HE began the day badly. He took me out and lost me. It would be so much
better, would he consent to the usual arrangement, and allow me to take
him out. I am far the abler leader: I say it without conceit. I am
older than he is, and I am less excitable. I do not stop and talk with
every person I meet, and then forget where I am. I do less to distract
myself: I rarely fight, I never feel I want to run after cats, I take but
little pleasure in frightening children. I have nothing to think about
but the walk, and the getting home again. If, as I say, he would give up
taking me out, and let me take him out, there would be less trouble all
round. But into this I have never been able to persuade him.
He had mislaid me once or twice, but in Sloane Square he lost me
entirely. When he loses me, he stands and barks for me. If only he
would remain where he first barked, I might find my way to him; but,
before I can cross the road, he is barking half-way down the next street.
I am not so young as I was and I sometimes think he exercises me more
than is good for me. I could see him from where I was standing in the
King’s Road. Evidently he was most indignant. I was too far off to
distinguish the barks, but I could guess what he was saying—
“Damn that man, he’s off again.”