The vet, Christian, had known Stan since he was a pup. Christian had given Stan his first vaccinations, microchipped him, nursed him to health when we were worried he had kennel cough. Despite a phobia for needles, and indeed an aversion to any kind of physical discomfort, Stan always looked forward to his trips to see Christian at the Well Animal Clinic. He liked the attention, he favoured the tasty treats they kept in reception, he enjoyed encountering other dogs and meeting exotic animals like cats and hamsters.

But now we were here to talk about castration and the thought of it made me sick to my stomach.

‘Neutering is not as clear cut as people believe,’ Christian said. ‘Every dog is different. Some need it. Some don’t. Do it too soon and you will alter the nature of your dog. Do it too late and it will make absolutely no difference to his nature.’

We all looked at Stan. He wouldn’t leave me alone. You can save me from this if you want to, he seemed to say, climbing into my arms.

‘Is your dog neutered, Christian?’ Scout asked the vet.

The vet adjusted his glasses.

‘No,’ he said. ‘But you have to decide what’s right for Stan. Does he put himself in danger because he has reached sexual maturity?’

Scout and I looked at each other.

We both knew the answer to that one.

And so we made an appointment to bring him back in the morning.

We walked through the meat market’s great arch to the strip of shops on the far side of the square. The shops were closed and silent but light and music drifted out from one of the flats above.

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We went up a flight of stairs to the flats. Mrs Murphy opened the door with a couple of children and a dog underfoot. Scout and Stan flew inside as if this was their second home. The Murphys’ flat was, as usual, full of family and I smiled as I heard the greetings called out to my daughter and my dog.

‘You’ll come in for a cup of tea,’ Mrs Murphy predicted. ‘The gang’s all here. Big Mikey. Little Mikey, Siobhan and the kids. You should see Baby Mikey walking about like he owns the place.’

‘I’d love to, but I have to run.’

She frowned with disapproval. ‘Work?’

‘Fred’s.’

‘Defend yourself at all times,’ Mrs Murphy advised.

It was one of those nights when I desperately needed to train. Fred saw it and he was happy to push me hard.