My dog and the NHS have a lot in common

We are considering privatising or selling off our dog, Jessie. She seemed a rather wonderful idea when we got her nine years ago. But since then she has become a hideously bloated, entitled creature who almost by herself determines how we live our lives.

In winter she is particularly tyrannical — she has three walks a day, and with darkness falling at four o’clock that means almost every hour of daylight is spent servicing her needs. We cannot go out by ourselves without ensuring she will not be unduly inconvenienced, and as she has grown older so the costs of keeping her have spiralled — and will continue to spiral.

Is she grateful? Not a bit of it. The food and treats we give her are never sufficient and so she follows us around demanding more, outraged. The walks are never long enough. And when she’s not out on a walk or stuffing her fat face she lies in a corner looking resentful.

Perhaps the worst thing about her is that she has been transformed from a dog into a cow, a holy cow. She can never be criticised. If I mention the enormous imposition she places on the rest of our family, I am immediately howled down in a torrent of misplaced sentimentality — even though my wife and daughter understand very well indeed that this is not how the family should work. It is the tail wagging the dog, for want of a better simile. But suggest this and it’s all: ‘Oh shame on you for having a go at Jessie! How dare you!’

In other words, my dog is exactly like the National Health Service. Exactly. It would not surprise me if one of these days she insists that we go out on to our front doorstep and bang saucepans together in her honour.