That night, staring into the dark, I noticed that I could see the edges of the sockets of my eyes. It was like looking through binoculars; as if I had shrivelled inside my shell. He was there, beside me, and though I knew that he was breathing there was a little wish, like a burr in my heart, that meant I couldn’t hear it. I knew I couldn’t lie there any longer and so I climbed out of bed and went into the living room. I was looking for somewhere else to be but the dog was on the sofa, his ear folded awkwardly against the cushion. The wet shine of his nose and the creases around his eyes made it impossible for me to move him. In the end I slept in the bath which was surprisingly uncomfortable for something designed to hold a human body.
