Ahead of us was an elderly man with his equally elderly dog crossing the grass. She was a lovely dog, long, lean, black, probably a whippet.
I had started walking some ways behind them when she turned around. I smiled at her because I like dogs. Her owner smiled too and they continued walking, but she kept lagging, kept turning round to look at me. He urged her on, but still she whined, still she strained at her leash to try and get to me. Her owner turned and the both of us shrugged.
I finally caught up with them at the pavement where the owner had stopped to said 'hello'. She greeted me with enthusiasm, whining happily and licking my hand.
"She thinks you're my granddaughter."
Did she really? Couldn't she tell by my scent, voice and step that I wasn't the granddaughter that she obviously loved so much? How old must she be to be so mistaken? Aww...
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