"Can I pet your dog?" he asked. I'm not good at guessing kids' ages, but he looked to be around four years old, his turned up nose just barely reaching the height of my greyhound's needle nose.
Of course I said yes. He followed my instructions and let Hazel sniff his fist before gently stroking the side of her face.
"I love dogs," he said, "but I don't like dog poo." I agreed that dog poo was pretty nasty. "I don't like dog poo," he repeated, wrinkling his nose and shaking his head for emphasis. "Pizza tastes better."
I didn't even ask.