Most Mornings

Most mornings, of necessity, I see my face in the mirror. The experience is not especially uplifting but it does reassure me that I am still who I was the previous day and, despite cumulative evidence of aging, it’s recognisably me, physically and mentally, picking up the razor and starting to shave, as always, at the top lip. Sometimes I fantasise that the reflection might show some change - for they do say “a change is as good as a rest” – and in fact, for the past few mornings, change has come to pass; but only insofar as I have been looking into someone else’s mirror as we house/dog sit for holidaying relatives. Restful, however, is not how I would describe the experience.

I have been obliged to upgrade my relationship with Aini, their dog, from casual to intimate since I have undertaken to help with her feeding, exercising and toileting. In the process I am learning that dog-sitting entails very little actual ‘sitting’ although the experience is enlightening for I begin to see that the pleasure of pet ownership derives from making some other creature happy.

I have been obliged also to develop a relationship with an intimidating Polish plumber whose six-foot-six body-builder’s frame barely fits into the cab of his cavernous white van. He was summoned on the day of our relatives’ departure to re-grout a shower tray but, five days later, having noisily dismantled the entire bathroom, he waits impatiently for the arrival of the materials required to rebuild it.

One morning, the plumber having taken to smashing the floor tiles with a jack-hammer and the Polish cleaning lady having arrived to disrupt the rest of the house, I decided to get some respite by going out for coffee with my new best mate, Aini. The local parade of shops has many coffee bars but, by now, I had developed a preference for the one owned and run by second generation Italian immigrants, whose customer service is impeccable and whose prices are half those of the others. It is the default location of working men in overalls and is shunned by trendies with spiky hairstyles, complicated spectacle frames and shoulder bags full of Apple devices.

It was a good day for sitting outside, which was just as well because I was unsure of etiquette concerning animals in cafes. I tied the leash to the table leg and sat back contentedly while the roar of the passing traffic soothed my jangled nerves. Even Aini seemed quite chilled – until a passing hound aroused her interest and she started up, tilting the table and spilling my cherished cappuccino.

There followed a visit to a shop which taught me how difficult it is to give and receive with just one hand while the other is occupied in controlling a curious dog. Then, a final indignity, crossing the busy road: we had waited for a safe opportunity before stepping smartly out but halfway across I became aware that the leash was dangling limply from my hand. The blood drained from my face. But as I turned back I saw that she had slipped her collar before crossing and was happily sniffing around the cafe tables, making eyes at the patrons. I have much to learn about dog-handling.

Back at the house the cleaner and the plumber greeted us on the doorstep where they were smoking and chatting in Polish. I had the impression she was complaining about his mess and that he was explaining to her the need for the foundations of the house to be underpinned. We dropped off the shopping and headed quickly out to the park where, not for the first time, I observed the curious phenomenon of the resemblance of owners to their dogs.

The next morning, in the bathroom, I studied my reflection anxiously for signs of unwanted change.