The love of my life was called he Elvis. I was privileged to call him mine for 10 glorious, though not always plain sailing years. In true pug style he snorted and snuffled like a little piggy, you’d hear him looooong before you’d ever see him. He perfected the SBD fart (silent-but-deadly) early in his life and did so with a deadly toxicity that would make your eyes water. He’d do anything for a sausage/piece of ham/toast/food of any description. He had the most wonderful temperament, didn’t leave my side when he was in my vicinity and I loved him with a fierce love that I can only imagine equates to that of a mother and her child. I met him when he was a week old and he was the centre of my world for a decade. His eyes could see into my soul, he was my soul dog and I am forever grateful to have been his caretaker, chef, maid, chauffeur and sugar mommy for a decade.