A letter from a reader

At 68, my dog’s walks had got shorter, and it was not the dog

Bess is a spaniel, eight years old, and would walk to Harrogate and back if you let her. So when her walks got shorter, over about two years, one short way round at a time, it was not Bess. It was me. I am 68, I am not a writer, and I am putting this down because I suspect there are other dogs out there getting the short way round for the same reason, and it is not their fault either.

Then three different women asked me about my shoes on the bench by the park gates on Saturday, and I have said the same thing three times, so I am writing it down once.

Here is how the walks get shorter. Every shoe I owned that looked like a shoe, a loafer, a flat, anything I would wear to lunch, rubbed somewhere by the park gates. And the trainers, which did not rub, made me feel like I had dressed for the gym at sixty-eight, so I did not wear them to the park, because you meet people at the park. So I wore the shoes, and at the gates my feet made the decision, and Bess got the short way round, and looked at me about it.

Shoes that looked right and hurt by the gates, or trainers that did not hurt and looked like the gym. Bess paid for it either way.

Nobody decides to shorten the dog’s walk. It happens one sore afternoon at a time, until the short way round is just the way round.

Then Marjorie did the long way round in a pair

Marjorie has the cocker spaniel from the top of the road and feet like mine, and in June she came past the bench in a pair of soft sand slip-ons shaped like a loafer, with a little strap across the front, and went the long way round without breaking stride. The next day she did it again. So I asked. She took one off on the bench and handed it to me, and it bent in my hand, and the inside was shaped, properly shaped, like a cushion that had been made for a foot.

They are called the Dorothea, from Manchester Boutique, a small British boutique that has been quietly dressing women our age for a few years now. I ordered the sand that evening, fully expecting to send them back.

They did not go back. Bess has noticed.

What happened at the park gates

I wore them on Saturday with cropped navy trousers, and at the gates, for the first time in two years, nobody made a decision. We went the long way round, past the pond and up the hill, and I sat on the bench at the top because I wanted to, not because I had to.

Three different women asked me where they were from before Bess had finished with the ducks. And Sylvia, who has known me thirty years and does not hand out compliments, asked if I had had my hair done, which I had not. From Sylvia, that is practically a medal.

Here is why they work, as far as I can tell. They are soft and they weigh next to nothing, so nothing rubs and nothing drags. The inside is a moulded cushion, shaped rather than flat, so there is something under you on the hill. They stretch on at the sides, no laces, no buckle, no bending at the back door with the dog pulling. The toe has tiny holes all over it, so air gets in. The sole is flat and grips. And the little slotted strap and the cream stitching make them look like a loafer I would wear to lunch, not a shoe I was issued.

I have had them on every day since. To the shops, to the allotment gate, to church, and twice round the park, the long way, both times.

Three things worth knowing

One. It is what is inside that does it. The moulded cushion is the difference between a shoe that looks like a loafer and a shoe that walks like one. I had never owned a pretty shoe with a shaped inside. Now I do not understand why not.

Two. Plain is not the same as giving up. A sand colour, a little strap, cream stitching. They go with the navy trousers, the jeans and the one dress I own for good days, and they look like I meant it.

Three. Four colours, honest sizes. The sand I own, a brown, a coffee and a light pink, from a UK 2 to a 9, the same soft shape the whole way. I went back for the brown. Marjorie has three, and the cocker spaniel has never looked fitter.

About the price

I am careful with money and I will not pretend otherwise, so I will tell you the price was the bit that made me suspicious.

The Dorothea is £29.95. It was £60.00.

My first thought was that there had to be a catch, because a shoe this soft with a shaped inside usually costs what a good pair of boots costs, and looks like it came from the chemist.

There is no catch that I have found. They are a small boutique selling directly, so there is no department store taking a cut in the middle, and they run a summer sale to shift the season’s stock before it turns.

I do not trust perfect scores, so I read the reviews before I ordered. Just over three hundred of them, sitting at 4.2 stars, which sounded like real people, so I read on. One woman had written, “Soft as slippers, look like proper shoes, and I have walked the dog three miles in them without a thought.” That was the one that decided it for me.

If you were stood at my kitchen table

If you were stood at my kitchen table with the kettle on and the dog under it and you asked me, this is what I would say.

If your dog has been getting the short way round and it is not the dog, you are not getting old. You are wearing shoes with nothing inside them, and your feet have been making the decisions at the gates. This is a shoe with something inside it, and it looks like something you chose.

Two practical things. The sale is on now, and the middle sizes go first. And once the summer stock has gone, that is it until next year.

Bess gets the long way round now. She has noticed.

Pat