I am being stared at by a nose. It’s attached to a small hairy dog, who thinks there is an outside possibility that I may have cheese about my person. Or within reach. Or in the same room. It’s a penetrating stare, which has little to do with eyes (well, they’re getting a little less than perfect), and she’s able to maintain it for hours. If I move chairs, she shifts round to keep The Stare on target. I am – to her small doggy brain – She Who Gives Cheese.
In the same fashion, Mum is She Who Walks. If she moves from the sofa, she has a hairy shadow. Just in case she’s going out. Even if it’s only to the kitchen. Or to the bathroom – we get accustomed to being escorted (and mump-grumped at while we are in there). The Stare (it has developed a personality of its own) follows us wherever we go.
The joy of dogs.