First Daisy slides across the floor. Then she performs a back summersault and leaps through a hoop of fire. Well, perhaps she doesn’t quite manage that – but she might as well have done. Daisy is a circus dog. Afterwards, she sits, panting, looking up at me. She is expectant. What do you want from me, Daisy? I ask, keeping my hands firmly thrust into my pockets. But Daisy bounces the question back. It’s one of her tricks. I see myself striding across the room. I watch my arms flailing about wildly. I hear my own increasingly complicated vocal arrangements. I grip tight to the hoop of fire. What do I want from you, Daisy? I ask. What are these secret steps we have been dancing?