Going out with Pip is like trying to go for a walk with a small child. He meanders all over the place, dragging me to posts and bushes and yummy smells, then dawdling as he sniffs and snuffles around. We have to stop to meet every dog we pass. Nose to nose, then nose to tail. If it’s a small dog, they whirl about together. If it’s an older dog, Pip tries to get a wee bounce out of them and sometimes succeeds. If it’s a big dog, he’s wary. But they all have to be greeted. Anyone who’s at all interested in dogs will also stop to chat to Pip and the really keen ones will get down on their haunches to pat him.
We’ve just come home from a walk around the block, on which we talked to a family with a small fluffy dog, a couple of random walkers who thought Pip was cute, a woman with two wire-haired terriers who crossed the road so that her dogs could socialise with Pip, and a couple of guys who got out of their work truck to say hi. If I’d been on my own, I would have nodded hello to the family and no one else would have interacted with me. My walk would have been quicker and much more direct, but not nearly so communal.