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Dog sitting - Lionheart
courdelion
courdelion
Dog sitting
I have fond memories of Lils (but not of Hils).

Getting up at the crack of dawn (or, more often, being woken up by a barking bundle of energy who didn't want to be cooped up a moment longer).

The way she looked at me excitedly: "Please Sir, can we go out NOW?"

The way she knew that when I reached for my trainers her wish was about to be granted

She strained at the leash. She was still a little girl at heart. But she was growing up fast; learning to obey and understanding what the rules were. Until we had crossed the road and walked through the churchyard she had to behave.

Then I would set her free. To bound across the fields. And chase birds and rabbits. All of the time having fun. While keeping half an eye on me so she knew just how far she could go as she raced hither and thither.

When it was time to head for home she would sit while I hooked the rope back on to her collar. Because, back on the path, rules had to be obeyed.

But she'd still pull like a train on the road back home through the village. Because she knew we would return to bacon butties or sausage sandwiches. And she'd sit at the end of the kitchen counter with her wonderful liquid eyes.

"Please Sir. Dry biscuit is so dull. Tomato ketchup is so much more tasty..."

She undoubtedly "topped from the bottom". But she was adorable. And trusting. And loyal. Unlike the so-called sub I was dog-sitting with.

The moral of the tale? Man's best friend is...

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