Muggles is a wanted dog – will he be done for GBH?

Charlotte Cripps can’t sleep. She’s worrying about her family being torn apart over a ham sandwich

(Illustration by Amara May)

It’s been a hell of a week. Lola is quarantining and Muggles is under police investigation. I have not been out for days because somebody in Lola’s class bubble has Covid. So when Alex’s sister turns up with her teenage daughter it is my chance to escape.

“Hiya!” I say – and dart out of the front door to let them look after Lola and Liberty while I take Muggles for a 10-minute walk, and try to clear my head. “Ah, the first taste of freedom is always the sweetest.” I breathe in the smell of mimosa and rain as Muggles drags me to a brown bag with disgusting remains of a Kentucky Fried Chicken.

He’s worse than ever today – what’s up with him? It’s like he’s half-starved. Has he got a tapeworm? Is he half-blind? He keeps pulling me into the road thinking a leaf is some food. Is his flailing eyesight why he might be more nose orientated? We arrive at the little park at the end of my road. I do a quick recce of the place: it’s 8pm, it’s spitting with rain and there is nobody eating – I let him off the lead. He gallops to the back of the tennis court and back to where I’m standing by a flower bed. I’m on the phone to my dad, who wants to give me another shopping list because he’s out of goose fat dripping, when I hear a commotion – like a child crying and women shouting.