Walking through the door, I was ready for a chilled night – but as I made my way into the living room, I stopped in my tracks.
‘What on earth?!’ I gasped.
My beautiful grey cuddle chair had been ripped apart.
The stuffing was scattered across the floor – and there, in the middle of the mess, was my 12-month-old Boxer, Cooper.
‘What have you done?’ I shouted, as he bowed his head in shame.
Walking into the kitchen, I tried to compose myself.
We’d only left him alone for a couple of hours and my husband Steve, now 63, was due home any minute.
Just then, Cooper came wandering over to me, batting his puppy dog eyes.
‘That was Hollie’s chair, Cooper!’ I snapped.
Hollie – who is no longer with us – was our other Boxer.
Only, at seven years old, she was
