I like to think my dog is loyal.
For the most she is, happily patting and panting away alongside me as we trundle through the local park, chasing after a tennis ball and even occasionally bringing it back. That is, until someone else turns up with better-tasting, more expensive dog treats. Then loyalty goes out the window. It’s as if the hours I have devoted to picking up her poo, to chasing after her to retrieve the socks she has stolen from the wash basket, mean nothing.
She sits there at the feet of a complete stranger, tongue flapping and gooey-eyed, waiting for the expensive lamb treats that shame my cardboard-like kibble (which, by the way, cost me an arm and a leg because the vet guilted me into buying the good stuff because he said feeding a dog supermarket brand would amount to some form of puppy abuse).
