When we got back to Langland, George spotted heaven: dogs on the beach. He went haring off but nobody wanted to play with him! He came back to me, looking dejected, but then said, 'I must have got it wrong. They will want to play with me,' and set off again. He returned, shaking his head, 'Five dogs and not one of them wants to play with me!'
I told him they must have been snooty Langland dogs, and it's not him, it's them.