Sunday 6 January 2013


Those in the 04 will know that the bit of the Town Belt behind Mt Vic is a fabulous place to walk a dog.

This arc of public green space, all 1,061 acres of it, has been frequented by runners, walkers, mountain bikers and dog walkers since 1840 (okay, so maybe runners and mountain bikers were as rare as the teeth of a hen back then, but you get the idea). It's where the Hound frolics, smells lots of canine butt and makes friends, as often as twice a day in summer.

And where a 10 minute walk can turn into an hour-long outing, as random folk stop to admire him and express surprise and shock that his previous owner could have abandoned him. And every time, as happened this afternoon, I swell with pride, as though I am in some way responsible for his good looks and sweet nature, as if his beauty is somehow my genetic bequest to him.

When all I did was find a place in my heart, and my home, for him. It's hardly the most difficult thing I've ever had to do....


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