Wilf spends most of his day in the ordered chaos of my office . While I write he slumbers . Twice he ventures out of the front gate to christen the fire hydrant. A tiring twenty metres there and back . Mid-morning and ' the font ' returns . After a brief display of tail wagging enthusiasm he quickly settles down and falls asleep . The vet thinks maybe there was a problem with the latest batch of insulin . She might be right . In the evening he eats some kibbles and then curls up at the front door for the night. This old fellow is a fighter .
'' Rivers know this : there is no hurry . We shall get there someday ''.
