For the first two nights I slept downstairs, letting Isis out when she stirred. Last night, a little apprehensively, I dozed upstairs.

Miraculously, this little dog is still clean in the house and quiet all night from 12.00 – 7.00  a.m.

She still sleeps on the door mat. But today when I gently stroke her awake she jumps up wagging her tail. She is no longer afraid of me.

Her first visitor is Li from down the road with a bag of home grown Tumbling Tom tomatoes and requesting an audience with The Hairy One.

Li falls in love with the ears. They are very special ears.

Now and then, throughout the day, The Hairy One carefully finds her way to her food bowl to check if there’s a sardine. Then back into the garden, whatever the weather.

Later Jo, sixteen, phones. He has just returned from Scotland. He is exhausted.

“Can I come and see the dog?”

Jo is enchanted. We are joined by his friend. We sit in the garden until it grows cold, talking dogs.

Friend asks whether Hairy’s eyes are like those of a ‘normal’ dog. Jo responds hotly, “She is a normal dog. And her eyes are like pink Lucozade.”

Each night, when it begins to get dark, Isis curls up under the garden table or beneath a  bush. I pick her up and carry her in.

She doesn’t offer any resistance but still ignores the back room where a comfortable memory foam bed awaits her. She only wants to lie on the doormat.

She leans against the back door until she falls asleep.

Goodnight, Isis.