In 1998, quite unexpectedly, I became a dog's mom, loving carer of my Italian Greyhound Rudi. In his first Winter 1998/1999 the little fellow stood there quivering and demanded warmth. So I took him on a shopping tour into what must have been all of Berlin's pet shops then. The coats on offer were not my Rudi's. All of his posture, his movement - or lack of same rather - and his frown suggested quite clearly: 'Mom, I can't move an inch in this garb. And when "it" starts, down the gown goes the mess. Shall I seriously take that rag?' Rudi was right. Either the finest coats did fit him nowhere near enough, pinched in delicate places, or he couldn't have relieved himself without taking messy risks.

And then Rudi sent me his fervent wish: 'Mom, you are a dressmaker. You have designed sample collections. You have worked with the finest of fabrics - and I'm freezing.  Does that ring a bell?  You can do it and I need it - come up with something!