I hitch-hiked to see some friends at the weekend. As well as having a thoroughly lovely time at my destination, I was constantly surprised by the kindness of the people who picked me up, their generosity and all-round good-eggedness.
I awoke early on Saturday and opened my curtains to thick fog, which I thought might impact my chances of getting picked up, but I was eventually proven wrong. I left my house at 8.30am and got a lift with a taxi-driving friend of mine (for free!) to the main road where all the traffic was heading in my direction. I stood near a lay-by and held out my hand-drawn sign for the A34. Within five minutes I was on my way, unusually sitting in the back of the car as the guy's dog was sat on a blanket in the passenger seat.
And so began the story of the dog. I won't bore you with the details - in fact, he didn't bore me with the details as I'm a listener instead of a talker. Suffice it to say the dog was being pampered because it was on its last legs.
Now I've had drivers like this before - I've lightheartedly nicknamed them 'edgeways' because you can't get a word in. This certainly isn't a criticism - I find it rather endearing.
We were only travelling about fifteen miles, but during that time I learned more about that dog's recent history than I would if Trevor McDonald investigated him for a half-hour 'Tonight' special about old dogs.
"Tonight... we investigate the final days of Skippy the dog and his very personal journey from dog-sitter, to dog-hospital, to a luxury seaside hotel in Morecombe..."
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