I’m just not good enough for my dog. I don’t cuddle him enough. He’s bored. He doesn’t get walked enough. Should he be on a raw food diet? Taking supplements? Wearing a quilted Barbour jacket? God knows. It’s a minefield.
I worry he’s not getting enough “me” time. And why do all the other golden retrievers look so silky and well-groomed on Instagram, when Muggles looks like a sheep that got stuck in a hedgerow? I’ve failed him – my darling dog, to whom I once sung lullabies as a puppy, and who slept with me every night in my bed with his paw on my arm – until I had my children, Lola, now eight, and Liberty, six. It eats away at me – daily.
