Funny old world. I was with the Vet and the Pest Controller who were looking at a house they might buy and we passed a dog. A boxer. I’d fallen behind them – for some reason I’d felt the urge to check out the chimney stacks – so didn’t mention it but he – and, boy was he a HE; he didn’t so much sport testicles as allow a couple of moons to orbit his nethers – reminded me of the family dog I grew up with.
I was about three or four when he was born so I don’t remember his arrival, of those early days, but he was a constant presence until his death aged about 12 or 13. He had a barrel chest, his own moons and a head made of reinforced tungsten. He drooled as if he harboured a personal aquifer in each cheek and he was utterly loyal and fun.
Ah, happy days, happy memories.