The words "How hard can it be?" soon returned to haunt me when I agreed to look after my brother's dog.

Duncan is a lively springer spaniel who doesn't so much walk as, well, spring. Leaping through trees, up hills and across streams, he's a black and white blur, covering several times the distance of his human companions.

I love talking him for walks because he's so happy, practically grinning as he races up hill and down dale.

I hadn't walked him on my own, however, until last weekend when he was left in my care. First came the bizarre pre-walk ritual of Duncan 'hiding' under the coffee table whenever he gets wind of a walk. Making it particularly difficult to attach his collar is a little game he likes to play.

And if the car is involved, Duncan has to be lifted into it - he won't climb in for love nor doggie treats.

York Press:

Duncan the springer spaniel

Our first walk was to the park where, five minutes in, Duncan started squatting in that awkward way dogs do. I thought of the little plastic bags I'd glanced at fleetingly as we left the house - little plastic bags I hadn't put in my pockets. What I did have was an old tissue, not the best thing to pick up dog mess with. Soon afterwards Duncan decided to "go" again; with nothing left in my pockets, I improvised - and now my raincoat no longer has a belt.

Next day we went to the woods, one of Duncan's favourite haunts, and two little dogs came bounding over. Duncan isn't particularly interested in other dogs - he'll humour them with brief canine small-talk, then he's off - but this pair were determined to be sociable. Within a second they'd knocked their owner off her feet, leaving her sprawled on the ground, crying in pain. As her annoying yappers raced around my ankles, I managed to get Duncan back on the lead to avoid further chaos while trying, unsuccessfully, to help the poor woman to her feet. Eventually she limped off, muttering something about recently recovering from surgery.

Thankful that we hadn't had to trouble the air ambulance, I unleashed Duncan and he disappeared on a squirrel-chasing mission. After calling him for an eternity, I was starting to rehearse an "I'm afraid I lost Duncan in the woods" speech when he finally re-appeared - and sprinted into a swamp, emerging almost completely black.

It wasn't until later, lifting a soggy, panting dog into my car, that I faced a choice of sitting him on my T-shirt, and driving home in my bra, or leaving him to sprawl in his swampy mess across the back seat. My dignity won, just about.