Approaching at pace on the left is a welcoming sight, a sprightly black Labrador dragging her master with all of her might. Her constant sniffing of the air and of the ground clearly fills man’s best friend with ecstatic delight, as she continues in earnest with her morning plight.
Slowly, as he reels her back in it becomes apparent to the eye that, in contrast to her youthful vibrant figure, he has clearly lost nearly all of his vim and vigour. At odds with the juvenile black of the hound that is presently dragging its paws along the dry, dusty ground, his features aren’t at all, even what a mother would call, sound. His white hair, white beard, and weather worn features – much like those of a maritime sailor drinking his rum and telling a farfetched yarn – speak of yesteryear: of happier times, of far off places, of adventures that were unfulfilled.
Looking at the mismatched couple as they take their morning walk it is clear to see that for one it is a pleasure, but for the other it is a necessary chore. With her floppy ears and strikingly black wagging tail it’s obvious that things couldn’t be better. But, for her two-legged companion it is just another way to kill some time, before finally and ironically being lowered deep into the dark black ground.