The park squirrels have dropped their guard and become rather too confident in recent years…

A funny thing happened in the park today…. I thoroughly enjoyed it, and probably shouldn’t have.

I’ve taken to heading off round the corner from my son’s school after dropping him off, to run the dog in the refuge of the cool green cover of our lovely park. I have connections to this place. I have spent a huge amount of energy in getting it a new pond and helping to keep it safe. I pick congealing crisp packets out of its shrubs and lug old mudguards out of flower beds.  I walk round it with a faintly proprietorial air and it feels like home.

But what I like most, as a new dog owner, is the realisation that you can chat to absolutely anyone who has something on the end of a lead. This is usually a dog although once, memorably, I came across someone attempting to take a ferret for a walk but that is another story.

Etiquette dictates that you must start the interaction with a positive comment about their animal though sometimes a skyward glance and wry smile will suffice if your dog is currently bent double, forcing out a large and revolting poo at the entrance to the toddlers’ play area. From there the owner will either answer politely but in a brisk fashion and march off to continue their walk (ref: poo or perhaps they have quickly calculated that their elderly beagle will not benefit in any way from the demonic dog at your side which is already trying to leap on its head and flip it over) or you will have a perfectly lovely conversation and both dogs will behave in a socially acceptable way at least until they have reached each other’s rear ends.

A lovely moment with new dog friends in the park

There is one area where a few forest paths converge and you will often get a clump of dog owners all meeting by accident in this one spot. You can slip into the conversation here so easily it is quite exhilarating – I know of no other social situation where this can possibly occur – as long as you follow protocol of course and say a variety of nice things to at least a few of the dogs milling around your feet.

It was while approaching one such glorious unscheduled coming-together of random owners last week that I suddenly noticed a rather different atmosphere from the normal bonhomie. The women (it is almost always women. You do get men in the park of course but they are there to walk the dog, only walk the dog. They set off with a job to do and they are doing that job, thank you) were looking conspiratorial and supportive. Gathered much more closely together than normal. They looked like something was up and needing to be sorted out.

It was a few seconds before I followed their gaze to one woman in particular. She looked worried. My eyes travelled downwards and settled on an ancient-looking retriever at the end of the lead. It looked proud and very wary. It had a large dead squirrel in its mouth.

Various women now began pulling treats from various concealed locations on their bodies. Out came bone shaped biscuits from pockets and lumps of chicken from sleeves – one even reached down her shirt and produced a dried up lump of black pudding in a triumphant flourish and waved it hopefully under the dog’s nose.

“Thanks everyone but he won’t drop it,” said the retriever’s owner resignedly. “He’s that proud of himself. God knows how he caught it. Never seen him run so fast. Can’t normally get him to shift off his bed.”

The retriever sensed new hope in the air and lost a little of the worry from his eyes as treats were tucked back into clothing and the women shifted their attention safely away from his prize.

“I’m sure it didn’t suffer…” I contributed cheerfully. “It was probably very old.”

“Oh I don’t care about the squirrel,” replied the owner. “I’ve got to walk back home down the High Street. We’ll be traumatising children. Their mums will shout at us. What the hell am I going to do?”

This was our cue to do what women always do and leap in with comforting words and Plans. I suggested tying a scarf over the whole dog head and squirrel package to cover up the offending scene, while someone else suggested she call a cab.

We settled on a cover story in the end that both owner and retriever were happy with: when challenged, she would explain that they had simply come across the decaying corpse of an already dead squirrel in the bushes and the dog was carrying it home in order for them to dispose of it in a safe and hygenic way. Of course he hadn’t caught it himself! Have you seen his greying beard and arthritic joints? In his dreams!

And dream it certainly was as I watched them walk slowly away. Not for the owner, doing her best to look like anyone else off for a normal, jaunty everyday walk with a dog who just happened to have a large dead squirrel bouncing mournfully from either side of its jaw.

Dog however was very much enjoying the moment.  I watched him stagger along, bowed under the weight of his glorious prize, large shaggy tail wagging aloft like a plume of triumphant heraldic feathers – until both were finally through the trees and out of sight.