It’s dark and cold and I’ve been wondering if it was ever going to stop raining. I’ve never been sure about winter – whose idea was that? I mean really. It’s not as good an idea as summer. Or spring. Or anything else that’s ever been ever. But even in winter exciting things happen.

As I write, there’s a woman I’ve never met called Sarah driving a van across the vast landscape of Europe, across countries and rivers, across seas and boundaries. In the van are lots of cages, each containing a puppy dog leaving the remarkable Sue Deeth and her Healing Paws rescue centre in Zante, Greece and heading to a new world, a new life. Their furever home, as the dog rescue fraternity has it. They’re sedated and hopefully oblivious, probably scared, probably nervous, almost certainly cold. How can they know what’s in store? 

They might not know what’s in store, but for two of those pups, The Whistler knows. In one small cage there’s a black and white smiley thing called Freckle who is apparently a Labrador/Collie cross (that’s what she said anyway and I’m pretty sure she must have heard somewhere people like labradors and collies), and in another there’s a shy little Spaniel called Domino and by the time Your Friendly Neighbourhood Whistler glides effortlessly through your letter box, Freckle and Domino will be part of our family.

According to the Healing Paws website, Domino was found in an abandoned olive grove, and Freckle… who knows? Already I don’t believe her. But another similar tale no doubt. 

If you’re a dog person and you go walking in St Nick’s Rest Garden with the rest of the Pooch Pals, you’ll  probably already know them. They’ll be ones trying to keep up with Pickle, their 13-year-old new dad/mentor as he races around, woofing and smiling and woofing (the St Nick’s guys know). 

Three dogs. I know. In a small flat in West Hill. I know. With a regular car. Really, I know. Right now I feel like spending every waking minute sitting on the sofa, because I’m not sure I’ll ever see it again. Stretching out in bed. That’s probably another distant memory. Staying in that bed longer than the sun stays down? Not a chance. They’ll team up, take turns, sort it out, and as the chorus of “Dad, I need a wee” breaks out… You’re going to get up, aren’t you?” But as much as they need us, we need them. What’s life without a bit of unconditional canine love? But three dogs. That’s us, outnumbered. 

Quite what Pickle will make of his new family, who knows? His life has changed  a fair bit since we got him last September. He’d just been aband… Oh, let’s not talk about that. A bit of TLC, a raw egg every morning, some of our homeopath Foxey’s magic and he makes Steve Austin look like one of the flowerpot men. He’ll be fine. If Mum and Dad say it’s fine, it’ll be fine. Anyway, he’s only recently found a new calling. Mum and Dad are both journalists, and so… Turn a couple of pages and you’ll find out. There’ll be no stopping him now. He’ll be insufferable.