The note I have to leave for dog-sitters reads like a document from the previous, now deceased inhabitants of a haunted house. “Never, ever off a lead – nowhere is safe”; “If you see the boston terrier from next door, back away; if you see the husky from over the road, run – don’t walk”; “If you walk after 10pm, that is the hour of the fox, and will go hard on you unless you want to sacrifice the fox”. It is embarrassing, and my preference is to have the same dog-sitter who I’ve known since he was 10 and doesn’t need me to say all this twice. Plus, he remembers my last dog, so he knows that I’m not the problem. The dog is the problem.
Last weekend, he was away, so he got his friend to fill in. “I love dogs and haven’t been able to spend any time with one since I left Ecuador,” was her first message. Oh, lady, no: this is not that kind of dog. Among people, Romeo may exude a delightful, enthusiastic energy, and remind you of pleasant dog-related moments you have had in other lives. Around other dogs, he will remind you of the savagery that lives in even the sunniest heart; he’ll remind you that life is hard and the wages of sin is death. A bit later, she sent a video. He was sniffing a flower; he looked like Ferdinand the Bull, the gentle animated giant who didn’t want to fight, who only wanted to appreciate the botany. I mean, he didn’t look unlike a bull in the first place – he’s a bull breed – but this was different: this bull heralded peace.
Then she started sending photo-montages, in some of which he was garlanded with phone stickers – more flowers, a party hat. He was smiling, the way bull breeds can. It looked like his profile on a dating app, but if I’d seen him on dog-Grindr, I would have immediately flagged him to the relevant authorities.
She was pretty adamant when I got back, though, that he was a good dog, or to give him his proper title, a Good Dog. He’s had a mini-break from the people who know him, his slate wiped clean, and maybe we all deserve one of those.
Zoe Williams is a Guardian columnist
