I took two dogs with me when I went to Bahrain in the mid-80s. They had a great life there, first amongst the swamps of Ras Sanad and then around A’Ali. Eventually, of course, they shuffled off this mortal coil and went to the great kennel in the sky. I have, since then, always wanted to have another dog. We had a lovely Bahraini Dilmun cat for many years. He accompanied us as we moved from Bahrain some seven years ago and he too, sadly moved on. Cats, though, in my limited experience don’t quite have the dedication and devotion which a dog seems to bring. So, as we moved to Portugal and we were a mite deficient in the pet department, I determined to have another dog. I don’t know why, but I wanted to call him ‘Eric’. In any event, things seemed to fall into place, with a stray Portuguese street dog appearing, as if on cue, at a friend’s house. She was soon leaving to join her husband, working away in Albania, and so Eric came into our lives.

He is a wonderful little companion and is genuinely very gentle and well-behaved, as if he knows what it is to be a pet. He clearly was limited in experience, however, as he showed when I took him up to Spain to visit ‘she who must be obeyed’, who works up there. Nearby there is a pretty little beach, with rolling waves from the Bay of Biscay warmly (at least in summer) massaging the sand. Eric, who is sand-coloured himself and was thus perfectly camouflaged, had obviously never walked on a beach before. He jumped out of the car, took off and then stopped dead in his tracks, with a very quizzical expression, writ large on his face. He slowly picked his paw up, looked at it, and then put it down again. He rolled over a few times, as if testing the density and then took off, expecting to be able to run as well as he did on grass. Of course, he soon became accustomed to slow, turgid progress, despite seemingly expending great effort, until he reached the ocean’s edge.

There he encountered another dog, running in and out of the surf, obviously having a great time. Eric barked at him madly, almost as if warning him to get out. Each time a wave came, Eric would retreat, not wanting wet feet. Soon, they were running around, chasing each other, until Eric foolishly followed the dog into the surf and quickly got out of his depth. After a short, panicky moment, he then discovered that he could swim. He paddled back to shore immediately with a great daft, lollopy grin on his face, and I swear that he was looking proud of himself. He learned a lot that day. He now loves the beach, although he is still a little uncertain about total immersion; he will paddle, nevertheless, in a genteel, reserved sort of way, rather like a Victorian lady. Anyone who tells me that pets don’t bring great joy is talking through their hat!