Views from the Square

There's a blonde woman with two golden retrievers. Harriet and Willow are their names. I know, because she shouts at them a lot. They, meanwhile, gamble around the grass, snuffling in people's barbecues, sniffing chocolate sauce and ice cream, playing, tugging, tumbling, rolling and cajoling until a lazy sunbather or amused student holds out a piece of charcoal encrusted sausage, which, more gratefully than any human recipient, Harriet, or is it Willow, gobbles up.