The Dog Walker – Part 1: The Wolfhound

The wolfhound had decided that Kofi was his.

"Bernd," said Nils. "Come."

Bernd, a grey shaggy animal the size of a small pony, leaned his full weight against Kofi's legs and gazed up at him with melting brown eyes. Kofi, thirty-four, a software engineer in a crisp white shirt and a pair of expensive trainers, stood very still on the path through the Tiergarten in the morning mist, with his phone in one hand and a coffee in the other.

"He's affectionate," said Nils, apologetically.

"He's leaning."

"It's his way."

Nils was thirty, a professional dog walker, tall and loose-limbed, with untidy fair hair, a big canvas jacket and eight leads wound round one wrist. A pack of dogs milled round him in the leaves: two terriers, a beagle, a whippet, a shy greyhound. He tried to tug Bernd away. Bernd refused.

"Does he do this to everyone?"

"Never. He doesn't like men in white shirts."

"I'm a man in a white shirt."

"I know. I'm confused."

Kofi started to laugh. He put his coffee on a bench, crouched, and scratched Bernd behind the ears. The hound sighed in bliss and slumped against his shins, nearly knocking him over.

"I've never had a dog," said Kofi. "My building doesn't allow them."

"You should come on a walk. Properly. They're good for the soul."

"I have a meeting at nine."

"It's seven-forty."

"I can be flexible."

They walked together for an hour, through the misty park, past the pond, along the canal. The dogs raced ahead through the leaves. Bernd kept pace at Kofi's hip like a bodyguard. Nils told stories: the whippet who stole sandwiches, the beagle who howled at trams. Kofi told him about the long hours, the empty flat, the way his days had become screens.

"Can I ask you something?" said Nils, as the sun broke through the mist.

"Yes."

"Do you want to do it again tomorrow?"

"Green?" said Kofi, a lead, a light.

"Green," said Nils, delighted. "Very green. Bernd will be thrilled."

Continue the story: Part 2 – Heel.