Walking The Dog

Daily walk, trailing behind Mungo's behind and pause to think who exactly is walking who? And am I walking with him for his or my benefit? And why is it (nearly) always me and not the rest of the family, each of whom had two perfectly functioning legs the last time I looked, and all of whom promised the breeder who vetted us, before we brought this big, but loveable brute into our home, that they would walk the dog. Yes, you didn't read wrong, she vetted us! We had to make an appointment en famille to meet the breeder and her dogs at her house, so that she could interview us and decide whether we were fit to have one of her precious puppies and then we had to pay £500 for the privilege of having passed. Now, maybe this is normal practice for responsible breeders, but imagine if the national health care system vetted prospective parents before telling them whether or not they could go forth and procreate - will you take the child for walks every day; micro...

Why "Stories and musings on life while walking the dog?" And what does that say about me? Firstly, I have a dog! He's a he; big, black lab, to be precise; not blessed with much brain, but classically handsome, and nearly two (which means he still thinks he's a puppy); loveable sometimes and sometimes most definitely not; "brother" to my younger kids (their term, not mine); eats for England - anything (except onions and asparagus) and everything (including wellies, shoes and any toys he can get his teeth into); and called Mungo (after the patron saint of Glasgow). Secondly, me - some clues in the paragraph above, but what that doesn't say is who I am, or indeed what I am. The who will for the time being remain obscure, but as for the what - parent to several children, dog owner, Scot now living in England - yes, to all of the above, but also very part-time professional (as part-time as I can get away with); sometime gardener; best provider of hugs in ...