When we bought Otto, a golden retriever, a year after the death of our previous dog Bertie, we were sceptical that he could live up to our high expectations. What quickly became apparent, during the routine humiliation of our puppy training classes, was that Otto was a law unto himself. “He’s not normal” quickly became a stock family phrase, as Otto demonstrated a series of wild, mischievous and outlandish behaviours. During classes, I remember being told euphemistically that he was “wilful” and shamefully resorted to hiding cocktail sausages in my pockets during the final exam to encourage a modicum of civility in him. It just about worked. He was very hairy, with astonishingly soft ears and a tail that was constantly swishing with delight. Other dogs might gently curl up on the sofa; Otto would sit like a human on his rump, two paws up in the air. Other dogs would splash in the water; Otto would submerge and roll. Other dogs retrieved Frisbees; Otto found dead badgers. The resident court jester in our neighbourhood, …