Luckily, George The Dog sensed my difficulty and pushed his head into my lap for a stroke as I sat there, deep in thought.
Except it wasn't George.
I discovered this when I reached down to rub his ears, something he particularly likes, and found some short, stubby things where the long, droopy ones of my spaniel/poodle cross should be.
It would be fair to say I was a little shocked. I may have even uttered an expletive.
OK, I did utter an expletive. A fairly loud one as it happens. Loud enough to wake up George who had become the favoured nominee for the Worst Guard Dog of the Year Award.
Long story short, Mrs P had opened the front ranch slider onto the deck and George was lying there enjoying the sun. While I can't actually confirm, this previous experience tells me he'd probably fallen asleep very quickly as the sun gently warmed his belly. He was probably snoring too.
Into this peaceful scene, and while Mrs P had her back to the door and was working away at the kitchen sink, trotted a rather large black-and-white dog.
Now I don't know whether the creature had been searching the nooks and crannies of our humble abode for long, but at some stage he'd found his way to my office, ambled up and stuck his head on my lap.
And that's when I shouted. And a millisecond later all hell broke loose.
Our visitor took off back down the hallway at pace where he encountered Mrs P coming to see what all the fuss was about.
She screamed.
By this stage George has woken up, presumably grumpy. I mean in human years he's 63. I'm 58 and I get grumpy if I get woken from a nice snooze in the sun.
So now George has entered the fray and he comes trotting in to see what all the fuss is about.
As he's wandering through the kitchen he spots the visitor at the other end of the house.
Picture here if you will one of those cartoon moments where the dog is trying to get traction on the slippery floor. In this case lino.
It takes two or three goes to get a grip but finally, he's up and running. Unfortunately, the traction issues come to light again as he makes a sharp turn coming out of the kitchen to the conservatory where the lino ends and he slides into the corner where his bowl of biscuits and big bowl of water are.
Both biscuits and water are sprayed all over the floor, just as the visitor changes his mind and heads back through the mess.
Luckily, or unluckily as the case may be, I've arrived on the scene and try to grab the visitor. Unsuccessfully.
This results in me knocking over the long bit of the vacuum cleaner we keep there. In turn, it knocks a bag of spuds off the little shelf thing we have in the conservatory and potatoes start to roll about amid the chaos.
By now Mrs P has regained her composure and offers a friendly "hello" to the visitor who is suddenly calm and serene with a furiously wagging tail.
George, too, is over the embarrassment of being caught snoring on guard duty and sliding on the lino. He's all waggy take too, and making friends with his new mate.
And me - well I've just picked up the broom and I'm sweeping soggy dog biscuits and potatoes into a pile.
It has to be said our visitor is a lovely dog. Obviously well cared for and with a very friendly disposition.
This is confirmed a few minutes later by the breathless young lady who arrives, hugely apologetic, at our front door.
It seems she'd been visiting our neighbours and the dog had sauntered off on an adventure.
No harm had been done and we wished her well as she headed off with her pooch and we settled back into our humdrum day.
An hour or so later I reached the end of the tale, satisfied even the simplest of yarns might provide a little relief from the troubling times we found ourselves in.
And right on cue, as if he knew, George The Dog put his head in my lap and nuzzled my hand asking for his ears to be rubbed.
At least I think it's George. I haven't seen Mrs P for a while.
