Apocalyptic dog walker

Fido was not the smartest of mutts. For starters he would regularly get confused when faced with the simple task of knowing when to bark or not. He had long since decided the best course of action was to take the lead from Jumpers the mature cat who never barked so Fido followed suit.

Anyhow whilst Fido was not the sharpest nail in the coffin, he could still tell his arse from his proverbial elbow. His owner, Frank, had gotten them lost. It was clear. Normal walks had consisted for the three years of his pretty blissful dog life with Frank walking them to the park, Fido being let off his lead, Frank having two to three crafty cigars, then lead reattached and home to Jessica, the boss of the house. Actually that wasn't quite true; Giles the terrorist 5 year old was really boss of the house.

Anyway this walk had gone wrong from the start. They'd walked past the entrance to the park and just kept walking. Now Fido didn't mind a pleasant stroll, but an hour's route march was not his cup of tea and judging my the look of a sweat dripping dog walker, neither was it Frank's. Eventually they had come to halt at a quiet lay by down Leapers Lane and Frank had tied, yes tied, Fido to a lamp post before jumping into a yellow Ford Focus to get jiggy with a long haired younger looking model called Coral.

Eventually the exhausted looking Frank ejected himself from the back seat and the two of them, owner and hound, made their way back across Chiswick to goodness knows what.

Fido was not smart. He knew that. Frank was clearly dumber. Fido knew that too.

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