I was walking to work with my choons on loud when a gentle furball sidled up to me and kept pace– huffing softly, he padded along in no real hurry; his glamorous fur coat snipped to resemble a lion’s majestic mane. “He’s a Chow Chow”, his owner said proudly, strolling a few steps ahead, “and he’s 17 years old”. Well I never! I felt like I was in the presence of grandfather dog royalty and practically curtseyed when he sat and looked up at me. I stroked his lovely fur, cooed some sweet nothings and smiled into Monday.
