Another journey.

So now we know. A tumour on the spleen, polyps on the lung and heart. A sudden chrysanthemum burst of malice that courses through him with every heartbeat. Inoperable. The internal haemorraging and the pain, for now, stopped. I ask how long we have left. " Three months ?" " Three Weeks ?" The kind specialist shrugs . " Three days ?" I mutter incredulously. She nods. 'We'll do everything we can to make him comfortable ' .

Three days !

To bring it home a one week supply of cortisone. 'That should be enough. We won't need to worry about the side effects '.

Before we finally turn in Wilf wanders up and sits in front of me - his paw prescribing an uncoordinated circular motion in the air. A sign since he was a puppy that he wants reassurance. I sit on the floor and tell him that the road ahead is going to be filled with pure, uninterrupted fun. All the rug surfing, touch rugby, swing biffing, meerkat hunting fun he can dream of . Where he wants it. When he wants it. There'll be walks, mud, jaffa cakes, sausages, tyres to christen and squirrels to chase. Above all there will be love.

He looks back at me as if to say ' and no pain ?' " Definitely no pain " I say.