UNFORTUNATELY I’m allergic to dogs and cats and it is getting steadily worse as the years roll by.

It is a great shame as Keith, my husband, would dearly love to have a dog.

When my children were small I didn’t have a problem so my three girls had their dogs: yes, one each, their cats yes, one each, along with various hamsters and gerbils.

I‘m sure you remember gerbils, they multiplied in the blink of an eye.

My middle daughter Katharine, well-known for her love of animals, had acquired yet another kitten, (from heaven knows where, I just brought the food,) when one of the village lads turned up with a bird in a box, which he thought had hurt itself.

Katharine carefully opened the box and the tiny creature grabbed the chance of escape and flew out.

The kitten also seized the chance of a light snack and jumped up and caught it.

A very cross Katharine threw the kitten out the door while the rest of us struggled to disguise our mirth.

Another time, early one summer morning, I was woken by a commotion downstairs.

Barefoot and dressed only in my nightie, I went down to see what was going on.

I discovered the cats were having a scrap over what I thought was a live rabbit. I grabbed the cat, prising it’s mouth open to free the poor creature.

It was then I noticed the long thin tail of a huge rat, which like me was in a state of shock.

I screamed, shoved the cats unceremoniously into the kitchen then hurried crossed the room to fully open the French doors offering the rat an exit.

At this point it was sitting in a semi conscious stupor by the fire place while I was jumping up and down squealing hysterically.

Still, at least I didn’t get a rat for breakfast like Sedbergh band master Alan Lewis.

Years ago he had a young Jack Russell and one morning the playful pet jumped up on to his chest, waking him.

As he opened his eyes he realised the dog had brought him breakfast in the shape of a nice fat rat.

His exit from bed is still a world record.