As I set off to take the little dog for his walk down the woods, I looked up at the sky: after a sunny afternoon, the clouds had been gathering and the sky was getting darker. We take the car to the local country park because it’s a little too far to walk. On our approach, the rain started spotting on the windscreen and within a few minutes of our walk around the lake, it was raining heavily.

I was dressed entirely inappropriately without a coat.

Some of our circuit was sheltered partially by a canopy of trees, but it was, on the whole, pretty wet. We encountered fellow sufferers on our way round. Our canine companions didn’t mind one iota as they ran through the muddy puddles that increased in capacity with each second. We humans though, gave each other that knowing look of despair at the duties we have to fulfil as dog owners.

“I thought the rain was going in the other direction”, remarked one man, a regular on our walks down there. His large, curly-haired beast bounding around with my scruffy, overgrown and now sodden mutt.

“Yes, I timed this perfectly!” I responded as he ran on ahead.

Perfect bloody timing! I was drenched. We got back to the car and I buckled him in. He wasn’t happy and I knew he hated me for taking him out in the rain.

“Why couldn’t you bring me out an hour earlier when it was nice and dry, Mummy, you fucking bitch?”

Well, little Rocky, yes, it would’ve been nice to have a nice dry walk and for you not to have got the inside of my car soaking wet when you had a shake after jumping onto the seat, of course it would. But look at this, you didn’t notice this because you’re a pea-brained dog. If we’d come out an hour earlier, I wouldn’t have seen this. And this, dear little dog, as far as I’m concerned, was perfect timing.