For the dog, and whoever walks it

For the dog, and whoever walks it. Half of this is for the dog. The other half is for the person at the other end of the lead, who also deserves something.

A raised double bowl puts food and water at chest height and adjusts as the dog grows. A tall dog eats more comfortably; every dog spills less. More feeding bowls.

On the walk, a dog water bottle: squeeze and the trough fills, and whatever the dog leaves drains back into the bottle. No bowl to carry, no puddle. More water bottles.

A stainless snack box is three tins for treats and kibble, and nothing leaks in the bag on the way to the park. It was designed for children; dogs do not know that. More food containers.

For the person: a logic puzzle with dogs in it, sixty challenges for one player, and the particular quiet that a puzzle buys on a wet afternoon. More brain teasers.

And a thousand-piece puzzle of a library of dogs. Every dog you have ever met is in there somewhere, and finding yours is the point of the last hundred pieces. More puzzles.

A set of nursing bottles for puppies is three bottles and silicone teats, for the litter that arrived early and the person feeding it at night. More feeding bowls.

A puppy in bricks is one of the hundred and one, with a head that turns. It goes on the dog person's shelf, next to the photo of the real one. More construction toys.

And a family game with an electronic dog: the dog barks, the cards fly, and everybody has to grab. It is the loudest game night of the year, and the real dog joins in. More board games.