My Dog is Not Now, Nor Has Ever Been, A Chick Magnet

One great thing about this dog is that he makes me more sociable. Not that we are out on the town every night, or hosting salons or organising picnics or making memorable entrances at masked balls, but there are certain practical concerns in this business of dog ownership which make it necessary to, you know, talk to people and stuff.

I was away for work the other week and a kind neighbour volunteered to look after Freddie. As a matter of fact two separate kind neighbours volunteered their hospitality and it was only through an effort of diplomatic cunning that I managed to prevent the competition over the honour of hosting the animal from escalating into all-out hostility. The point is that it got me talking to my neighbours about bowls, leads, cats and all the logistics of dogsitting. It made me think about other people's convenience - which may not sound like a great deal, but when you are used to being single and living alone, and a tiny bit abstracted at the best of times, it is remarkable how insulated you can get from the practical concerns that govern most people's lives.

And of course I suppose that it was part of the purpose in getting this dog in the first place: to provide a little external obligation, a bit of responsibility to something other than my own non-existent problems, something that depends on and demands a bit of consideration and sanity. Poor old Freddie probably doesn't realise how much he has taken on...

Anyway, apart from this rather desperate clutching after adult maturity, the dog has also increased my contact with other human beings that I don't know. A few weeks ago I took him up through the woods in the snow to a pub at the top of the hill. It was mid-afternoon and the pub was quiet. The dog lay down by the turf fire and attracted the admiration of the handful of middle-aged men who made up the clientele. There was calm good-hunoured talk about what a nice little dog he was, and I, although politely included in this conversation, was by no means central to it; it was all about the dog and I was grateful for the reflected glory.

All of which, I suppose, is just another way of saying that people like cute puppies and Freddie is a cute puppy. I feel proud when people make cutesy faces as we walk by, or when children point out the pup to their parents; and I think less of people who fail to show due appreciation for the magnificence of my animal.

The dog seems to like it too, and I wonder if his appetite for attention is something he has infected with by me (as I write this, the creature has managed to climb up my arm and tried to clamber around my shoulder. I should stop him, but I like the attention as much as he does.) You know when you are a child and you sort of assume that all grown-ups are friends with one another and naturally thrilled to meet you too? I think this is how Freddie approaches the world. I hope he can hold on to that naive cheerfulness for a while. His general charm and his positive influence on me should help him.