“Oh Mum,” I say, getting out of the car first, “Just look at that!”

We are at the Tesco car park (just a few hours ago); we have parked next to a small car with the hatchback up and a dog wearing a harness is sat in the back. My mother, too, comes over to have a look. The owner of the dog is nowhere to be seen. A lady walks through the car park in our direction and as she nears I ask:

“Is this your dog?”

“No, but I saw him earlier. I think he’s really old,” the lady says smiling, and she stops to take a last knowing look at him before going over to her car.

Mum and I wonder at the woman’s astuteness. She must be a dog expert. What makes a dog look really old? Is it the wispy hair? But don’t some breeds of dogs have funny wiry hair like that? We survey him more intently…

“Are you old like me?” asks Mum advancing a step towards the dog but taking care not to get too close.

Wire-hair looks into my mother’s eyes and opens his mouth as if to speak; no sound comes out but there is definitely a rapport between the oldies. While Wire-hair rolls his tongue around his mouth I peer closer and note that he doesn’t appear to have the full quota of teeth (not that I would know how many teeth make up the full quota).

Another lady and daughter pair come along. They stop and smile, and take photo’s from a safe distance.

“He looks old,” offers the mother and the daughter nods her agreement before taking another shot of the strange sight.

“Do you think he’d like a pat?” I turn to Mum for her opinion.

“I don’t know – he must be a guard dog – don’t you think?”

“But he doesn’t look at all aggressive – does he?” I move a tad nearer to him, whilst at the same time veering slightly around to the side of the vehicle (for safety).

“He’s nice and quiet,” says Mum pleased (she can’t stand noisy animals or children screaming in supermarkets).

That does it for me. I can’t resist. I have to find out if he’s a real guard dog.

“You are a nice boy,” I cajole as I extend my left arm slowly towards Wire-hair’s chinny-chin-chin.

“Woof!” Wire-hair snaps suddenly at the air above my hand.

Mum and I jump, then we laugh. We can’t stop howling. We find Chris and he doesn’t know why we’re laughing but he knows it is something to do with the guard dog. And Mum and I don’t know exactly why we’re still creased up, however we recognise that it has something to do with being old and small, quiet and unassuming, not having many teeth and yet still possessing the ability to surprise… and bite if necessary. As I said, my old Mum and the little old guard dog had a great rapport.