Dogs and Tim
I was standing at the bus stop. Two middle aged dogs walked past me side by side, quiet and purposeful, female Jack Russell terriers, no collars, no jackets, no lead. A couple of nice old girls.
They stopped three feet away, sat down and looked down the street in the direction that the bus would come from. The young fellow, who owns them, Tim, a joiner on his way to work, followed shortly.
We began a dog-centred conversation from which it emerged they were sisters from the same litter. Remarkably, for such a well-behaved pair, I learned that neither had ever worn a collar. Tim was taking them to grandma’s (his mother’s) for the day, as he did every day, while he went to work. They love it there, he told me.
I liked the man, about thirty and in his working clothes, stout boots, knapsack and with a saw strapped across his back, he made me think of a mediaeval journeyman.
The dogs were a canny pair. Every now and then they would lean forward, from a sitting place carefully sel