So I start the walk this morning and before we’ve got going we’re approached by an elderly couple with a curly haired dog, perhaps a Labradoodle. ‘Is that a Saluki?’ the woman asks. ‘Yes,’ I say.
Then there’s a bit of blah blah about names and stuff
‘We used to have Salukis,’ she says, ‘What a nightmare they are.’
‘He can be somewhat disobedient,’ I reply.
Then the man says his first words: ‘Two of them we used to have – jumped out of the back of an Austin in the Dartford tunnel one day.’
“Crikey, I said, ‘That’s just about as bad as it gets, isn’t it?’
‘Yes,’ they both say. ‘But it was in the sixties when there was much less traffic.’
‘Did you get them back?’ I asked.
‘In the end,’ they say. I want to know more, but they are on their way. Perhaps the memory is still painful.
Butter wouldn’t melt. I like the effect of hand held with the flash off, it’s like an instant Richter (we’ve been here before).