Mark is from New Zealand and Olga is Russian. Mark enquires about bringing his dog, Blue, with them. No problem. I, too, have a small, grumpy Ewok of a dog and while she’s not exactly welcoming to other canines (or humans, if I’m honest), she does at least ignore them. Mark has an open, innocent face and Olga is unsmiling, grim. Mark has already emailed me to tell me that it is Olga’s birthday, so I wish her many happy returns and she nods gravely. Where’s Blue, I ask. They have tied him to the railings downstairs. Bring him up, I cry. Mark disappears while Olga stares silently out of the window. Mark reappears with a wolf on a lead.
Blue is enormous and silent. He has gigantic paws and bright-blue eyes. Part Siberian Husky, part Alaskan Malamute. Mark tells me happily that Blue is perfectly housetrained and has never been known to make a sound. Olga shrugs and strides to the bathroom to prepare for her birthday celebrations at a swanky restaurant. I nervously volunteer to dog-sit for the night.
Mark leaves me a handful of organic, gluten-free dog biscuits in case I need to lure Blue outside to have a pee. The biscuits prove totally unnecessary as he cocks his leg and pees on the carpet as soon as they leave. After cleaning up, I settle down on the sofa with my small dog, Flo, tucked up in my arms.
Blue approaches the sofa and puts one huge paw on it, then another. Soon I have 8st of dog lying on top of me and my dog. It’s quite hard to breathe. And very hot. I push Blue off. Well, I try to. It’s like pushing against a fur-covered wall. The biscuits have no effect and I am reduced to slithering out from underneath and raiding the fridge for some Parma ham.
When they all depart, Blue makes his first sound. He cries. Olga flashes me a complicit look and I know that she, too, has used the Parma ham trick.
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