Yesterday was a sad day. On Sunday evening my parents called to say they had made a decision: it was time. The family dog, Harry, was to be put to sleep.
If you've never lost a pet, this lady can articulate the feeling better than I ever could. All I can say is that my brother and I felt all funny and weird and strange. So knowing that at 9 a.m. yesterday morning it was happening, we decided to sack the day off. We went to be sad in Hampstead Heath instead, where we shared Harry-related memories and laughed at the puppies of strangers and realised that our little friend, the one who we've had in our ever-changing lives for over sixteen years, was gone.