The Puppy That Came for Christmas by Megan Rix

around the bed with his dressing gown flapping. We had stripped the sheets, washed the quilt and cover in the laundry room and festooned the insides of our tiny cottage with large sheets hung up to dry before anyone else was up.
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    Emma loved the seaside even more than we’d hoped she would. The Suffolk waves were gentle, and once she’d got over the idea of a limitless expanse of water, she liked running in and out of them, snapping at them and then rolling in the sand. It was the sand she liked best; it awoke within her an urge to dig, dig, dig, down and down, until she’d created a hole bigger than herself—which she then dived into and in which she became half buried when, in trying to get out, one of the walls caved in under her scrabbling paws.
    A minute later, barely recovered, she spotted a man about to go for a paddle, sitting on his towel having removed his shoes. She yelped and ran over and started attempting to pull his socks off for him.
    â€œWhat’s she doing?” he laughed (fortunately he wasn’t dog-phobic). We told him about Helper Dogs. She’d been doing what she’d been taught to do but had forgotten that she was supposed to wait to be asked to do it! Bidding him and his socks goodbye, we retired from the beach to a café and thence back home, where Emma collapsed in a sandy little heap, exhausted once more, and we enjoyed another evening surrounded by cock-crows and the dark, flat Suffolk countryside.
    Helper Dogs didn’t just help their partners at work; I’d heard many stories about how they’d improved their quality of life by enabling their owners to go on holiday, sometimes for the first time. A very calm black Labrador I met called Annie had an eight-year-old partner, Paul, who had autism and didn’t speak.
    â€œWe’ve had our first family holiday ever thanks to Annie,” said Leila, Paul’s mother. “It would have been too stressful and too much for Paul to handle before. But she has such a calming influence on him. Plus, because of her special harness that’s attached to Paul around his waist, I don’t have to worry if Paul gets freaked out by something and tries to run off. Annie just sits down and Paul comes to a stop, and often sits down too!
    â€œI thought Paul would be really freaked out by his first sight of the sea, but he wasn’t—just kept staring at it. He didn’t like the ice-cream van, though,” she said, laughing at the memory. “Also, having Annie with us with her assistance dog coat on means when Paul has a tantrum, when it all gets too much for him, people realize he isn’t just being a naughty boy with a mum that’s spoilt him! We were very lucky: Helper Dogs don’t often train dogs to work with children like Paul—although there are some charities that specialize in it.”
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    Though my weekend with Emma and Ian was all too short, the break did us a world of good. Ian had had a few days away from the London commute, Emma had seen the sea for the first time and I’d barely thought about Clomid once. I came home refreshed and remembered that the £10,000 had cleared into my savings account.
    The following week, I spent hours on the computer browsing the many Internet forums in which women described their experiences of trying to have children. I especially liked looking at the ones for older women who’d successfully become pregnant. Then I researched the private clinics within driving distance from us: some didn’t offer IVF for women over forty; some only offered donor eggs. But there were two that looked right.
    I explored all the possibilities the money gave us in my mind and began to come to some decisions. I e-mailed both clinics and asked to be sent more details.

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    Emma’s head was deep inside the washing machine, and I loved it. I’d been cultivating this behavior, egging her on with praise and treats for days. First I’d