My family always had dogs when I was growing up - and cats. My parents ran a fish and chip shop, and a cat was the best way to keep the mouse population down in the 1950s.
My first personal pet was a black rabbit called Sooty. Okay, it's perhaps not a brilliant name for a rabbit, but I was only 7 or 8, so it was pretty good to me. I was so thrilled to have a pet of my own that I wanted to take it everywhere with me. Dad made me a travel box from a large biscuit tin with holes drilled in the lid, and as Sooty was a very small rabbit, he was quite happy in there with plenty of straw.
Unfortunately, on a visit to my grandmother's, her German Shepherd recognised the biscuit tin as something that held treats, and when he smelled Sooty inside, that was the end of a beautiful friendship. He knocked the tin out of my hands, and although Sooty escaped and got as far as the garden, he was the main course on the canine menu that night.
Mum and Dad were horrified that, by finding a way for me to keep Sooty with me, they had effectively signed his death warrant. I think they were more upset than me at the time, because they told me Sooty had escaped through a hole in the fence to save my feelings.
My next pet was a goldfish, and I wasn't allowed to take him around with me! He lived to a ripe old age, with the help of a few drops of brandy in his water on a couple of occasions when he looked to be ready to pass on to goldfish paradise.
