It’s a Saturday morning and I’m walking the dog on a vast bit of scrubland. The path in front of me is parched and deserted. Up ahead, the dog turns the corner at a patch of brambles, and I hear the excited voices of two women. My immediate reaction is one of alarm; I whistle, but the dog doesn’t reappear. The voices rise.
Only when I turn the corner myself do I see that everything is fine: the dog is dashing from one woman to the other, tail wagging, and the women are both delighted. Meanwhile, their own dogs stand to one side, staring balefully at the ground, leads trailing.
