TRUE-LIFE
Getting home from work, my husband Carl, then 52, wandered into the dining room and stopped.
‘What on earth…?’ he said, bewildered.
I was sitting in the middle of the room, having completely dismantled our dining room table.
‘I’m making space,’ I said. ‘For more dog beds.’
Carl’s jaw dropped further. It was March 2021, and we already had eight dogs and 26 cats living with us in our extended home.
But I’d been an animal behaviourist for the last decade.
I loved it, and my job meant I knew better than anyone how much dogs and cats suffer when their
