Two days before my 16th birthday Ma had a stroke. She was a very heavy smoker, had high blood pressure and suffered with excruciating migraines. She was only 42 but the doctor's weren't surprised. While she lay in hospital, our bulldog, Sheba, had four gorgeous puppies. I had no idea what to do with them or how to care for them; I was at College and running the house and trying to stop Dad from crying every day. Little did I know that bulldogs are the worst mothers, as they can't chew the umbilical cord after birth with their protruding teeth and have no idea how to feed or manage their pups. So, each day, when I got home from College, she had smothered another puppy. She took them into her mouth by their heads and held them there, with her jaws clamped round them. It was a heartbreaking few weeks for me, I was so strung out and felt so guilty about these adorable creatures, yet I felt helpless. We buried one a day in the back yard and said a little prayer for it. Then on I got with my daily tasks, keeping the family going. After all, I was only 16.
