Last week Younger Son took George for a walk. He often does that but this time was different; this time it was part of his work. He was accompanying a guided walk that he'd organised in the Neath valley.
The guide had her dog with her too, so there were two of them: one lively and running and being enthusiastic, and one plodding and just being. No prizes for guessing which one was George. But that was okay; that wasn't too embarrassing. To avoid any unnecessary embarrassment later Younger Son explained in advance that George was very brave and was only scared of plastic bags.
So it didn't get embarrassing until they reached a small metal bridge. And George refused to walk across it.
The guide's dog bounded across happily; all the walkers crossed it without a problem. But George stopped and stared. 'Nope,' he said. 'Not walking across that.'
Younger Son tried to bribe him across with treats: normally he'll do anything for a treat. But not apparently walk across a metal grid bridge.
No matter how much Younger Son pleaded George wouldn't move.
Normally coming across a bridge he didn't like wouldn't be too much of a problem as he'd swim across the river but with all the rain we've had the water was running high and fast and it would have been dangerous for him to swim across.
So Younger Son went back across to carry him over. But George saw him coming and was wise to the idea. 'Oh no,' he said, 'you're not carrying me across,' and he sat down firmly on his bottom making it very difficult for Younger Son to get his arm underneath and lift him.
He is now known throughout the area as George the Wuss.