My family had always wanted a dog. We had tried without success to take on a rescue, who had refused to be taken out for a walk and peed on the carpet in a powerful display of petulance. So when the elderly lady who lived opposite us told us that her dog, Flossie, an orange and white border collie cross, was pregnant as a result of what was described as a “street accident”, my then husband, two young sons and I said that the puppy might just be the pet we were looking for.
And so it proved. We all fell immediately for Flossie’s pup – she was an adorable little creature. But what were we going to call her? At that time, Shirley Williams, then the education secretary, had unveiled a plan to close down the small college of education in Scarborough where my husband was a lecturer. I no longer remember if it was he or I who suggested: “If we call the puppy Shirley Williams and train her, we can say that Shirley Williams does whatever we tell her to do.”
