SO after almost two weeks apart – the longest in our eight years together – the hound and I were reunited this weekend.

While I was sunning myself in the med imbibing cocktails and making broadly similar but always fascinating comments about the heat, the hound has spent two weeks with friends and their dogs; running, playing, and generally being spoiled.

It was reassuring that she recognised me; and even more reassuring that she seemed happy to see me.

She jumped all over me and licked me in what I hoped was an affectionate and not threatening manner.

She then leaped into the car and fell asleep, almost as if the last two weeks hadn’t happened, in direct contradiction to the clear evidence of my expanded waistline and darkened pigmentation.

I’m not sure time matters to dogs. There are various theories.

Some say dogs live in the moment so three minutes is much like three hours to them.

Others say that their very pronounced sense of smell allows them to work out how long you have been away: the smaller the remaining scent, the longer the absence.

Still, others talk of dogs’ innate circadian rhythms and almost sixth sense; we have all noticed the strange phenomenon of dogs jumping up at the windows to greet their owners before the car has even driven into the street.

But in the end, maybe it is not about time: she, and I, are simple creatures.

She enjoyed her holiday, I enjoyed mine. She was pleased to see me; I was pleased to see her. We enjoyed our time apart and we’re glad to be back together.

I’m not sure she was able to measure or experience the passing of time, and this makes sense as for me time flew by as it often does when you’re having fun.

To settle the matter, I intend to buy her a watch.

Not sure it’ll fit easily, and the lack of opposable thumbs remains a difficulty, but at least then time, for us at least, will be on pause.