Uninvited, he trotted in with one of my Agent Provocateur bras inexplicably dangling from his mouth. Then he dropped the bra into the bath and started lapping at the foamy water.
The prospect of one ruined bra, not to mention the consequences of soapy water in a dog’s stomach, snapped me out of my morbid thoughts. As I pulled his nose out of the bath, Ambrose cocked his head on one side and started licking my tears.
How could I have sunk so low? Just a year earlier, my life couldn’t have been more different.