We were having a bedtime cuddle last night, Gail and I, and she told me a nice story.
It was about when she was a wee eighteen month old human pup, way way back in the dark ages (May, 1960). Her Granny gave her a little wheelie dog. See him the picture, with Gail sitting on top. At least she tells me that's her, although to be honest, you wouldn't know, what with wearing a cute dress and all...
Well from then on, she always wanted a dog. Maybe even one shaped a bit like a wheelie. But her Mum and Dad, said NO, not practical, have a guinea pig instead.
Arthur was a much loved guinea pig, who lived to be eight years old, a fine chap apparently*, albeit a bit limited in the unconditional love stakes, and not a great walker.
Most readers will know about Gail's first 'real' dog, Hamish. He was such a grand fellow and I have much to live up to. But wheelie-shaped he was not.
And now Gail has me, and as she cuddles me one more time before tucking me up for the night with my hot-water bottle, she tells me I'm just perfect and that we're going to be wheelie wheelie happy together.
*How can you tell, with a guinea pig?