Millie

I understand that Millie’s isn’t a beauty that, necessarily, everyone appreciates, but each time my eyes rest upon her I am struck by it. Somehow – in spite of looking a bit like a waxen bust of Winston Churchill that’s been left too close to the fire – I find myself drawn. Drawn. Drawn.It’s only once you get her out, though, that you can truly appreciate her. How her gait is less like a walk than it is a tumbling. An inelegant, lolloping mass of limbs and folds rolling its way towards you. You kneel down and she topples into your embrace – (is this what it means to fall in love?) – and, immediately, you are smitten. It’s as if King Cnut, rather than wanting to stop the tides, welcomed it in with open arms. A tide of folds, wave after wave of flubber and flesh – and unrestrained loveliness. Soon, she bends herself around so that her bottom might be vigorously scratched. Her legs splay outwards with the joy of it and her head stretches skywards, tongue lolling – she looks like a bear-sk...

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