Help!

Rufus was standing in the middle of Broomfield Park. It was the height of summer. The sun was beating down from a cloudless sky above, the trees were abundant with deep green, glossy leaves, the grass under his feet was like a thick velvet carpet and all around him were happy, smiling faces, all except his.
"Help! Help!" he cried out.
Almost instantly he caught the attention of kids and parents close to him. One woman, young, with long dark hair, rushed toward him. A panicked look of concern washed the colour from her face.
"Are you okay?" she asked, crouching before him, gently grasping his arm, rubbing it as though to sooth him.
Rufus, confused by her question and concern, frowned back at her. "I'm fine," he said, matter-of-factly. "It's my dog I'm worried about. He's run off again."
"What's your dog called?" asked the woman. "Perhaps I could help you find him."
"Help!" replied Rufus, poker-faced.