Close blog-watchers will have noted that the posts hereon have dwindled of late. It’s not as if subject matter is thin on the ground, but rather that opportunities to rattle them off seem to be scarce all of a sudden. I’m going to come right out with it and blame Archie – that little mutt has really taken any spare time there may have been lying around and chewed it up like so much Kibble.

Scientific research has proven – proven, let me emphasise – that owning a pet not only benefits a person’s psyche, but is also likely to extend your life (statistically of course – you could still fall under a bus). Leaving aside for the moment the issue of whether you ‘own’ an animal, this symbiotic relationship makes good sense on many levels and, in the opinion of this column, should be encouraged at all times. 

I’m sure you can tell where this is all going, but I make no apology. When a truth is there to be told, it should be told outright, without fear or favour: shouted from the rooftops and bruited through the streets with urgent dispatch. Yes, our puppy Archie has improved life at Corner Cottage in a cornucopia of ways.

Let’s look at just one: meeting people. It’s long been my complaint that with social distancing measures and lockdown strictures, it’s been difficult to get to know local folk in the usual ways – by drinking with them or eating with them, for example. But stroll down the street with a puppy and the world is your friend. Maybe it’s the way they approach everyone with trust and an appeal to love them, but a puppy demolishes just about every social barrier.

It’s the children who seem to be drawn to him – maybe because he resembles a beanie baby toy, all soft and fuzzy. And he’s always happy to see them too – he seems to recognise that, like him, they are young and want to play, so he’ll mosey up to them with his sliver of a tail waggling so much his hindquarters develop a shimmy.

Yesterday we were sitting outside Provisions Deli (good coffee, delicious galettes – try it!) and a shy little girl asked if she could hold him. She took him up very gently and cuddled him like a baby; he lapped her face and made her giggle. And a circle of sentimentally-smirking adults stood around absolutely smitten with the scene. From there it’s not hard to get into conversation with people. How old is he? What breed is he? You had one too – how big did he get?

Last Saturday we were walking past the Royal Mail Hotel bar when three tradies called out to us. “Oi – is that a puppy?” “What kind of dog is he?” “he’s not fully grown is he?” I stopped to chat while Daniela walked on. One was small and wiry; one was bulky and toothless; one wasn’t very memorable. All were tanned, tattooed and tough as their Blundstone boots.

“He’s six weeks old,” I said as they cuddled him and cooed over him.
“Jeremy!” shouted Daniela from across the road. “He’s seven weeks!”
“Hell Jeremy!” said Toothless: “you should bloody know that.”

Then there was the slightly awkward lady at the coffee shop who asked us for all the basic information. “They’re beautiful souls,” she said shyly. “You can see the innocence and his trusting nature in his eyes.” For her, dogs were more relatable than people — and it took one to enable her to talk to us.

Once he was swiftly scooped up by an elderly lady bent over her walking frame. “He’s a lovely little chap,” she said. “Will he be keeping his balls?”

And when we took him to the Albion, the waitress queried our request to sit outside. I indicated Archie’s head, sticking up out of the bag he was lolling in. “Ohh, a puppy,” she cried, making that face that says you’re helpless in the face of such adorability, accompanied by a gesture of surrender. We covered the usual ground: age, breed, sleeping habits, toilet training . . . And I think the coffee came just a little faster than usual, just so she could rub his fuzzy head again.

There have been countless others, commenting as we pass, Archie trotting jauntily, unaware of his tiny stature. We stand by as he charms them, wagging his tail and looking confidently up for their compliments – proud parents of the prodigy, modestly acknowledging our great good fortune in our guardianship of the canine genius.

It’s a few short weeks since we fetched Archie from the Blue Mountains and he’s transformed our social life. Having a small, hairy page to go before us and announce our approach is just the thing we never knew we needed. I think those researchers are onto something – a pet is a fine antidote to being socially distant, especially in a small town.