Ollie the Doglet needs to go for a walk every day. He’d happily go for several walks, but has to have at least one. Otherwise he’ll sit on the sofa next to me (i.e. almost at eye level) and stare at me persistently with an expression that is both eager and a bit anxious. It wears you down.
These were from my old neighbourhood, on School Lane:
‘Is it a dog?’ (10-year old girl)
‘What do you think it is?’
On Matundu Lane, an older man walks towards us in a calm and composed manner. As he comes closer, he raises an eyebrow, ever so slightly, and then glances at Ollie, without breaking his stride, without really turning his head:
‘Cat?’ he says
‘No’, I say. ‘Rabbit in a dog costume’.
We both walk on.
There are always guys on bikes with crates on the back who deliver milk or bread or other goods to the small kiosks in the area. One of them – either perennially cheerful, or very proud of his knowledge of dogs, or possibly both – saw Ollie chew grass and, cycling past, called happily ‘It’s taking its medicine!’.
A few weeks later, a different corner, he threw us an exuberant ‘It’s glazing!’
Ollie was still very little when we lived on School Lane:
Find Ollie Doglet on Facebook.