I lost my dog over a fortnight ago. An impetuous bastard, reckless in the hunt and forever bound for carnal calamity. He scarpered off in search of tail and must have gotten lost. He was returned to me last week, dishevelled and destitute, by either a good Samaritan or a bounty hunter (the line is so often a blurry one). This isn’t the first time he’s run away. But he’s different now; changed somehow. He ignores my calling, he snaps and growls at my displays of affection. He will no longer sleep in the same bed as me and, perhaps most hurtfully of all, he refuses to hold my hand or kiss me when we walk in public.