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There's a sort of - I don't know if there's a proper word for it - wind-eye just outside our flats. One dead-air spot where all the leaves and bits of crap riding the wind seem to fall out, so that every morning when I take the dogs out there's a neat little heap in the same spot, halfway between the front door and the bins. I don't mind the leaves - the dogs like to pee on them - but I have aesthetic objections to the quantity of brightly coloured plastic and other crap that rides with the leaves, so every morning I run a couple of handfuls to the bins.
No big deal, but today Spike decided to be a jerk and wrap his leash round my legs while I was doing it. This is also no big deal, but while my insufficiently-caffeinated self was disentangling Spike and the six-foot leash, I lost my grip on young Squish and he started trotting down the pavement without me. This had the potential to be a very big deal indeed.
Thankfully, I am not entirely without presence of mind and I was not entirely without resources - I plunged my hand into my coat pocket and happily sang out the magic word:
"Meatball!"
And, bless the boy, he whipped round and trotted straight back. I gave him everything I had in my pocket. Could I, possibly, be winning at last?
No big deal, but today Spike decided to be a jerk and wrap his leash round my legs while I was doing it. This is also no big deal, but while my insufficiently-caffeinated self was disentangling Spike and the six-foot leash, I lost my grip on young Squish and he started trotting down the pavement without me. This had the potential to be a very big deal indeed.
Thankfully, I am not entirely without presence of mind and I was not entirely without resources - I plunged my hand into my coat pocket and happily sang out the magic word:
And, bless the boy, he whipped round and trotted straight back. I gave him everything I had in my pocket. Could I, possibly, be winning at last?
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