Twice a week, I’ve been taking my dog down the road for a 10-pack of chicken nuggets. We sit in the car park at Macca’s and I have a bite to “check if it’s hot” before passing them across to her. She knows the routine. She knows the smell when we arrive and the sounds of the machines. And she knows that before we can go to the drive-thru we have to stop at the vet to have her bandages changed.
I do this because she loves nuggets, but also because, despite my asking nicely that she please stop, my dog is slowly dying.