Bao the Pug and the Longest, Slowest Walk in Pattaya

Bao has a daily schedule that would make a monk proud. Breakfast, nap. A very slow walk before the sun is high. Nap. Dinner. Blanket burrito. In between, he snores so loudly that guests think there is a small motor running under the sofa. He is almost six now, a fawn pug with a face like a worried grandfather, and he runs our Pattaya house.

The walk is the hardest part of the day to get right. Pugs have short noses, and heat is not their friend. We go out at six, when the road is still cool, and we turn back at the first sign of heavy panting. He sets the pace, which is very slow, and nobody is allowed to hurry him. I carry a small bottle of water, a towel and a harness, never a collar, because our vet told us a harness is much kinder to a pug's neck and breathing.

There was one afternoon I will not forget. We had a visitor, the door stayed open, and Bao slipped out for a little adventure in the garden at two o'clock. Ten minutes later I found him in the shade, with loud snorting breaths, a wide-open mouth and a worried look. I carried him straight to the air-con room and put a cool, damp towel on his chest and belly, no ice, and I called the clinic. They said to bring him in. The vet checked his temperature and breathing, kept him for a couple of hours, and he came home that evening, grumpy and perfectly fine. She told us a pug should simply never be outside in the middle of the day here, and I have not forgotten it.

Since then the garden door has a baby gate, and visitors are briefed at the front gate. We keep a bowl of fresh water in each room, and he sleeps in the coolest corner. When it gets very hot we put a fan on the tile floor for him. He considers all of this entirely normal.

He hates the beach sand, by the way. He sits in my arms at the edge of the water and watches the waves like a small critic at the theatre. When he gets excited, he sneezes, and then he looks at us as if it was our fault. Every time.

I would not change one wheeze of him.