Kleenex Time (No not like that Humpty...)
A few years ago my parents split up – the manner in which my Mum instigated this was, with hindsight, quite amusing i.e. she ran off to France with my Dad’s best mate. Anyway after initial shock of it all and a few weeks of uncertainty I started to ponder the practicalities. The living arrangements at the time were Mum, Dad, Gran (Mums mum) and Dog (old daft spaniel cross). My dog really but stayed at home when I went to Uni 9 yeas ago.

Me and the missus (now ex as she ran off with my best mate a year later….) were talking about this a few weeks after the event and wondering what would happen to everyone. I was ok – living in my own house by now etc… Mum would be ok as she had her new fella, Gran would either live with her or go into a home or something, dad would (despite how he felt at the time) cope fine given time and support, then the missus said what about the dog? Will he have to go into a rescue place? I bawled. Poor bastard Dog had done nothing wrong, had provided unerring faithfulness to a family for years, and now when he should be spending his later years sat on the lawn in the sunshine faced the possibility of Rotherham’s version of Battersea dogs home.

It has set me off now – embarrassing given I am sat at my desk meant to be doing something fairly important for the Government.

Lots of things make me blub – this was the last thing that made me cry properly.

Apologies for nothing.
( ogwen69 has returned from Reddit, Tue 19 Apr 2005, 15:03, Reply)