The Embarrassing Adventures of Shopping with My Puppy

I'm typing this an hour after getting home, with Mouse asleep on the sofa and a mat spinning through a 60-degree wash cycle. It is not the ending I had in mind when I set out this morning for what was supposed to be a quick, uneventful shopping trip. Two dog-friendly shops. A handful of treats. Back by lunch. Simple.

Except that it was not simple, because Mouse is six months old, she is a poodle, and I made the fatal mistake of thinking we had this figured out.

A perfectly normal start to the day

Mouse came to live with us as an extremely shy and nervous puppy, and her early difficulties were part of the reason The Dog Friendly Map exists. For a long time, she would not walk beyond one particular daffodil. She would assess the world, decide it posed an unacceptable level of threat — usually from old ladies or small children — and politely but firmly return to the garden gate. After posting on poodle forums and taking advice from various people, I decided that gentle, regular exposure to the world was the right approach. So, this morning, I took her shopping.

At six months old, Mouse is a tiny bundle of poodle fluff. My two older dogs come along on these outings, and I had hoped they might provide her with some quiet reassurance. Mouse, who is a poodle and therefore considers herself the only reliable judge of any situation, appears to find their easy confidence baffling. She has chosen to reach her own conclusions about every new environment.

Our first stop was Pets at Home, and it was completely uneventful. Mouse assessed everything with great seriousness and raised no objections. She is now sitting on my left arm as I type this, which tells you how the rest of the morning went. Reader, I felt smug on the way out. This was, with hindsight, a mistake.

Big Red Shed: dogs in trolleys, mats provided

The second stop was Big Red Shed, where all of my dogs are extremely fond of a particular brand of treats. Mouse, despite being tiny, new to the world and theoretically uncertain about most things, will sit as though she fully understands the concept when one of these treats appears. That counts for a great deal.

Big Red Shed allows dogs inside, but the rule is that they must travel in a trolley and sit on a mat provided by the store. We had done this before without any issue. Mouse had sat in the trolley, observed the shop with her usual careful expression and conducted herself with complete dignity. I had no reason to expect anything different today.

We got settled, mat down, and set off towards the treat aisle. Everything was fine. For approximately two minutes, everything was entirely fine.

The incident

Mouse began to shuffle. It was a very specific kind of shuffling — the kind that, if you have ever owned a dog, you will recognise immediately and will have approximately zero seconds to do anything about.

She lowered her back end. And then, in the treat aisle of Big Red Shed, on a mat that belonged to the shop, she produced something that I can only describe as completely out of character in terms of scale, consistency and smell. She has genuinely NEVER done anything like it. I do not know what she had eaten. I do not know what she was thinking. She was not thinking anything, obviously, because she is a dog, and the expression on her face afterwards suggested quiet satisfaction.

The smell was immediate. The smell was considerable. I searched my bag. No poo bags. I checked my pockets. No poo bags. I am a person who normally has poo bags in every pocket, in my bag, and, yes, occasionally down my bra, because that is simply how dog ownership works. On this particular morning, on this particular trolley trip, in this particular aisle, I had nothing.

The checkout assistant's face told me everything I needed to know about how the situation was being received.

The great trolley exit

I made the decision that attempting to manage this inside the shop was not a viable option. I explained to the checkout assistant — in what I hope was a calm and reasonable tone, though I genuinely cannot be certain — that my puppy had had an accident and that I would be sorting it outside. His expression did not suggest he considered this an adequate plan, but he did not stop me, which I chose to interpret as agreement.

Once outside, I folded the mat, bagged everything up and dealt with the situation. Mouse sat in the trolley and watched proceedings with mild interest, as though she were observing someone else's problem.

I went back inside to explain properly. I said she had a poorly tummy. She does not have a poorly tummy. She was, at that moment, sitting in the trolley looking entirely well. It was a small white lie told under significant social pressure, and I stand by it as a reasonable response to extraordinary circumstances. I also promised to wash the mat until it sparkled, which I fully intend to do. It is currently on its first 60-degree cycle, and I will be returning it as soon as it is dry.

Mouse's verdict on the whole affair

Mouse is asleep on the sofa. She has been asleep since approximately five minutes after we got home. She is not mortified. She does not appear to have given the matter a single moment's thought.

We also, it is worth noting, did not get any treats. The entire trip — the trolley, the mat, the checkout assistant's face, the 60-degree wash, all of it — was for nothing. We left Big Red Shed empty-handed. Mouse remains unbothered by this outcome.

The lesson here is not a complicated one: always carry poo bags. In your bag, in your pockets, down your bra if necessary. Everywhere, always, even on the trips where nothing is ever going to happen. Especially on those trips. You can read our full write-up of Big Red Shed if you're planning a visit — just, perhaps, come more prepared than I was.

Mouse is still asleep. The mat is still washing. And somewhere in Big Red Shed, there is a checkout assistant who is definitely telling this story to his colleagues.