The afternoon is wearing on when my dog Maisie walks into my office. She stands and looks at me as I sit at my desk writing. I keep typing. She keeps watching. Then she sighs and flops onto the ground, chin resting on her paws, eyes still on me. There’s something about Labrador eyes. ‘Okay, you’re right,’ I say, ‘It’s walk time.’ I push my chair back and stand up. Maisie springs to her feet, all wagging-tail glee, the doleful expression evaporated.
Time to walk
Time to walk
Time to walk
The afternoon is wearing on when my dog Maisie walks into my office. She stands and looks at me as I sit at my desk writing. I keep typing. She keeps watching. Then she sighs and flops onto the ground, chin resting on her paws, eyes still on me. There’s something about Labrador eyes. ‘Okay, you’re right,’ I say, ‘It’s walk time.’ I push my chair back and stand up. Maisie springs to her feet, all wagging-tail glee, the doleful expression evaporated.