Britain’s obsession with dogs is unhealthy
‘Puppiccino or hot dogolate, Bertie? Or will you try our special Christmas blend?’ The barista leaned across the counter, eyes fixed not on the man holding the lead but on the immaculately groomed corgi at his feet. For a moment, I wondered if this was a case of exceptionally poor diction and misplaced attention. Surely Bertie was the human member of the pair – the one capable of vocalising a preference? But no. Bertie’s tail wagged decisively. His companion – in another era known as the owner – translated boldly: ‘Bertie would like the Christmas blend, please.