Getting steamy in the bedroom

My hot dog has been driving me to despair this week.

At night when the temperature is pushing 30C in our tiny Ipswich semi and even lying on top of the duvet makes you sweat, Tess decides it will be helpful to stand at head level and pant in my face.

The other night she was making me so hot with her dog breath that I started to dream I had just stepped out of an aircraft onto the runway of some tropical land, and the engine heat and general temperature was totally oppressive.

It was only when I caught hint of jelly chicken and vegetable Pedigree Chum that I woke myself to find a slobbery tongue and goggling eyes bearing down on me.

What can you do at 3am to cool your hyperventilating dog? Aside from stealing Steve’s razor and giving her a number one, there is little I can do. She had a little turn in the garden this morning, which I think helped. Prancing backwards and forwards attempting to catch moths gathered round the patio light, she wasn’t too quick to answer my calls.

Apparently at Colchester Zoo this week keepers have been feeding the lions cubes of iced blood. Quite why lions who originate from countries on the equator need cooling down in the Essex summer is a little beyond me. However I’m guessing there could be mileage in freezing a couple of bags of Bakers Gravy Bites.

I just hope Steve doesn’t mistake them for bolognaise and defrost them for tea one night.