For some time now, we have been walking my dad's dog for him.
Spot is a small white Jack Russell.
He used to be very timid and frightened of everything. At one point the vet said that he was so nervous it would be kinder to have him put down than to keep him!
Gradually he became less nervous.
Then we started walking him with Custard. Having this huge friend for back-up seemed to give him new confidence, and he is now the most bolshi, head-strong dog you could ever wish to meet. He has even started doing that strutting, scratching the grass with his back legs thing after he has done a poop!
So, back to Monday evening, walking the dogs. Everything was going as normal, sniffing, peeing (the dogs, not me), meeting other dogs.
Then Spot stopped for his second poop of the evening.
It was huge. I swear he got thinner as he did it. It was soft and curled round as he did it, like ice cream coming out of a machine.
Finally he finished.
He shook himself.
He kicked his back legs.
His feet hit the poop, spraying it in an arc behind him.
Guess where I was standing at this precise moment.
It was on my trainers, my trousers, my t-shirt and even one of my arms!
Is this the thanks I get for all that I have done for him?
I guess so!