This week was my birthday week. You see, I don't celebrate my birthDAY any more, instead I celebrate the whole week, because considering all the things that can go wrong in this world, and this complicated human body that we've been dealt with, I consider myself rather lucky to have made it through yet another year. Add to that my pathological need to get involved in issues and arguments that don't really regard me, and I actually consider myself super blessed to have made it through another 365.

At the start of my birthday week, I pledged that, no one and nothing will get to me this week. I also decided that if anyone did manage to get my goat I wouldn't let them get away with it. Contrary to popular belief, I usually let a lot of things go, partly because I don't have enough time to pick on everything that bothers me, partly because I've learnt to pick my battles, and mostly because no amount of verbal abuse could ever cover all my gripes.

Anyway, on Monday, I headed off to the gym. As usual, I parked my car in the car park, and struggled to get out of the minuscule space between my car and the one next to it. I got out alright, but not before spotting a sweet energetic puppy inside the car that was parked next to mine.

At first I oohed and ahhed at the sight of him, but I soon realised that whoever left him there didn't leave so much as a millimetre of an open window. I started to circle round the car like a headless chicken, I tried to find an open outlet, I tried to open the doors, and I checked the boot, but they were all locked tight. I couldn't for the life of me believe that anyone would leave a puppy locked in what appeared to be an airtight car.

In my incredulous state I checked the windows once again, this time placing my fingers at the top of each hoping to find a gap somewhere, but I was out of luck, the puppy was trapped inside and there was no way of getting him out except by breaking into the car.

Since he still seemed happy and lively, I decided that the owners had not been gone for too long and, that perhaps they didn't intend to be long either. I walked away, trying to calm my nerves, and decided to deal with the situation upon my return, that is, if God forbid, the puppy was still there after my workout.

On my way up to the gym I met a friend who volunteers with one of the animal sanctuaries. I informed her about the situation and since she was on her way out, she assured me that on her way home she'd place some calls and file a police report. I was somewhat appeased to know that someone was doing something about the poor puppy, and I went ahead with my workout, but ninety minutes later, when I returned to my car, to my shock and horror, the other car was still parked there, and the puppy was still locked inside. My heart sank when I saw him lying motionless on the back seat with his head almost hanging in mid air, and his leash tangled around his paws.

I wanted to scream and blaspheme, my eyes filled with tears, and I was about to grab a fire extinguisher and break the windscreen. Instead, I pulled myself together, took a couple of deep breaths and knocked gently on one of the windows. Thankfully, and to my delight, the puppy woke up, and once again started bouncing around the car.

He was so happy with my attention that he was about to smash his nose against the glass with enthusiasm. I just couldn't stand the sight of him anymore, so I walked to the car park's security station and informed the guard about the situation. The guard was mortified. He was fuming at the thought that the owner had left a puppy locked in the car under his watch, and he told me that the car had been in there for at least two hours. Predictably however, the guard felt that he couldn't do anything.

I left the car park on foot and called the police depot in Floriana. After a brief and hurried conversation they put me through to the St. Julian's police station. I started to explain the situation once again, but as soon as I told them that the car in question had a foreign number plate, the conversation bolted to a hasty end.

"We wouldn't know whom the car belongs to," said the policeman at the other end.

"Why is it relevant?" I asked. "This dog will die if he's left there much longer. Can't you break into the car and get him out?"

"No," said the policeman at the other end, "that's not the type of decision that I can take."

"I don't care who takes the decision, speak to whoever you need to speak to and get this dog out. He's been in there for almost three hours without any food, drink and hardly any air."

"If it's a foreign number plate, there's nothing we can do," he insisted.

"So you're telling me that you won't break into a car to avoid a death? Are you saying that a car is more important than a dog?"

"There's nothing we can do," he repeated.

"You are giving me no choice but to break into it myself," I said.

At this point, he started to mumble and stammer, so I asked for his PC number. He then took my particulars and mobile number, and promised to speak to his Sergeant and to call me back. It's been almost a week now and I'm still waiting for that phone call.

To cut a long story short, this is what happened after I hung up with the police - I left my car parked next to the puppy-trap and started making more calls. I called The Animal Welfare Dept and The Animal Ambulance, both of which had already heard about the case from my volunteer friend. Unfortunately I got the same line from them too - "there's nothing we can do," they said "if the number plates are foreign, the police can't trace the owners."

At this point, more than three hours had passed since I had first seen the puppy in that car. I decided to give it one more hour and then take matters into my own hands. I decided that if I returned to the car after an hour and the puppy was still there, I was going to make good use of that fire extinguisher. Of course I was pretty sure that the police would then turn up at my door in the middle of the night, with CCTV footage of me 'vandalising' the car and 'stealing' the puppy, but hand on heart, I much prefer to live with a police record than with a guilty conscious of having let a puppy die at the hands of incompetent owners.

Luckily for me, and for the silly owners of that car, when I returned to the car park an hour later, the puppy and the car he was in were gone. The owners had finally returned and driven away. I don't know if the police or anyone else had anything to do with it, because as I said, I'm still waiting for that blessed phone call. All I know is that had things not turned out the way they did, I might be celebrating my birthday in the chip.

But I'm not, so I'm off to celebrate some more...and my first toast will go to real animal lovers, who know that dogs do not belong in cars, on roofs, or tied to a door!

My second toast will go to a future law that gives more importance to breathing, feeling, living, creatures than to a foreign-plated car.

Oh! and finally, my biggest toast will go to my taxes – the taxes that are supposed to be paying for those much awaited returned phone calls.

Cheers!