Like the first word of a sentence, Daisy has to start on the left. Move her over to the right and she refuses to budge. She will circle round behind you and squeeze back on the left. Walking along, you might be tempted to experiment. That can happen! For example, you might try a brisk jump over her tail. Daisy will loop the lead around your knees. Or you might find that she drops low to the ground, increasing in momentum and torque and gravity, in a bold effort to swing you out to the right. Today, though, I crouch down beside her and ruffle her head. I have done this to you, haven’t I? I say, feeling very sorry. Daisy gives me her sad eyes. I didn’t mean to, I continue earnestly. I didn’t mean to put you into that position!  We both consider the space beside us. That really is my sentence, I say, not yours.