“Spencer likes you, he really likes you” the Mister keeps telling me kind of paraphrasing Sally Field's famous Oscar comment. I’m not so sure. He only acknowledges me when I arrive to take him out or when I'm treating him. Otherwise on our walks, his nonchalance would make it appear, from his perspective at least, there is no one at the other end of his leash. He ignores me visually for most of walk; seldom looking back as he's hell-bent on discovering the dog version of "wassup?" Of course the world is just a much more interesting place than I am, I guess. How can I a mere human compete with odour of skunk, stray cat, mouse or turtle? In his own home, he grants me as much attention as anyone else in the room, even going so far as to sit in my lap or beside me, but outdoors, I’m persona non grata: leash holder or worse: someone to be dragged along.
The Missus tells me Spencer starts barking as soon as I round the corner at the head of their street! She thinks he knows I'm coming. It makes me feel good to know that just maybe he senses, hears or knows my step. How nice! But I'm still not sure I believe it.
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