When Daisy’s paws are muddy, I wipe them with a cloth, saying ‘Paws! Paws!’ She lifts them up one by one. Sometimes she growls. I say, you can’t bring all this dirt into the house. But Daisy considers the difference between inside and outside to be a fine one. As if to make her point, she trotted in this morning with the lid of a peanut butter jar. Daisy, I say, where did you get that? Daisy doesn’t answer. It is clear that she has been snuffling about in the rubbish and liking it. I prise the lid from her mouth. That, I say, stays outside. Outside of what? asks Daisy. Outside, I say quietly, of everything. Daisy shakes her head sadly. And where, she asks, is that?