Every year for the past god knows how many, the same old man has stood outside our local shop selling poppies for Remembrance day. I'm pretty sure he fought in the Crimean War. Well, you would think so, given his country gent deportment and huge handlebar mustache, which is now completely white.
I bought four poppies from him last Saturday, one for each of us, before going into the shop to stock up on sweets for our long walk with Mcleod.
On my way back to the car he stopped me.
"Your dog's been good as gold you know" he said, "he's sat there the whole time just looking at me."
He followed me over to the car and gave Mac a thorough petting once I'd opened the boot.
"He's just like my old dog you know."
I could have sworn I saw tears well up in his eyes. He gave Mcleod a poppy.