When I was a child, we used to have a cheerful window cleaner come each month, with his ladder, bucket and chamois leather. We lived on a street full of terraced houses, all the front doors led directly on to the pavements.
As I cleaned my own windows I thought longingly of my childhood window cleaner, wishing he would appear with his gear and his smiling face. But there is one window I wouldn’t allow him to clean. It’s the one which has the doggy door and the dog art which is still there. But sadly Lucy is no more.
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