My name is Bobby, and I share my life with Steve. He’s my human. He smells reassuringly of coffee, digestive biscuits, and sometimes, faintly, of the earth from his garden. My tail gives a little thump-thump on the rug just thinking about him. I’m a Vizslador – that means I have the lovely golden-rust colour of a Vizsla and the friendly heart (and appetite!) of a Labrador. I’m nearly ten years old now, which in dog years is quite respectable, thank you very much. My muzzle has some distinguished grey hairs, and my joints sometimes feel a bit stiff in the morning, but my nose still works perfectly, and my tail hasn’t forgotten how to wag.

My day starts when Steve starts. I hear the gentle creak of his bed, then the soft padding of his slippers on the landing. That’s my cue. I stretch, a long, satisfying stretch from my nose to the tip of my tail, and trot to the bedroom door. He always smiles when he sees me. “Morning, Bobby girl,” he says, his voice warm like sunshine. Ah, the first good sound of the day, I think. He sees me. All is well.

Downstairs, the routine begins. Steve does the water ceremony – filling the noisy metal thing that whistles later. That means his hot brown drink is coming. Not for me, sadly. While it heats, he lets me out into the garden for important morning business. The air smells fresh, maybe a fox passed by in the night, or Mrs Higgins’ cat next door. I sniff thoroughly, leaving my own messages on the grass. Back inside, Steve puts my breakfast in my bowl. It’s the crunchy stuff. I eat it quickly. Mustn’t waste good food. What if it disappears?

While Steve has his coffee and reads the noisy paper that rustles importantly, I usually find a patch of sunlight coming through the window and have a little snooze. Sometimes, he drops crumbs. Accidentally on purpose? I think so. I am always ready. I watch him. He turns the pages slowly, sometimes he sighs, sometimes he chuckles. His sounds tell me his mood. Today sounds calm.

Later, he might potter about. Sometimes he goes into the little shed in the garden. It smells interesting in there – oily and green. I’m not usually allowed in, so I wait patiently by the door, my nose twitching. Other times, he sits in his favourite armchair and does puzzles with tiny squares, or listens to the magic talking box – the radio. I often bring him my squeaky pheasant toy then. I drop it near his feet and look hopeful. Maybe now? A little throw? Sometimes he obliges, sometimes he just pats my head and says, “Not now, old girl.” That’s okay. A pat is good too. Patience is important.

But the best part of the day is usually after lunch. I know the signs. Steve starts looking towards the hook by the door. The hook where it hangs. The Lead. My ears prick up. My tail starts a slow, hopeful wag. He might stand up and stretch. He might say, “Well then…” My tail wags faster. Then, the magic words: “Shall we go for a walk, Bobby?”

Walkies! Yes! Oh, yes please! I might do a little happy dance, turning in a circle, maybe a little ‘woof’ escapes. He chuckles again. He puts on his ‘outside coat’ and picks up The Lead. This is it! The adventure begins!

I have to stand still while he clips the lead onto my collar. It’s hard to stand still when you’re excited, but it’s the rule. Then, we’re out the door. On the pavement, Steve likes me to walk nicely beside him. He calls it ‘heel’. It means I shouldn’t pull, even though there are SO many fascinating smells calling to me from every lamppost and gate. Must concentrate. Stay near Steve. He needs me to be sensible near the noisy metal boxes on wheels. When we cross the road, he says “Wait,” and I stop. I look at him, and he looks carefully left and right. “Okay, come on,” he says, and we cross together. He keeps me safe. I trust him.

We walk down the familiar streets towards the park. I sniff greetings to other dogs we know, a quick wag, maybe a polite sniff, then continue with Steve. He is my priority.

Ah, the park gates! My tail is going like a helicopter blade now. Inside, if there aren’t too many other people or dogs around, Steve finds a safe spot and unclips my lead. “Go on then!”

Freedom! I might have a little run, not as fast as I used to, but still joyful. The grass under my paws, the wind in my ears! I explore the bushes, checking for squirrels (they always escape) and investigating interesting patches. But I never go too far. I always know where Steve is. I look back often to check he’s still there, watching me. He needs to know I haven’t forgotten him. Sometimes he throws my old tennis ball. I trot after it – maybe not a speedy fetch anymore, more of a determined retrieval. I bring it back and give it to him in his hand, so he doesn’t have to bend down to pick it up, I am clever like that, he taught me well. Good girl, Bobby, he says, and gives my ears a scratch. That’s the best reward.

If we meet other dogs, I’m usually polite. A sniff, a wag. If a dog is too bouncy or noisy, I might just move closer to Steve’s legs. He’ll look after me. He always does. He knows which dogs are friendly and which ones are best avoided.

After a good explore and maybe a sit-down on a bench for Steve (while I lie at his feet, watching the world go by), he calls me back. “Bobby, here!” I always go straight away. He called. It’s important. He clips the lead back on. Adventure pause. Time for the sensible walk home.

The walk back is quieter. I feel pleasantly tired. My paws pad softly beside him. Back home, he takes off my lead and often gives me a little treat. Walkies successfully completed! I usually have a big drink of water and then find my favourite spot on the sofa (even though I’m technically not allowed, he usually pretends not to notice) for a proper, long nap. Steve settles back in his computer chair, and turns on the monitor. The house is quiet and safe. Being here, with him, after a good walk… it’s the best feeling in the world. He’s my Steve, and I’m his Bobby. And that’s just perfect.

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Vocabulary Notes

Reassuringly
Adverb
Meaning: In a way that makes you feel less worried or more confident; comforting.
Example: “He smells reassuringly of coffee, digestive biscuits…” (This means the smell makes Bobby feel safe, calm, and that everything is okay).
Similar Words: Comfortingly, soothingly, encouragingly, calmingly.

Muzzle
Noun
Meaning: The part of an animal’s head that includes the nose, mouth, and jaws, sticking forward.
Example: “My muzzle has some distinguished grey hairs…” (This refers to the front part of Bobby’s face, around her nose and mouth).
Similar Words: Snout, nose (area), jaws (area).

Potter about
Phrasal Verb
Meaning: To move around slowly and do small, pleasant, or unimportant tasks in a relaxed way, without a specific goal. It’s often used for activities at home or in the garden.
Example: “Later, he might potter about.” (This suggests Steve moves around the house or garden doing little jobs or simply busying himself gently).
Similar Words: Tinker, wander (without a specific destination), fiddle about, mess around (in a gentle way).

Obliges (Base form: Oblige)
Verb
Meaning: To do something helpful or kind that someone has asked for; to agree to a request.
Example: “Sometimes he obliges, sometimes he just pats my head…” (This means sometimes Steve agrees to Bobby’s unspoken request to play with the toy).
Similar Words: Agrees, helps, complies, consents, does someone a favour.

Prick up (ears)
Phrasal Verb
Meaning: (Usually referring to an animal’s ears) To raise the ears quickly and point them upwards, typically showing sudden interest, alertness, or listening intently.
Example: “My ears prick up.” (Bobby lifts her ears straight up when she hears or suspects something interesting is about to happen, like walk time).
Similar Words: Lift (ears), raise (ears), become alert.

Sensible
Adjective
Meaning: Having or showing good judgment; practical and reasonable, not emotional or foolish.
Example: “He needs me to be sensible near the noisy metal boxes on wheels.” (Bobby knows she must behave calmly and carefully near cars for safety).
Similar Words: Reasonable, practical, wise, level-headed, responsible, down-to-earth.

Retrieval
Noun
Meaning: The act or process of getting something back from somewhere. In the context of dogs, it often means fetching something that has been thrown.
Example: “…more of a determined retrieval.” (This describes Bobby’s action of going to get the ball and bringing it back to Steve).
Similar Words: Fetching, recovery, bringing back, collection. (The verb form is ‘retrieve’).

Story written by SteveUK & Gemini AI

Image created by Designer AI

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