An owner and her pet

Every now and then a prosaic old day throws up a moment of unexpected beauty.

When I popped out on an errand at lunchtime, as I drove round a corner I saw an elderly lady in great distress on the pavement. She was ever so slight and frail and clearly distraught, shambling up and down as best she could on her walking frame. She was calling out "Flossie, Flossie" and looked devastated. Her voice was tearful and hoarse; hauntingly desperate.

On the way back two minutes later I thought I'd see if I could help (of course the poor lady might have been unhinged - still tormented, perhaps, by the tragic death of her sister Flossie in 1956) but if a pet had gone astray I was ready to get stuck in. She was in a terrible state.

No need. When I got back round the corner, there she was, crouched over her frame, beaming from ear to ear as a young man made copious fuss of a spaniel which he had evidently reunited with its owner. The old lady looked as happy as she had looked sad moments earlier, the dog was wagging it's tail for England and the chap, who had a laptop case so probably worked in a nearby office, was smiling broadly, evidently delighted to have helped. Wonderful.