At a friend's house for supper and I am greeted by a small dog. It is thin but exceedingly fluffy with an air of the fanatic. He leads me to his owner, an American woman who has just washed her hair. 'He visits people in hospital', she says. 'He's a therapy dog'. His name is Dexter.
I use the opportunity to ask her middle name. 'It's a really interesting one', she says. 'It's a family name'. With Irish roots, she thinks that it was after 'Dolan' but misspelt somewhere along the way. She shares it with her brother. 'I hated it when I was a kid', she says. 'I used to tell people my middle name was Lynne instead'. I nod. 'But now I think it's quite cool'.
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