THE DAY OUR puppy was due to arrive, my husband and I cleaned our apartment well enough to receive a foreign dignitary, or child services. When the pet taxi arrived, the driver thrust with one hand a small quivering creature at me – no blanket – and with the other a wad of paperwork. I handed the creature to my husband, who took him into our warm bedroom and prepared him a bowl of food. I entered the room to witness the puppy scarfing the food whole, like a seagull. My husband and I looked at each other. Then the dog regurgitated a mound of wet, pink barf. As soon as it was out of his mouth, he leapt on it again and wolfed it down. Again, the food poured from his mouth, and when it hit the floor, he went to eat it. I scooped him up in my hands to put an end to the madness and looked at him closely.

‘How old is he?’ I said.