It was not an auspicious start. As my daughter and I stood chatting to the woman who had been fostering Mr Wags, he bit her cat. Half an hour later, he went for her dog. But by then I was in love with him.
Mr Wags was 12 years old, a papillon cross, and very cross. He turned away if you got too affectionate and he lost it completely if you sat close enough to touch his tail. His first visit to our vet featured a muzzle and $3,000 of tooth extractions. We often rued the day that they had left him with three teeth. One was a canine that sank numerous times into the fleshy pad on my right hand. My daughter suggested we offer them extra to take it out, but I wouldn’t hear of it. We were sort of co-dependent, both of us having had a hard life.
