We were confronted by naked, raw danger this morning.

It started innocuously enough, walking by the river in the peaceful early morning, two greyhounds and, on the other end of the leashes, the two humans they own.

And then, in the distance, we saw them, a man and a ... cat? It was on a leash, but it looked like a fluffy, white cat. Wait, maybe a fox? A hairy hamster?

Our dogs, with their thousands of years of hunting-honed eyesight, could have told us. Daisy, especially, gets excited at the presence of other dogs and was whining and straining to greet the newcomer.

As it got closer, we vision-impaired humans finally recognised it - a papillon! We smiled and prepared to say hello to its human while the dogs said hello to each others' bums.

But the man, quite close now, wasn't returning our smile. He wasn't, in fact, looking friendly at all. And then, astonishingly, he bent down and picked up the papillon and prepared to march straight past us without so much as a good morning.

He seemed such a grumpy man.

My wife, who is about seven feet shorter than me but who in general is much more prepared to confront the world before her, said, politely but pointedly, "Our dogs are very friendly."

The man looked startled. The man looked at us for the first time. The man spoke, "Oh, yes," he said, "but mine isn't!"

The man smiled, then laughed a jolly laugh, and walked on, papillon tucked in armpit.

He seemed such a nice man.

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