Necessity is the mother of invention.
Last year, my eldest daughter (who lives and works in New York) decided to get her first dog or first BFF (Best Furry Friend). As is the family tradition, she chose a rescue dog, (or a pound dog if you are from the US). We were all delighted to welcome Pluto into the family. Pluto is about six years old (mid-forties in dog years), a handsome mixed breed (Mutt in In Amercian) but he was very set in his ways.
Unfortunately, Pluto had some health issues: a couple of hernias and bad teeth which needed to be attended to. My daughter took this all on, made all the necessary arrangements to get him back to good health.
Pluto’s arrival was like having my first grandchild, (well he was my first grand-dog and I don't have grandchildren) and of course offered to jump on a plane to meet him and be at home with him while he recovered from his various treatments.
I soon discovered he wasn’t keen on walks, and had no interest in doing anything I asked, but he did love the doggie treats I brought from the UK. I am not above bribery, so took to having treats with me at all times.