora and Percy skid to a halt next to him. At first Boy thinks there is something in the wind, pollen or fine seeds, so fine they are weightless. It is almost visible, a faint shimmering. He pads a little closer into the trees and barks once. The shimmering congregates into something quite like a pond, but somehow upright.

Is it a door? Percy asks.

No, Bumblebee says, this is something else.

A cat flap? Olli says.

Boy noses closer and a thousand scents flurry out like confetti.

Be bold, Bumblebee says, and strides into the pool, leaving a ripple behind. For a moment they all wait, stunned, until a reassuring woof comes from the other side and one after another they bound in.

Boy looks back for a moment until a rush of excitement overcomes him and he plunges in. Perhaps he falls but he feels so weightless he thinks a gust of wind has caught him mid-leap and is casting him like a leaf through the air. His ears rise high, and his paws drop, and with a soft floof he lands in a meadow.

This meadow sits under a bright blue sky, and stretches as far as the eye can see, seemingly endlessly.

Beef! Wiley exclaims.

No, no. It’s cod roe. Yes. I would know it anywhere.

Cucumber, yips Percy. Percy is partial to cucumber, and his owners like feeding him wedges just to hear the delightful crunching.

They are nuzzling flower buds, which burst open upon the lightest nudge, releasing an intoxicating scent.

Boy tentatively copies them, and jumps back as the flower blooms. Carrots. He tries another. Muddy puddle. Another! First warm spring morning that thaws the last of the frost and unleashes a thick medley of fungus and mulch. Boy pulls back. That one is very specific. When he noses again to check, he suddenly remembers as if transported how the light spreads through the tree in his back garden, and how the daffodils clump near the bench where his owner would often sit with a coffee. It smells so real, he can almost move about in the memory, but as quickly as it has come it vanishes, and he sees the flower has popped into a hundred seedheads, now floating away on a breeze.

My, my. Bumblebee lies down and deep inhales the nearest flower. My old frisbee. He sniffs again and the flower goes to seed. Ah! That was such a good birthday. I was given it when I was five…

The flower showed me that day of the picnic again, Olli interrupts excitedly. How I grabbed a whole quiche. The smell –

Ham and cheese! Boy says.

The best day of my life.

I remember how everyone cheered. You had them all running after you.

And I loved to see it again. Riley chases his tail, ecstatic, and plumes of scent are sent whirling.

Boy rolls onto his back and all the flavours he so loves from the kitchen at home rise up like steam. Ragu, ramen, baked fish, fresh bread. All those delicious crumbs seem so tantalisingly real he finds himself licking the air.

This was possibly the best meadow he had ever came across, and looking out he wondered how far it stretched, how many more scents and memories it could contain. The thought was overwhelmingly exciting and comforting. For what could have been an hour or the entire day, Boy and his friends chased scents that opened to blissful memories until the sky turned lilac.

Flora yawns, stretches, and says she wouldn’t mind curling up in her bed now.

I could go on forever, Wiley says, collapsed on his side, ribs heaving, tongue lolling, eyes bright.

Bumblebee has dozed off in a flattened patch, his coat littered with petals. Boy takes care to wake him gently.

One by one, they pass back through the portal. Boy’s owner is calling. He gleefully leaps towards them, revealing in the scent of home.