Dog

I went to the petrol station to get a pint of milk. And there,

tethered to the tire pump was an Afghan Hound. If I'd been in the

middle of Chelsea, this would hardly have been a surprise, but

here in central Reading, the word 'dog' conjures up the image of

an old lady's scruffy demi-poodle. It was the size of a small

pony, with a slender grey face and long, oat-coloured hair parted

neatly down its middle. It peered quizically at me - I felt a bit

stuck as I had only ever encountered pictures of them in

childrens' encyclopedias and it was quite overwhelming to meet

one in the flesh. Anyhow, I got my milk, and when I came out of

Costcutter, the hound was gone.

It (like everything else these days!) inevitably made me think of

work. I come across about 10 things (whether medical conditions,

bizarre family relationships etc.) every day that I've only ever

seen in a book, and my first reaction is inevitably 'oh look, it

really exists!' Then I struggle to conceal my amazement, as

patients don't like it when you haven't seen something before.

Even if you are only 25 and they are going on 90.