My heart grins when I see it. Is it a cat? Is it a bird? No, it’s Superdog … Rudi loftily surveying the neighbourhood from the edge of the yoga studio roof. Cock of the roost.

Rudi on the roof

Rudi’s gene pool is a mystery: Scottie and long-haired Daschhund , warthog and baboon. Cheeky, charming and so undisputedly a boy dog – and very much his own man – he has one weakness. He unaccountably fails to find a biscuit dropped between his paws, just centimeters from his nose, shnuffling frantically around in all directions before stumbling upon it.

By contrast his “big brother” Beavis is a handsome, intelligent, thoroughbred Africanus who can catch even a tiny pill in mid-air.

Last Wednesday I was on my way down the pathway to take the dogs for a walk. They were already prancing about on the driveway, vocal in anticipation. Then there was a loud thud and Rudi dashed past me into the kennel, a large rack of ribs in his mouth.

Overhead a crow squawked and screamed his indignation.

Beavis ran around schnuffling frenetically, looking for his portion of the manna from heaven, to no avail. Doggone it!

I waited.

Eventually the sounds of greedy grinding and chomping in the kennel abated and we were able to set out on our walk.

Rudi strutted.

And crowed.