As the experiment at playing at being grown-ups continues with no respite on the horizon we have turned out conversations to the possibility of a family dog.
It’s becoming clear that the combination of ageing, my clear inability to act my age and using the long tested birth control technique of being married mean that another child is unlikely now.
When we have our conversations about dogs we start with the positives (exercise, family focus, giving the kids something to do apart from glue some sort of tablet computer to their faces) and end up with the negatives (shit).
I am smart enough to realise that if it comes off then I will be the twit with the sandwich back of shit on the dark winter evenings so my say in what sort of dog we eventually get (if we ever get one) carries some weight.
My guess it’ll be something from the local pound.