Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, allow me to introduce (drum roll …):

       Mr Mash: The Dog Who Saved the World!

      I love him more than anything. I know that sounds harsh on Dad and Clem, but I think they’ll understand, especially after what happened over that summer.

      We don’t know exactly how old he is, how he became a stray, or even what sort of dog he might be. He’s got shaggy fur – grey, brown and white – and ears that flop over at the ends. He’s got a cute, inquisitive face like a schnauzer, big soft eyes and a strong, very waggy tail like a Labrador.

      In other words, he’s a mishmash. When we got him from the St Woof’s shelter, the vicar said I could name him, and so I said ‘Mishmash’, which sounded like ‘Miss Mash’, but, because he’s a boy dog, he became Mister Mash.

      Mr Mash: my very best, very stupid friend. His tongue is far too big for his mouth, so it often just lolls out, making him look even dafter. He’s completely unable to tell if something is food or not, so he just eats it anyway. This, in turn, means he has what the vicar calls ‘a wind problem’.

      You can say that again. ‘Silent and violent,’ Dad says.