On her return, the dog staggers in dressed in a snug onesie, like pyjamas for a very long toddler, or a canine prison uniform, too groggy to climb on the bed
The new dog – now just “the dog”, I guess – has an appointment to be spayed. Thanks to a number of unforeseen events the procedure has already been cancelled once, and my wife is keen not to miss our Friday morning slot. When it’s time to leave she comes out to my office shed with the dog following.
“We’re off,” she says.
