Sleeping Ruff

The idea is simple and the film is simple. It could have been deeper. Occasionally, almost by chance, it opens a door into a darker world, like when Chrissie talks about the sound of a dog being kicked in the stomach ("So many people are in pain on the streets and they take it out on their animals") and when Alan, the alcoholic, says, "I never had family" and his dog is like "my wee bairn like."

The subtitle is Edinburgh Street Dogs And Their People. It records the feelings of six homeless men and one woman about their mutts, all of which look exceptionally fit and healthy. Their owners are articulate, caring, decent and a long way from the imagined stereotype of flea-infested tramps. Only Chrissie, who admits to drink and drug abuse (after making sure her animals are well fed and watered), has the look of a social casualty. Alan, also, is "damaged." He has spells in the Andrew Duncan Clinic and says "I cannae cook fra mesel," because he might burn the place down.

The film is repetitive in the way it tackles its subject, but the people themselves make up for that. One after the other, they say that if they were offered a flat, or somewhere to live, that excluded pets, they would refuse it. The emotional ties are strong. "I prefer my dogs to people" - Chrissie. "She's like a wife to me" - John. "They give you the company people don't give you" - Eco. "She's the closest thing to me" - Chris. "I cut my drinking because of her" - Alan.

Chrissie's bull terrier was poisoned in Rose Street car park and the police told her to throw the body in a skip. Her next dog "was so used to being starved and battered, he loved me; it was unconditional." There are tears in her eyes. One day, the dog disappeared. "I'm going to hunt this country until I fucking find him," she says. Chrissie's story would make a film on its own.