Living with a blind dog is just like living with a two year old . There is nothing in life that makes a toddler or a dog happier than joining in with whatever you're doing . So it is that Wilf is loaded in the back of the car for an early morning expedition to the barbers . From the outside it looks as if the place is full but I'm shown straight to the chair . That relative rarity - a paying customer . The family fellow follows me in and trots straight towards a threadbare blanket stretched out on the floor between the sickly aspidistra and the table covered in dog eared copies of ' L'Automobile ' . The barber shops dog spot .
The wizened old farmers who congregate here , setting the world to rights each and every morning bar Sundays , are dog folk . While the clippers hum away the berreted retirees ask what breed he is, why he went blind and whether he's good at finding truffles . Through it all Wilf lies contentendly on the cool lino floor , listening to the voices and knowing he's the centre of this gentle attention . After a while the talk turns to the Dutch couple who have a summer home in the village. They've turned up in a fancy new two door Alfa Romeo . Much shaking of heads. ' Hollandais ! ' says the barber , stretching the word out slowly as if this might somehow explain why anyone should choose not to buy a sensible Peugeot or Citroen . As I lift Wilf into the back of the car he has a look on his face that says ' Time that you enjoy wasting , was not wasted ' .