Q. Although I consider my dog Claude to have been born without a brain, he miraculously remembers that Wednesday is the day for his extra-long walkies and sits by the front door, thereby allowing no one to exit without his being in tow. So it was that this Wednesday Claude took up his position, collar on and gazing nobly as blue Great Danes are so adept at doing. At 7.43 a.m. precisely we set out and would have followed the customary route which entails an eager rush along Tite Street, greeting the Honourable Mrs Schleswig-Mopps’s trio of pugs, over Royal Hospital Road, navigating the four-wheel-drive tractors in Durham Place and a hurtle around Burton Court ending in an imperious trot down Royal Avenue. No sooner had we left the house than I felt a buzzing in my coat pocket. The telephone message conveyed to me the news that there were two immediate work panics on that could not wait and my presence was demanded at the office. Claude’s walkies were in grave jeopardy and it is unwise to detain a Great Dane first thing in the morning when ablutions are due. I had no alternative but to bring him with me to the office where chaos of the imaginable type ensued. What should I have done, Mary?
D.B., London SW3
A. At this time of morning in Chelsea keen eyes can quickly alight upon vehicles of the ‘Houndstretcher’ type, making door-to-door collections on the ‘Walkies Run’. A dog-lover can put complete trust in one of the supervisors of these groups. He or she would undoubtedly have taken pity on you during this emergency and allowed Claude to join the group exercise session in Battersea Park, after which he could have been returned to you with all passion spent.
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