Argos : Dog Trainer Flora Meets Stray Dog in N1 Centre, Islington.

As I sat alone on the customer bench of the N1 Centre Argos, waiting for my item and stewing in my own internal monologue, I was rudely interrupted by an incredibly sweet dog.

I can't remember what I was buying—probably some random piece of homeware I had manically decided was the very thing my life was missing and once I had it everything was going to be fine. On the other side of the shopping centre, the Muji security guard looked at me uneasily, knowing that on my list of "shops-frequented-when-feeling-mad", his was next.

Totally at ease, the dog had wandered into the Argos atrium, through the marble temple of touch screens, past the idle shoppers, unnoticed and unbothered, and come over to me.

I looked up from my phone and there he was, gesturing for a bit of attention by stopping near me and catching my eye. I said hello and gave him a scratch behind the ears, then he came closer and put his chin on my knee. I scratched him some more and took a photo. He wasn't overly keen or clingy but neither did he give off a fearful or tense vibe; just very at peace.

He didn't have an owner with him, but he didn't look uncertain or out of place. It wasn't clear if the staff were used to him being there or if they had just given up on caring about anything altogether. Either way it all felt nicely calm.

I loved that of all the people in the shop , he had chosen me, particularly as this was just another unremarkable day of tasks like 'nipping to Argos'.

When I feel lost or uncertain, whether consciously or not, I do seem to 'nip to Argos'. In all honesty I worry sometimes that I love Argos so much that I invent reasons to nip to it. When I'm in Argos it’s never clear if it's a treat, a chore, a breakdown, or all three at the same time.

It was another one of these days in the midst of a similar year, full of sadness, disappointments and dealing with the daily drudgery of 'just-getting-on-with-things' after a big break up that had left me feeling dull, ugly, boring and like I had been abandoned for far more exciting worlds across the sea.

I was wearing my work coat for dog training which made me feel 'functional' and unexciting. The coat also seemed representative of aging into a far quieter life than the entitled teenage version of myself ever had in mind.

As other people in my life have babies, get married, star in TV shows, win awards, release albums and make the art they always thought they would, letting my own failed attempts go and just focusing on 'completing my dog course' and 'nipping to Argos' can feel underwhelming.

When people ask what I was up to and I tell the truth 'I'm becoming a dog trainer' they appear bemused at best and then moved on to some news of someone else's marriage or baby or headline show. I generally follow along to avoid the awkwardness of dwelling any longer on my life.

But for this dog to make such a direct choice to come over to me that day felt special.

He went out of his way to come over. He didn't mind that I was giving off very weird, sad energy and instead of finding it awkward and pretending to 'have something urgent he had to deal with elsewhere, sorry got to go, bye xxx', he just wanted a scratch.

He didn't expect an awkward chat or for me to say 'yeah great!' when he asked how I was, he just wanted to be near me.

It was a tiny moment but it meant so much that day. It felt like it meant something more. But also my coat pocket was full of old dog treats, so ultimately, it was probably just the smell.

But as I scratched his ears and thanked him silently for his little hello, I re-evaluated my dull Gap x Old Maid coat. I had bought it because it had a simple silhouette, which helps a dog gauge a clear outline, helping them learn more clearly when training.

He also seemed so calm around me, and as I'm so used to meeting new dogs now, I didn't get tense, move suddenly or alter my breathing. I also didn't shower him with too much attention as I used to do with dogs in the past, lunging forward, overwhelming and scaring them.

I had let him come to me and didn't invade his space until he clearly understood I was safe.

I began to feel quietly qualified, rather than sad and awkward.

Argos seemed like a young adult and my guess is maybe a mix of Patterdale Terrier, a tiny bit of Staffy? Maybe some greyhound? Who knows really. I liked that he was a bit of a mystery.

Upon googling a hunch I had, I realised Argos was the name of Odysseus' dog in the Odyssey. Was there some prophetic link between this ancient Mediterranean text and my journey through Islington? I had passed Holy Pitta on my way up Upper Street, not to mention Mem and Laz. The references had been screaming at me in the face the whole time.

In the Odyssey, Odysseus' most loyal companion, Argos, his dog, waits desperately for his return. While everything else is happening in Odysseus' life, Argos is waiting for him at home.

When Odysseus finally does return, disguised, Argos is the only one to recognise him. The joy of seeing Odysseus is too much for his frail, neglected, heartbroken body and, after glimpsing his master one final time, he wags his tail and dies.

Was this Argos in front of me waiting loyally for an owner who may never come back? Was he wandering aimlessly, wasting away with heartbreak, unable to move on, just stuck, lovesick and infinitely confused as to why his favourite person had just disappeared, abandoning him for bigger and better things across the sea?

A deal on home cinema devices flashed up on the ad screen, and I realised I was projecting.

But Argos coming up to me that day did feel strangely fateful. The fact that this Argos had been left behind but was OK, in a good mood and friendly was comforting.

He had cheered me up during such a bog standard day and validated my choices that so many people have been deeply confused about.

Maybe he was a symbol of epic sadness, or maybe he was just getting on with life and everything was fine actually.

Either way, across time, literature and Islington, the relationships between humans and dogs is unparalleled. This little moment with Argos reminded me of why I got into dog training in the first place.

How much they can truly help me when I'm down, unlike anything else. They have helped me so much throughout my life, that I realised I needed to pay more attention to how I could help them. Honestly, I think they just want treats.

My order was ready to collect, and as I stood up he sauntered off out the shop , past L'Occitane and out of sight.

Later that day I walked past Angel tube station and saw Argos with a group of homeless men near the NatWest bank. Argos' owners?! They seemed happy and playful with him, quite drunk (was that a K Cider? And a glass pipe?). I couldn't really imagine their life but if Argos had made a difference to me, he must really have made a difference to them. Did he cheer them up or had they made him the friendly dog he was when I met him?

I felt guilty that I had felt so abandoned when they truly had been left behind. Was there some kind of lesson in all this? In Argos and the homeless men?

That I just needed to be more mindful, more grateful, more relaxed to feel happy? Putting everything in perspective, I'm fine and if only I shifted my perspective on my life, I could get past these days. Or should I just smoke crack at 2pm on a Wednesday and forget that I exist?

I didn't ever see them, or Argos, again. I hope we're all going to be OK on our relative Odysseys. I'm going to assume they're all fine. I'm sure Argos is fine. And so am I. I'm sure. I'm fine.