Those of you who are good enough to read this blog will know that my wife and children have a penchant for pets. In our back garden we have two wooden ‘Wendy Houses’ full of guinea pigs and rabbits not to mention the 6 hutches in the garage.

We also have two dogs and a cat (the cat, incidentally, is on his way out and keeps sneezing snot everywhere).

The dogs – if you can call them that – are a Yorkshire Terrier and a Bichon Frise. The Yorkie had been with my wife longer than me so I guess he’s top dog. The Bichon Frise is the newest member of our extended family.

He was badly treated by his former owner and when my wife was told by a friend she took pity on him and brought him home and cleaned him up. I didn’t discover this until I arrived home from work to come face to face with an animal that looked like a little lost lamb that had been sheared by a blind barber.

‘What the hell is that?’ I said on entering the front door.

‘It’s Gizmo. We’re looking after him’.

‘Well, you’re not keeping him. We’ve got enough animals’ I replied thinking of yet another mouth to feed.

For the next few days I was subjected to huff and puffs and forlorn expressions as we asked around for a suitable owner. The elderly mother of a friend of a friend said that she’d like some company so we arranged for Gizmo to be collected on the following Saturday. My wife and daughters didn’t want to be at home when he was collected so arranged to go out.

Gizmo’s bag was packed and off he went in the back on the friend’s car to his new life.

Or so I thought. Within a hour, the doorbell went and there was the friend of a friend with Gizmo.

‘What’s wrong?’ I enquired.

‘I’m afraid he’s just too boisterous for my mum. She can’t handle him’.

My shoulders visibly sagged as I took the dog back in.

Not long after, my wife and daughters returned. When they came in, Gizmo was all over them, tail wagging excitedly.

‘What happened, Dad? Why is he still here?’

‘Well, you know……I saw how sad you all were. I just think he’ll be happier here. I couldn’t let him go’.

Whatever you do, don’t tell them.

I know it sounds silly but even though I’m married with children I like my independence.

Before I settled down I lived by myself and was comfortable cooking, cleaning, shopping and ironing for myself. I still do all of those things now.

Tonight, my eldest daughter wanted to learn how to iron. So there we were. I was teaching my daughter how to iron!

You know how it is; “Collar first, now sleeves. Splash of water to get rid of the creases…..”

Then my two other daughters wanted to get involved. They had a go too. Imagine it! A father showing his daughters how to iron shirts.

They can do their own knickers though.

And if my middle daughter, R, is involved they’re inevitable. In fact, you can almost guarantee it. If the 5 of us go out as a family you can bet your bottom dollar that it will be R who will return covered in dirt from head to toe whilst the other 4 of us remain the same as when we went out.

It must be something in her genes. The other night she was playing the PC game ‘The Sims’ (one of her favourites). I heard some furious tapping coming from the playroom so I went to investigate. There was R bashing away at the keyboard trying to direct the characters.

When I looked closer I realised that the characters were actually firemen trying to put out a housefire.

‘What’s going on R?’ I asked.

‘I set the kitchen alight when I was cooking a meal’ she replied.

I wouldn’t change her though.