Fred was the runt of a litter of pekingese puppies. He arrived at my parents’ house with his much more glamorous sister Lottie. They were so small that their tails had not yet fluffed out and were like little fingers sticking up. I was about six at the time and was enchanted with Lottie’s white paws.
Fred looked as if he was facing into a high wind, his little face an expression of permanent outrage. He was terrified of loud noises, which, as we lived in the flight path of Farnborough airport, was not ideal. When a plane went over, he would go into a fit and flatten himself against the ground (which was not very far, considering how short his legs were, so the effect was not as dramatic as perhaps he hoped).
