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he kept a watchful eye on Princess, who was tucked under my feet. Bob’s face had always been expressive. The looks he gave Princess whenever she encroached on his territory during the journey were hilarious. The area under the seat wasn’t exactly spacious and Princess would occasionally wiggle to improve her position. Each time she did so Bob would give her a look that simply said: ‘why don’t you sit still you stupid dog?’.
    Outside the weather was atrocious, with rain hammering down. Arriving in Islington, I took Bob to the little park at Islington Green to quickly do his business and decided to let Princess do the same. Big mistake. She took forever to find a suitable spot. I then realised I’d forgotten to bring any plastic bags with me so had to fish around in a rubbish bin to find something with which to scoop up her droppings. I really wasn’t enjoying my day as a dogsitter, I decided.
    With the rain getting heavier by the minute, I took shelter under the canopy of a café. When a waitress appeared I decided I might as well ask her for a cup of tea, a saucer of milk for Bob and some water for Princess. I then popped inside to use the toilet, leaving my two companions tied to the table with their leads.
    I only left them for a couple of minutes, but when I got back it was clear that some kind of jostling for position had been going on. I’d left them with Bob sitting on a chair and Princess standing under the table. But when I came back Bob was sitting on the table, lapping at a saucer of milk, while Princess was sitting under the table looking far from happy with her bowl of water. I had no idea what had gone on, but Bob had clearly established himself as the senior partner once again.
    As always, Bob was also attracting attention from passers-by. Despite the weather, a couple of ladies stopped to stroke him and say hello. But poor Princess was hardly even acknowledged. It was as if she wasn’t even there. In a funny way, I knew how she felt. I live in Bob’s shadow sometimes.
    The rain eventually eased off and we headed towards Angel and our pitch. While Bob and I took up our usual positions, Princess lay down a few feet away with her head deliberately placed so that she could take in most of the scene around us. Part of me had thought she’d be a burden but it turned out to be quite the opposite: she proved to be rather a useful asset.
    As I paced around trying to persuade passers-by to fork out a couple of quid for a magazine, Princess sat there attentively, her head on the pavement and her eyes swivelling around like surveillance cameras, carefully weighing up everyone who approached us. If they got her seal of approval, she remained rooted to the spot, but if she had any suspicions she would suddenly sit upright ready to intervene. If she didn’t like the cut of someone’s jib she would let out a little growl or even a bark. It was usually enough to get the message across.
    An hour or so after we’d settled down, a drunk carrying a can of extra strength lager came weaving his way towards us. They could be the bane of my existence at Angel. Almost every day I’d be asked for a quid for a beer by someone off his face on Special Brew. Princess spotted him, stood up and barked a quick warning as if to say ‘steer clear’. She wasn’t the world’s biggest dog, but she looked intimidating enough. She was more Staffie than Lab in that respect. He had soon veered off on another course, heading off to bother someone other poor soul instead.
    Princess was at her most alert whenever anyone knelt down to stroke and say hello to Bob. She would take a step towards them, jutting her head forward so that she could make sure that they were treating the smallest member of our trio with the proper respect. Again, if she disapproved of anyone she made her feelings clear and they would stand back.
    She actually made my job a little easier. It could often be a challenge to keep an eye on Bob while trying to sell