If a dog will not come to you after having looked you in the face, you should go home and examine your conscience. (Woodrow Wilson) It’s cold. Very cold. It’s so cold my toes are curling upwards; my fingers are going inwards, and my eyelashes are curling sideways. That’s how cold it is. What feels warm is looking at my mum’s dogs, a female Beagle lying next to my feet, and as always, oblivious to the world. The other, a Cavoodle, the red-haired, funny, tiny one is helping me write this post by sitting on the side of my laptop. With his bum on the numerical keys. Thank god for antibacterial wipes. For now, I tolerate his dominance of my laptop. He’s testing my resolve. I’m testing his. It can’t…