My father didn’t really like dogs, or his family; he didn’t seem to think any of us were worth much bother and was always away working. Then he got ill and started talking quite seriously to the dog. The dog enjoyed it as he got to lie on my father’s bed and have his paw held, he enjoyed the calm attention and my father had found a friend he could comfortably hang out with, neither of them troubled by overblown expectations of the other.