Of Dogsitting and Panic

Invited to London to look after a house while the owners are away and dog-sit at the same time. Thoroughly enjoying the city. Walking the dog and having a house to roam around in.

Come down one morning to find the dog has died in the night. Shocked and unsure what to do, look up a vet, call them. The vet says bring him in - they can look at what may have happened. Next issue - how to transport the dead dog to the vet, and how to get there. Having planned the route, discover a suitably large suitcase (this is not a small dog), put the dead canine inside and set off.

Surprisingly heavy load. Struggling up the stairs at the tube with the case. Passing man asks if he can help. Consider, then say actually its heavy, yes appreciate the help. Boy it is heavy, what you got in here, he asks. Quick thinking come up with a plausable explanation - boyfriend's decks - he's a DJ and is doing a set later. Man promptly runs off with the case. Second shock.

Two things flash through the head.

1. The man's face when he opens the case and discovers that his most recent criminal act has not resulted in his ownership of a fine pair of decks but rather a dead dog. Perhaps he's selling it on sight unseen to some budding DJ or a fence...
2. The explanation to the owners becomes increasingly implausable - OMG the dog died, I was taking him to the vet, in a suitcase, when I was mugged...