My old pal Denver is 12 years of age (84 in dog years) and despite the down at heel  look on his face – it’ll stop soon if you ignore it – he’s actually over the moon about going on his road trip today.   Unlike other migrating species he heads south for the summer and loves it. It doesn’t seem so long ago when he used to first scramble into the boot as a pup and then later bound in when he was fully grown. Today Denver managed to get his front legs into the car by himself but the back legs were my job. Dog years didn’t really mean anything to me when I was young and how could they, I had little to measure them against, but now I’m one of the Golden Guys I really do…