Talking in Waitrose

I was leaving Waitrose this morning, hands full of shopping, and an older lady (well, older than me anyway) smiled and asked me where my dogs were. I had no idea who she was (I still don’t) and said that, hopefully, they were at home. I figured that was it but I was mistaken.

She walked beside me, matching my pace which I slowed a bit so she could get her breath. She then told me how lovely they were and she’d told her friend as much. I smiled uncertain. This was a seriously weird conversation. She wasn’t from FATN (I do sometimes run into people from FATN who I recognise but have to hide myself behind something bigger than me, because I can’t remember their name), of this I’m certain. She sounded vaguely German…or Austrian.

“Every time I see you in the park with them, it makes me very happy. They are so lovely,” She said.

I still didn’t recognise her but at least knew where she knew me from. I told her that sometimes they’re lovely, other times not quite so much. She tutted at this comment and told me, as if by way of explanation, that she had seen them on Crufts and knew.

I was about to tell her that Carmen & Day-z had as much chance of appearing at Crufts as I would at London fashion week but then realised she meant poodles in general. I said something about how smart poodles are but she’d gone. I turned back and spotted her rifling through the newspapers on the free standing display. I shrugged and kept going. I guess I’ll have to be a little more observant when walking in the park.

Also in Waitrose, Julie told me about her horrid day yesterday. She fell over (a regular reader may remember that she fell over on the way to the bank ages ago) in the middle of the shop. Like a sack of potatoes, she said. They wanted to rush her to hospital but she sat for a bit and felt a lot better. She didn’t want to take the day off because she’d had a day off a fortnight ago and didn’t want someone having a ‘chat’ with her about attendance. This made me think that Waitrose must be like some sort of hellish place to work.

Anyway, she is off for a CAT scan next week and, hopefully, all will be well. Though she admits to some lack of balance and a rotten headache, she reckons she’s a tough old bird and will be all right. I realised that if she stopped going into work, I’d never know what happened.

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And, yes mum, I do speak dog.

Carmen looking at me, Day-z in the rear