Our local garden centre allows a lovely chap to bring his rescued, re-homed greyhound and collect for the charity that takes them in. His bitch is a brindled one with beautiful markings. I spend ages patting her and talking to her, and slowly but surely she starts to lean against me until she's nearly horizontal with her whole weight against my legs. She gazes up into my eyes in ecstasy, wearing a comfy knitted woolly jacket that the chap's wife knits for her. Apparently she's terribly lame and can't walk far, after being raced to the end of her 'usefulness'. I always contribute as much as I can to his collecting tin. I'd love to adopt one, but of course with three cats it would be highly disastrous!