Woof

It is sometimes said that their Berliners love their dogs as much as, if not more than, their children. Indeed, aside from the Prenzlauer Berg baby-factory, it is fair to say that the canine family is fairly dominant here. Not only are they man’s best friend, but also their therapist (having in-depth conversations with them is not uncommon in the park opposite my street) and of course they make invaluable Saturday morning power-walk partners.

Fine.

But why on earth do they let dogs on trains?! I spent the entire six hours on the train back from Holland in constant fear of the Labrador under the seat in front of me, so much so that I put my shoes on the luggage rack above my head, having had previous experience with munched moleskins. Added to this, on the way there, not only did our carriage have an aisle-blocking wolf-hound to contend with, but the same young woman to whom the thing belonged also had a baby in a shoulder sling and an oversized rucksack in tow. Not that her luggage or offspring aggravated me personally, but I did wonder how she did it all, really.