In which your author spots a dog driving a car

In which your author spots a dog driving a car

"Bloody hell!" I exclaimed in shock and surprise, "There's a dog driving that car!"

And indeed, there was a dog, sitting on its owner's lap, cruising past us without the slightest care in the world.

On the M25 motorway. At 80 miles per hour.

For Fido, not a single shit was given that day.

Of course, no one would be THAT stupid to allow their dog to sit, completely unrestrained on their lap, as they drove down the fast lane of the busiest highway in western Europe, because they'd be banned from driving forever, and paraded on one of those 'Police, Camera, Action' shows, hourly, for the next two decades.

There has to be some sort of logical explanation.

And, dammit, there is:

"He's blind," I eventually said.

"He's WHAT?"

"He's blind, and that's a specially-trained Driving Dog for Blind Drivers."

"That's just mad."

"Or it's a specially-trained Driving Dog for Stupid Drivers."

"Are you absolutely sure?"

"Oh yes, it's the latest big thing from America. Just you watch out, you'll see dozens."

And we drove all the way to Eastbourne and back, yet saw none.