LIZZIE IS WEARING TOO many clothes. This is nothing new, but dog-walking is and she’s sweating in the thick fluffy socks from Lost Property. None of it is actually lost, it’s donated, but that doesn’t roll off the tongue as nicely. Lizzie finds it easier to wear a lost pair of socks than a pair given to her out of pity.

Lizzie doesn’t trust the dog. She’s not used to them. Never wanted to walk it in the first place. She can’t understand why people bring animals into their home, with their fangs and claws and potential violence. They could kill you for looking at them in the wrong way, for approaching them as they eat. Are a wet nose and wagging tail really signs of happiness? And when has happiness meant safety? There is so little people can control, not even themselves, yet they still place faith in the flesh-eating descendants of wolves, leave them alone with babies, and let them think they are in charge.

Lizzie has no choice, though. Tess took her in, when she needed succour, and in return she must take out Tess’s dog. It was on her list of jobs – ‘Take out Maud’. Initially she thought Maud was an old, or mentally impaired, woman. When she found out Maud was a dog, she felt briefly relieved. Then Maud sniffed at her, investigated her with her snout, and Lizzie froze.

Lizzie shudders as she clips on the lead and tells herself Maud is probably too old to do more than bark. Two brown eyes stare up at her crossly. Lizzie once read you should never look a dog in the eye, but neither of them can seem to break contact.

Lizzie also read up on what to do if a dog attacks you while she was researching them at the library. Forewarned is forearmed, after all. Lizzie, an excellent scholar, now knows that a bloodhound’s sense of smell is so finely tuned that it has been cited in court as evidence. She also knows that up to 30 per cent of Dalmatians are deaf in one ear, and that all dogs have three eyelids.