So poor Nicky’s poor dog poor Cricket (aka Hoarse) has been found.

Unfortunately, he washed up on the beach. Popped his clogs. Shuffled off this mortal coil. He’s dead. Deceased. Gone.

A nation mourns.

No, seriously. There are news stories about it.

Now I love dogs, don’t get me wrong. I’d have a pack at home but for a certain someone’s insane allergic response to dog hair. I’d be fencing the back yard and straight to the pound and I’d have a jack russel called Zap, a bull terrier called Arfa and anyone else who looked at me sideways.

I would not have a chihuahua or a chiwawa or a horse called cricket. No.

But I am sorry for Nicky. Mostly, I’m sorry for us for having to bear witness to Nicky being sad.