Hurrah! The Mother is away on holiday and here I am, all grown up and in charge of my own destiny for a few days.

There is of course a downside - I am also in charge of The Mother's dog. Yes, the animal has a name but I think it sounds silly so I always call her Dog. I had a call from The Mother yesterday. "Is she missing me?" she asked hopefully.

As I was brought up to tell the truth, or get my ears boxed, I had to be honest. "Not that you'd notice," I said. "She certainly hasn't mentioned your absence."

"Oh do grow up," said The Mother. "I mean, is she pining? Is she looking for me? Is she eating?"

"Nope," I replied. "She's neither pining nor looking for you but yep, she's definitely eating. . . and all the other unpleasantness that goes with it."

In case you don't already know it, taking a dog full of food for a walk is like going around with an unexploded canine grenade. At some point, always when least expected, that canine grenade may explode. Oh how embarrassing, how humiliating that is.

Not for the dog of course, who will usually appear mightily pleased with the results, but for you, the appendage standing downwind at the other end of the lead. So, unless you want to incur a hefty fine and the wrath of your neighbours, you carry a plastic poop scoop at all times - and when you've scooped you remember to remove it from your bag before you go shopping.

Although I've been having a few problems adjusting to my four-legged house guest, Dog seems to have settled in remarkably well. A little too well, in fact. On the first night at her new B&B (plus lunch, evening meal and snacks) she disappeared while I watched TV. When I went to bed I discovered Dog had got there first, pulling the duvet snugly around her.

Out she went, together with the duvet which was so covered in dog hair I could have taken it to the vets and had it treated for mange. Dog's revenge was perfect - worthy of a theatrical award in fact. Next morning I woke to the sound of groans in my ear, and, for a moment, thought I was still married.

Dog had returned during the night and was lying next to me, eyes rolling upwards and legs twitching as if she'd been given an electric shock. Just a bad dream I thought and tried to wake her - I called her name, I prodded and shook her, no response. I lifted her paws, they fell back lifelessly.

I panicked: "Help, she's had a seizure, she's dying," I thought. "How do I explain this to The Mother. ..?"

I ran downstairs and called the vet. She agreed with me - it sounded as if the animal had had a stroke or was having a fit."We'll send someone round," she promised, "but first go and check her tongue. If it's still pink, we've got a chance."

I raced upstairs. Dog was sitting upright, eyes open and alert, tail wagging. Her tongue looked very pink, her nose felt very wet. Panic over, I called a friend. "Sleeping dogs?" he said. "I thought you were meant to let them lie. . ."

Converted for the new archive on 30 June 2000. Some images and formatting may have been lost in the conversion.