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I have the overwhelming urge to get a dog and name it Fergus.
I want to eat out of mummy’s hand like I’m her little puppy dog. She could tousle my hair and call me a good boy. Maybe she could lower her hand as I meekly go to take another mouthful, to the point where I’m practically eating off the floor. And then mummy could gently remind me that I’d be eating off the floor if not for her great kindness, making me love her even more.