When I was four I got attacked by a big-ass dog that left me with a couple of stitches and deep seated mistrust of most canines. Consequently, I never had a dog growing up and I’m starting to feel like I missed out on some sort of rite of passage that helps you transition into adulthood. Watching Will Robson-Scott’s portrait of John, a struggling artist with a background of addiction, and his relationship with his dog George isn’t doing much to convince me otherwise. It’s a harrowing portrait of a man with very little, making the most of what he has – namely his art and his dog. While I’ll probably never be entirely comfortable around German Shepards, I’m almost jealous of the connection that George and John share – maybe all that hyperbole about man’s best friend has something to it after all.