I found my dog as a puppy (or I should say he found me) on the back streets of Panjim, India, when he crawled out of the jungle. He’d been run over by a motorbike, was starving and flea infested and yet somehow crawled towards me as I was sat having a cigarette. After a trip to the vet where he was jabbed and treated for everything he was stoked up on boiled eggs for a few weeks and has spent the last eight years being loved to bits. The only fly in his ointment was having to fly from India to UK and then do his ‘porridge in the pen’ (quarantine) for six months but somehow we got through it and here we are.
People say he’s a lucky fella. Maybe. But then I’m blessed.