He stole my thunder and rolled it down the hill behind him. It made Mr Jenkins jump and drop his washing on the muddy lawn. I stared at him, open-mouthed.“What-do-you-think-you’re-doing?” I shouted into the wind the thunder had kicked up.
Jackalhead showed his teeth and spun round. Mr Jenkins, who had just picked up his muddy sheets, saw him bounding down the hill towards him and fainted clean away.
By now my patience was wearing thin. I picked up one of the lightning bolts that lay fizzing at my feet and hurled it down the hill. It flew over Jackalhead’s shoulder and landed just in front of him. He had to come to a skidding stop before he burnt his muzzle on the quivering bolt.
“That-was-just-a-warning-shot” I yelled. “Come-back-up-here. Now.”
He trailed back up the hill. Strangely enough for someone called Jackalhead he looked a little sheepish. “Sorry Dad” he said. He smelled a little singed and his whiskers were steaming.
I left it at that. Knowing what I know now, of course, I never should have done. But not all gods can see into the future.