“For the fiftieth time, Lily: ‘no’. I don’t want a third dog. Two is plenty. You are NOT getting a puppy!’
This is where it began. I am seeing it play out on a big screen inside my head. Lily, 11, in the back seat of the rental car is determinedly petitioning us for a dog of her very own and has been non stop on the topic throughout our three week tour of England. I involuntarily duck as yet another fighter jet plane thunders overhead in the supposedly tranquil Lakes District and with suitably frazzled nerves I put an end to the topic. ‘No dog!’ I am resolute. Ironically, it was at about that very moment that ‘he‘ was born… Wilbur, a little black long haired yappy Chihuahua.
I tune back to the alarming reality of the present, and hear my impossibly terrifying screams for the family to get up and come and help. Loud as I can yell, with all the urgency I can inject: “Call the vet! Get up! Get up!”













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