There are about forty steps remaining before she reaches the top. She’s counted before. Her body aches from the climb. The corner prevents her from seeing very far ahead; she perseveres under the sensible assumption that the route to the top is still stable underfoot. About twenty steps and seven-hundred-and-twenty degrees around the corner, her path is blocked by a large ragged canine, staring her in the face, tongue wagging, smiling broadly. “Hello dog, may I pass?” she asks. “No, sorry!” says the dog. “Okay then.” she says, a little glumly. She turns tail and counts backwards, downwards.