An apocalyptic dog walk in Seville

She looked up at me imploringly from the simmering pavement as the sun beat down on one man and his dog in Seville. ‘You haven’t peed yet, Amaya, we need to walk on a bit more,’ though I realised the injustice, as we were both so dehydrated neither of us had much chance of fulfilling such obligations. I found myself unexpectedly dog-sitting in the Andalusian capital after my English landlady got rather tipsy and, in a moment of reckless abandon, committed to booking a flight back to the UK to spend time with her family for the first time in a year.

The decisive moment came during a meal out in Seville when my landlady’s sister was visiting with her family, and I was invited to join them for the obligatory banquet of tapas – once she made the sudden announcement, and her sister had burst into tears of joy at the table, how could I say no when she then turned to me and, looking a little sheepish, asked if I would mind taking the dog out a few times a day? I noticed her sister’s husband looking similarly resigned.