The evenings pull in and Daisy finds her way up onto the sofa. She rests her weight against me. The fire burns. The window is dark. It is so homely. I comment on this to Daisy. As I do so, a bark comes from outside. Strange to say, it is Daisy’s bark, exactly the same rise and fall, the same heroic warble. Daisy lifts an ear. She has heard it. I look to the window and it is darker now: an impenetrable black. It can’t be Daisy outside, I know, but the sound of her bark returns. I listen. My eyes fix on the window. There is a shiver of recognition. Then the ball of fur beside me shifts and snorts and a head rears up out of it. Daisy? I say quietly, thinking it best to check. Yes, she replies sleepily, it is all so homely.