By KATE HUNTER
My relationship with my dog has never been easy. It has been fraught at times. Weighed down by misunderstanding. But time and therapy have helped and I’m not even joking.
(You can read about our relationship counselling session here.)
So you can imagine my distress when a woman, unknown to us both, judged me for giving my dog a non-human name.
‘Oh, he’s lovely,’ she said, so innocuously, lulling me into thinking all I was in for was inane dog-park small talk. ‘What kind is he?’
Again, entirely predictable. Most people think he’s a poodle of some kind.
‘He’s what’s called a Lagotto,’ I said, ‘He’s an Italian truffle digger.’ Most people look at me like I’m a dickhead when I say that. But she didn’t, and that should have given me a clue about what was to come. She was clearly a dog person, one who knows all about the exotic breeds. I glanced at her pooch — an Afghan hound. Groomed like a Kardashian at Elton John’s post Oscar party.
‘What’s his name?’
‘Tiger,’ I said.