I remember when we first went to see you at your mum’s place. Your real mum’s place, that is. All the other puppies had been chosen, apart from you. Even the runt of the litter. It felt at the time like you knew that, and you were a bit insecure about it. You were stood up on your hind legs and leaning on the little fence that separated the rest of the world from the little enclosure that was the only place you’d ever known. There was something endearingly desperate about your eagerness to look your best. I remember giggling as you tried to ignore the fact that your brother was chewing on your ear, as if you were trying to focus completely on keeping that enormous pink tongue in that mouth of yours in case it would put us off.

We were taken with you immediately. You stole our hearts and put them in a big, golden, fluffy box. You were all paws and ears and fluff and yapping and your mere presence was enough to make the hardest-hearted shiver with a strange kind of warmth. It didn’t bother us when you were sick all over our laps in the car when we took you away from your home, because you were so afraid of us and the car and everything that wasn’t your little farm that you were quivering as if you were freezing cold. I remember that night you were left alone for the first time in your life. I remember how you howled and cried and I remember how you’d scratched half way through the pinewood back door by morning. I remember every one of us staying awake all night listening to your distress and wondering what we’d done by tearing you away from your brothers and sisters. And I remember how angry you were in the morning, how you refused to acknowledge us or eat. But before any one of us knew it, you were a fact in our lives.

When you were younger you were so good-looking you could have got away with anything; and you certainly tried. We’d walk downstairs every morning with baited breath before taking stock of all the damage you’d caused. We’d find cupboards raided, food stolen and cushions torn apart. At times, it felt like you were on a personal mission to steal one half of every pair of shoes or slippers in the house. But when we ran over to shout at you, our rage would melt away somewhere in the reflection of your enormous brown eyes, and we’d spend the next half hour consoling you for your guilt.

Whilst we had our ups, we also had our downs. I think as you became an adolescent pup you saw me as a challenger of some kind. Maybe it was because when I was 14, we were about the same size. Sometimes, with no prior warning, you’d just attack me. And I’d hit you right back. For months, you’d bare your teeth when I went near you and you refused to acknowledge my presence. I often asked myself what I’d done wrong because you couldn’t tell me, and I won’t lie, there were times when I hated you. You probably can’t imagine how frustrating it is when the best intentions in the world are met with a wordless defiance, as if even you didn’t understand why you were being the way you were.

At the same time, your wordlessness became a kind of rock. There was a time when the happy family you knew became fatally fragmented. Long and violent arguments slowly became the soundtrack to your life, and it hit you harder than anyone. You’d lie under the dinner table and hope against hope it would all blow over. And when fights got too heated, as they all too often did, you would get in the middle of sets of humans twice your size and bark continuously and ferociously until we were at peace again. I remember a teenage me storming off to my room and sobbing face down into a mattress until I felt a warm snout nuzzle my leg. You’d break the rules to come upstairs and sit on my lap with your eyes closed until all that rage of mine went away. Without ever giving me a single word of advice, you’ve helped me through more than anyone else I’ve ever known. There’s something about the enormity of unconditional love that puts everything else into perspective.

It’s because you were always there for me that I’m so torn up that I can’t be there with you right now. I want to be there and hold your paw and look into those big moon eyes of yours and keep you warm until the pain goes away. You might be old and tired now, but in my mind, you’re still that young pup that was on my lap, quivering in fear before starting a new life for yourself with a new family. I imagine you’re afraid right now, because once again, you’re starting something new. I may never have got the chance to say good bye, but let me take this opportunity to say “thank you” instead. For everything. Good luck out there, little guy.