Walking the dog(s)

I have become a dog-walker. Not professionally, mind, just for family.

At least once a week I go out with my cousin V and her dog (possibly the worst genetic cross of a Chihuahua and a I don't know what, which has produced a rat-dog with a mohican) for an hour around the local playing fields. Despite or perhaps because he is so small we can't let him off the lead but he has one of those extendable leads and is quite happy to run his (incredibly) little legs off.

This weekend my brother P, his wife and their two month old daughter (didn't I tell you about her? Oh well!) have gone away with the in-laws. They (my brother etc.) have two dogs - proper dog sized dogs - and had arranged for a dog-sitter who let them down at the last moment. So P called my mum and dad who agreed to look after the dogs. Now the thing is, as well trained and well behaved as these dogs are, when they are walked it's bloody hard work. The male S is good on the lead and doesn't pull but the female P... I think there's some husky in her somewhere because if I'd been on roller-skates we'd be travelling up the M2 to London right now. My shoulders and back ache from trying to keep her from pulling me over - yes, that's right, ME! - and I've had to cut all my nails off because they got bent out of shape from gripping the lead.

However, once we got to the playing fields, all was well. The dogs chased the ball we (I went with my dad) threw for them, P had a good old sniff around and they came back to the lead when called, although the walk home was just as relentless.

Now I'm not saying I like dogs, because I don't, but I can tolerate those which are either well-trained or so small I can make them fly. And I'm quite happy to walk the dog.