You could say my unfortunate track record with pets began in the cradle. At the time of my birth my Hungarian parents had a dachshund named Herr Doktor (because of the serious expression he always wore), or Doki for short. He was very put out by my arrival, as I received much of the attention previously afforded to him, and because my fastidious mother wouldn’t allow him into the nursery. So he upped sticks and moved in with the family next door. But as Doki was unfamiliar with the terrain there, one day he darted on to their driveway at the wrong moment and was run over and killed. While I obviously wasn’t to blame for Doki’s sad demise, I did play a role in it. And in time the incident seemed to fit into a pattern in my life.

While I am no Francis of Assisi, neither am I short on compas

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