She looked down impassively at the animal zipped into her handbag and felt only pity for it. It returned her a disdainful side-eye. Not the dog’s fault, of course, that it’d been given to her as a let’s-save-this-pathetic-excuse-for-a-marriage gift. She’d tried hard from day one to love the creature, and failed. Now, three years on, she and the pet had learned how to co-exist, her social media status had switched from ‘It’s complicated’ to ‘Separated’, and she was reluctantly forced to admit that a canine greeting at the end of a long day was better than none. Both gave good public face, especially today in matching clothing. They were going to the vet to find the one good thing that did come out of that marriage. Somewhere, inside the dog, were her Tiffany rings.
On day three of the weather front dubbed ‘The Beast from the East’ here in the UK, my beast from the west, Frank (a California dog), had some fun in the garden between snow showers and gusts of easterly wind bringing the chill factor to -12 Celsius.