Puppy love

There comes a time in every man's life when he feels that a change of career beckons. I feel I have arrived at such a moment of truth.

I was talking to Gitte, Nikki's owner, yesterday and she told me that on Södermalm doting dow-owners are prepared to pay 6 000 SEK a month for a place at a doggy dagis. Now that's what I call a license to print money!

What am I doing sitting slaving in front of a computer all day when I could be doing next to nothing except taking man's best friends for occasional walkies when I felt like it?

Our flat surely must be big enough to take at least 10 doggy-dayboys? A few more if I can get some chihuhuas. Costs? A few plastic bags to pick up poo and some dog biscuits and Pedigree Chum. And then I can just sit back and watch the dosh come rolling in.

But of course I will not let my new-found wealth go to my head, nor forget my old pals. I'll be only too happy to offer a job to that fine chap, my current boss Mr Watson. With 10 active doggy bottoms I'm sure I'll be in need of an Assistant¨Poo Picker-Upper!

Doggone it! What can possibly go wrong???