And then it was evening, and my husband wandered outside.
"Er, Kerri?" he called (he is the only person in the world to call me by my full name).
"What?" I asked.
"Why is there dog poo on our grass?" (he is the only person I know who is not four who actually uses the word 'poo').
I ran out to the garden. Oh dear.
There was dog poo (to use my husband's term). A LOT of it. And there was a little bit of something else unidentifiable, that I shall not detail any further. And there was fur. Rabbit fur. SPUNKY fur.
And I knew immediately. A dog had been there, alright. A big dog. A mean dog.
It had to have been a fox.
How did I know it was a fox? Well, we have fences. High fences. The gates had been closed and there was no way in the world a regular dog could have climbed them. And I've spotted foxes in our area. Other people have spotted foxes in our area. AND THERE WAS RABBIT FUR.
So we are thinking that perhaps Spunky is no more. We are thinking that perhaps Spunky has gone to that big field of carrots in the sky.
But there is no body. So we can't be sure.
The kids are very sad, but they can't quite accept it, which isn't surprising, because I can't quite accept it either. Maybe Spunky is just down a hole somewhere? Maybe Spunky is asleep in a corner that somehow, we have missed? Maybe the big dog poo was just a bizarre coincidence?
Or maybe not. Maybe he really is gone.
"If Spunky is dead," my son said, "then at least it would have been quick. He would have died of shock straight away, right?"
Oh yes, I told him. Straight away. Very quick.
But sadly, I can't be quite sure about that, either.