Posy tries to find a fatal spot in my poor heart
Last Sunday, my beloved terrier, Posy, did her best to kill me. What follows is fact, always weirder than fiction.
I had pulled up outside the local Spar, dashed in for the Sunday Independent and a takeaway coffee, and came back to find myself locked out of the car.
Posy, who had stepped on the electronic ignition button, stared at me brazenly like the wagon she is, before moving to the back seat so I could savour the full horror of the scene.