Dog has, to all intents and purposes, recovered fully from her stroke last December. But her senses have been affected - eyesight, hearing and sense of smell are all a bit dodgier. She prefers to snooze rather than 'help' in the garden; she doesn't hear us return home until we shout in her ear. She has an endearingly confused look on her face. She is, in short, getting old and a bit doddery. So we've made a point of trying to cherish every day she's still with us.

This isn't as easy as we first thought after our first wave of heartfelt relief at her recovery. Dog might be doddery around the house and garden but she can still take off after a rabbit and lose herself in the bushes for half an hour, ignoring our presence regardless of threats and entreaties. She has perfected her deafness technique so that she can only hear the words 'chews', 'sweets', 'cats', 'dinner' and 'walk'. The list of disgusting items she is happy to eat grows ever longer.; her idea of helping in the garden essentially boils down to peeing on every plant; and she still wants to attack every dog that looks at her in a certain way.

But since December, as part of our 'cherishing', she is allowed to come and sit with me in my room whilst I am working. She regards this as the biggest treat on earth, since prior to her stroke she wasn't allowed upstairs. So, I can be sure that as soon as she hears the computer switched on, she pads upstairs and stretches herself out beside me.

Ah, how lovely, how touching, how devoted, you may or may not be thinking. So did I. Until earlier today, when she was stretched out having a thrilling dream about chasing cats or rabbits, she involuntarily (I like to give her the benefit of doubt here) lets off a ghastly smell. So ghastly it wakes her up. But all is well in her world, so she yawns, stretches out again and drops off straight back to sleep, whilst I leap up to open the windows and try not to gag.

But despite the windows being wide open, the smell is ghastly. I feared being gassed. So I picked up a bottle of Jo Malone's Vetyver Cologne and sprayed the air. A pleasing scent of Vetyver, whatever that is, floats across the room. I resume work. Then she does it again. And again. And I spray again like a mad woman.

'My' smell evidently reaches Dog, because she wakes up with a jerk, sniffs the air doubtfully, wrinkles her nose and gets up hurriedly to leave, an expression of acute disgust on her face.

A look, I expect, that will repeated by every other dog walker I meet in a mo, because even I have to admit that a pungent mixture of 'dog' and a quarter bottle of Jo Malone Vetyver makes your eyes water just a little.