We had a dog that was eighteen. Well, we think he was eighteen, it was difficult to be exact. We adopted him on Grand Turk when we lived there, and brought him back. He was a little yellow and brown dog. What they called a pot dog, one they used to breed to eat. Poy dog, I think, on the other islands. Big ears, very intelligent. You see, their attitude to animals is quite different to ours. So we brought him back and he lived eighteen years, or thereabouts. Little dogs tend to live longer.
Did you see that programme about wildlife in the city the other day? Fascinating, absolutely fascinating. Sometimes those programmes can be a bit dry. Too many close-ups. But this one was excellent. There was this woman in a tower block, and every night three foxes would appear and all line up. And she’d feed them sausages. ‘Sit!’ she said. And one of them did. ‘Watch that one!’ she said. She won’t eat the sausage. She’ll take it back to her cubs.’ And that’s exactly what she did. And then in another place, workmen were throwing fish into a canal, and a seal was eating it.