There's a certain amount of irony in the title, as Polly was the name of my gran's dog hating cat. But only a small amount. I am a crazy dog lady, or I would be if I had the time to have a dog. I grew up with dogs, my birth was announced in the local paper as "a chum for Holly", and Holly licked chocolate pudding off my face and tolerated me trying to ride her round the house when I was very small. Then came Roxy, who wasn't my dad's dog (despite my dad being his favourite) who we weren't supposed to get, who peed in everyone's shoes and who had us (me) chasing over walls at 2am because he'd spotted a cat. Roxy who when my dad got re-married and moved out, went with him (I got the house). Sadly both are now long dead, and while I miss them massively, I know I'm out of the house far too much to responsibly have a dog. That doesn't stop me fussing every dog I meet up the woods (that lets me) and doesn't stop me searching out n...