People can always surprise you; what you see is not necessarily what you get in the sense that initial observation can be quite at odds with what results from interaction with a stranger. In this instance it was inviting someone into our house whom we didn't know. And certainly our two puppies didn't know the man.

But he was there for a reason. He was a technician who works for the alarm company that looks after the security of our house. We'd had two false alarms within a month for each of which police were called out to ensure that nothing was awry, and nothing was. In each of these false alarms we had followed procedure; set the house alarm as usual then departed the house.

So he was there to determine what might be wrong with the equipment. It was installed over twenty years earlier and represented pretty stale technology, one might imagine. He did find one little thing that he replaced, but said that if another such alarm does occasion our equipment should be updated; since we have a service contract and it isn't a very big job, it's of little moment.

He was a nice man and clearly competent, though in checking over our system, he stayed long enough for me to prepare a potato salad for dinner, cook rhubarb for dessert, clean up the kitchen from breakfast, and a few other odd little chores. During his stay at our house Jack and Jill, those ferocious guard dogs, had to be kept outside on the deck. The man, a huge hulking individual who fit the description of morbidly obese quite nicely, was frightened of dogs.

When he left, I was free to embark on a hair-cutting spree with the two little monsters. With an array of several-sized scissors I set about grooming the little black devils, and by the time I was finished, they looked almost presentable. Trim, cute even. I'd done this out on the deck, and although it was a hot morning, there was also a very brisk wind. I didn't even bother trying to collect the hair trimmings but let them fly everywhere the wind would take them.

And then sat back to admire my handiwork. My word, they're adorable little rascals. That state of aesthetic appreciation will last a day, perhaps even two days, before they begin to look untidily scruffy again.