Breakfast to be had. Things to be remembered.
Three-year-old to get off to school, to be dropped by parents (first week back at school this week, so not without trauma).
Mother and father of said three-year-old to get selves off to work.
Dog to be walked before they all go. (I can’t help here because I am not walking anywhere that involves hills until my hip muscles mend.) So my daughter dashes around, finding shoes and dog-leash, patiently tries to manoeuvre son out the door with her to walk the dog, but he doesn’t want to wear this, he wants to wear that, must get changed…chaos in the doorway while things get organised…finally front door closes on daughter still clutching the dog leash, her son suitably clad (at least by his lights) at her side…
And opens again thirty seconds later.
She’d forgotten the dog.