Last night was horrible.
Trotter had some sort of seizure and didn't know who any of us were. He was frightened of us all and wouldn't come for a cuddle. He sat at the top of the stairs and wouldn't speak to anyone, even though Fing, Faggot and Fizzgigg tried their hardest by weaving their stupid slinky bodies around his and miaowing in his face.
It got so bad we wanted to take him to our vet, Mr Gore, but he advised us to leave him to his own devises and see how he was in the morning, 'He is, after all' he said 'a very unusual little dog'.
He didn't come to until this morning, after a night of shivering and unhappiness.
I sat and stroked him and suddenly he looked at me and it was like the mist was gone from his mind and he suddenly wagged his tail and grumbled at me then went to lick Faggot on the head.
A bit of a lesson never to take anything for granted I think.
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