We had gone about 100 yards when George sat down.
And wouldn't move.
I gave him the choice: we can carry on or we can go home and give you some pain-killers. He still wouldn't move.
I took his lead off so he could show me what he wanted. He still didn't move.
After a few minutes of talking to him, pointing out that what ever he wanted to do I'd do but he couldn't just sit in the path I made a decision. 'Okay, we'll go home. We'll give you some tablets and try again later if you feel better.' I started walking back.
Eventually he got up and followed me but then stopped again.
Another debate. I pointed out that if he hadn't been so flirty with those pretty little bitches yesterday he wouldn't be in the state he is today. (Mean I know but true.) He gave me a dirty look.
We got home finally. I think his heart wanted to go for a walk but his poor old hips said no. It is so sad to see him like this.
Does anyone remember when he was a very little puppy? First times out too scared to go beyond the garden gate.
It didn't take him long to realise there is a great big exciting - and food-laden - world out there and he began to escape at every opportunity.