<p>A few months ago, I invited my grand-nephew to join me on my evening walks. Young Gabriel accepted with alacrity. Touched by his apparent eagerness to keep me company, I was unaware that his idea of a daily stroll was different from mine.</p>.<p>I planned to saunter down the street with Gabriel. We would, I told him, smilingly greet acquaintances, halting occasionally for chats. Gabriel, however, had other ideas. He made it clear at the outset that he was not interested in people. Several weeks have passed since our first excursion and Gabriel still has his way. He interacts enthusiastically with the dogs in the neighbourhood, and expects me to do the same.</p>.<p>A small firm hand grips my elbow, as he propels me forward to meet his four-footed friends. Gabriel does not discriminate on the basis of breed. While he is greatly attached to Daisy the Husky, Max the Labrador, Tuffy the Dalmatian and Simba the Weimeraner, he pays equal attention to scruffy strays. They prick up their ears when Gabriel calls to them, and wag their tails in response.</p>.<p>Unfortunately, they do not stop with this show of affection. They come bounding towards us from all directions and fling themselves on Gabriel.</p>.<p>As he cuddles these creatures, Gabriel addresses each lovingly. Every day, he tells me their names and, just as regularly, I mix them up. There are, among others, Robin, Toffee, Gypsy, Bella, Sugar and Tramp. Gabriel explains that they have been assigned these identities by well-wishers in the area. Luna I call Lunatic, but actually all of them are delusional. They mistakenly believe that because I am with Gabriel, I must be as crazy about them as he is. They paw me insistently, urging me to pat them.</p>.<p>Standing still, with eyes closed, I am wafted back in memory to the anti-rabies injections of my childhood. I start to move away, and the persistent pack follows me. “They can smell your fear,” says Gabriel; an enigmatic utterance that is far from reassuring.</p>.<p>“I like cats,” I declare loudly, in a bid to free myself. As though disappointed at this peculiar preference, the dogs disappear. Tomorrow, they will clamour for my approval again, and I may surprise Gabriel by bestowing on them a caress or two. I must admit that I have grown quite fond of our canine comrades.</p>
<p>A few months ago, I invited my grand-nephew to join me on my evening walks. Young Gabriel accepted with alacrity. Touched by his apparent eagerness to keep me company, I was unaware that his idea of a daily stroll was different from mine.</p>.<p>I planned to saunter down the street with Gabriel. We would, I told him, smilingly greet acquaintances, halting occasionally for chats. Gabriel, however, had other ideas. He made it clear at the outset that he was not interested in people. Several weeks have passed since our first excursion and Gabriel still has his way. He interacts enthusiastically with the dogs in the neighbourhood, and expects me to do the same.</p>.<p>A small firm hand grips my elbow, as he propels me forward to meet his four-footed friends. Gabriel does not discriminate on the basis of breed. While he is greatly attached to Daisy the Husky, Max the Labrador, Tuffy the Dalmatian and Simba the Weimeraner, he pays equal attention to scruffy strays. They prick up their ears when Gabriel calls to them, and wag their tails in response.</p>.<p>Unfortunately, they do not stop with this show of affection. They come bounding towards us from all directions and fling themselves on Gabriel.</p>.<p>As he cuddles these creatures, Gabriel addresses each lovingly. Every day, he tells me their names and, just as regularly, I mix them up. There are, among others, Robin, Toffee, Gypsy, Bella, Sugar and Tramp. Gabriel explains that they have been assigned these identities by well-wishers in the area. Luna I call Lunatic, but actually all of them are delusional. They mistakenly believe that because I am with Gabriel, I must be as crazy about them as he is. They paw me insistently, urging me to pat them.</p>.<p>Standing still, with eyes closed, I am wafted back in memory to the anti-rabies injections of my childhood. I start to move away, and the persistent pack follows me. “They can smell your fear,” says Gabriel; an enigmatic utterance that is far from reassuring.</p>.<p>“I like cats,” I declare loudly, in a bid to free myself. As though disappointed at this peculiar preference, the dogs disappear. Tomorrow, they will clamour for my approval again, and I may surprise Gabriel by bestowing on them a caress or two. I must admit that I have grown quite fond of our canine comrades.</p>