It’s not that my neighbour is an unkind person. She is very fond of her little dog, but she doesn’t want him to make a run for it when the front door is opened and she doesn’t trust him not to pee on the floor.
Call me a paranoid English woman but I don’t think it’s a good life for a dog. But then, you can call me a coward because I dare not tell her what I think.
The only thing I can do for Nino is to try to give him some good ‘walkies’ if I’m left in charge when the neighbours go away for a weekend.
Claudine gave me her keys on Friday. The instructions were the same as usual. Close the shutters in the evening and open them in the morning. But open the windows in the bedrooms behind closed shutters if it’s fine. Turn the lights off in the fish tanks at night and sprinkle in a little fishfood when you turn them on again in the morning. Oh, and feed Nino and take him out to do his business.
As I unlock the front door I call his name so that Nino doesn’t worry and bark at an intruder. He wags his little tail and jumps about turning in circles making it difficult to detach him from the lead in the kitchen and put on his ‘walking’ lead. As soon as we’re ready he dashes out of the door and cocks his leg up the first flowers.
I try to give him at least a twenty minute walk each time and it’s amazing how fast those tiny legs can go. I’m also astonished at how many ‘crottes’ such a small dog can produce, especially when he eats so little. His rations for Friday night until Sunday teatime are one cupful of ‘croquettes’. Claudine says if he eats anything else he’ll be sick.
He thoroughly enjoys a good snuffle in the grass and along the banks and waters every lampost and quite a few car wheels. We get back home and he makes for his water and then looks up hopefully for a meagre handful of biscuits. I reattach him to his short lead and tell him I’ll be back soon.
What a life.