How evil are my parents? A long time ago, in a back garden in Ireland lived a Red Setter dog called Spike. He was a much loved family pet, adored by all the children in the family. Until one day, while everyone was in school, Spike got out of the garden and hit by a car. The parents of the family shook their head in dismay and buried the dog underneath the trees before the children came home, and when the poor little kiddies arrived, they tearfully told them that Spike had gone to the big field in sky. After that, every request from the children for another dog was turned down, on the basis that they couldn't look after poor Spike, and look what happened to him? Would they want that to happen to another dog? And then child number 5 was born (me) and she was told the same thing. No, you can't have a dog because you can't take care of it. Look what happened to poor Spike. (A fact that used to really annoy me because I wasn't even alive when they had Spike!) I have just found out that dear old Spike didn't actually die. He was sent to the pound because he was too big and boisterous. My parents actually told my siblings that Spike had died! I am the only one out of 5 kids that knows that. Now I'm in a quandry. Do I tell my brothers and sisters that Spike didn't actually die because he managed to get out of the garden, something that's laid on their guilt-ridden souls for years...or do I let my mother and father get away with a 30 year old lie?