It’s odd that only just before Christmas I was talking to my mate Pete about dogs being put down. He works in air-conditioning and sometimes in vet’s practices, he often sees people going in with a dog on a lead then leaving with just a lead. I said I really wasn’t looking forward to that day.

And then it happened. That day came, and it wasn’t even the dog I was expecting.

Over Christmas Dillon had a seizure. He jumped off the couch and looked like he was about to throw up. I quickly ushered him into the garden expecting him to puke everywhere. But what happened next will stay with me for a long time. He fell onto his side and just started twitching. His paws were just moving randomly, and his head was jerking up and down. All I could do was watch. It lasted about five minutes, then suddenly stopped. He got up and just stood there. It was kind of like an animal version of ‘shell shock’, like he didn’t really know where he was. During those five minutes, ‘Dillon’ left the planet. His personality, his traits, all vanished. What was left was a functioning dog of sorts, but it wasn’t really Dillon. He recovered to the point that he came inside but wouldn’t settle. I stayed with him until I fell asleep on the couch. I took him to the vets as soon as I awoke. The vet prescribed epilepsy pills and presented a four hundred quid bill. I took him home. He spent the next few days mainly walking aimlessly and sleeping. He was well enough though to go on a few really nice walks through the nature reserve. I hope he was able to remember those and enjoy them. He was called back into the vets after some more tests, but he was beginning to twitch and look very unsteady on his feet. He also manged to walk clean through the water bowl and into a wall. That was the last time I saw him awake. He had another seizure when he was at the vets and they tried everything to try and bring him round, but the amount of medication required to stop him twitching was causing him just to sleep. There was no way forward. I made a very hard decision, to just let him sleep permanently. The vets were wonderful. I got to sit in the cage with him and spend as much time as I needed. I removed his harness which he still had on from when I took him in the car. I’d already removed his collar and little neckerchief before I took him to the vets, I think at that point I’d already given up hope, even if the vets thought otherwise. I spent a good half hour with him, he was just lying on his side, breathing gently but his head was twitching. I stroked him gently; he had his thick winter coat. I never realised how big he actually was, until seeing him spread out on his side. He already had a catheter in his leg. I filled in all the consent forms. I made the joke of, ‘Dillon I’m signing your life away’. I’m not sure the vet appreciated my weird sense of humour, but really it was more of a pain control mechanism. She brought in two vials, one was just saline, the other was purple, a shade of colour I will never forget. Phenobarbital. And there was a lot of it. I’d brought a crème egg in with me. I’d bought a couple a few years back for this exact moment. Probably well past their sell by date. I bit the top off and scooped out some of the filling onto my little finger. Dillon duly licked it off. That was his last ever meal, he got to sample chocolate and crème egg filling. And with me stroking him the vet started squeezing the syringe. It can’t have been more than 10cc’s and he just stopped breathing. She continued to squeeze until the syringe was empty, but Dillon, what was left of him, had gone. I had a couple of minutes with my dead dog and then left, just carrying his harness. I did what I always do and just went for a walk.

 What if I’d noticed a week or so earlier that the drawl he had when he came in from outside wasn’t normal? I’d just rejected it as probably something he’d eaten. What if I’d taken him to the vets then and got him on epilepsy medication? What if after he’d had his first seizure, I continued with the epilepsy treatment and got more pills from the vets, would he still be here now? The most likely probability is he had a brain tumour, or a bleed on the brain. The prognosis was set in stone, nothing would have changed the eventual outcome, but I will always have this nagging, ‘What if?’.

But it is the same with all things. What if Mark went for a pee before getting on his moped and got run over by a Scania? What if Nat nagged her doctor a bit more and got a scan much earlier? What if I’d been a better husband and not treated Jamie so much like an owned object? Life is all about decisions, sometimes I feel I certainly don’t make the right ones.

On Sundays I always tried to take Sasha out for an extra walk through the nature reserve. She’s fifteen. I always expected that when she passed, I would then take Dillon. He was thirteen. I always expected Sasha to pass first; the focus was always on her. But in the background Dillon was getting older, he was turning into an old man. He always looked at me when I came back with Sasha, I know he would have enjoyed that walk also.

I wasn’t the best dog dad. I’m sure I had plenty of fun times with Dillon, yet all that springs to mind is the times I shouted at him for eating cardboard, or for getting under my feet and being in the bloody way.

Could I have played with him more, could have we gone on more walks, could we have spent more time together? The answer to all those questions is of course yes. But here is the problem. Life just gets in the way. I couldn’t dedicate my entire life to dogs; other things just had to be done.

And now I’m just left with Sasha. She’s been in the unfortunate position of not just being abandoned once, but twice. She was a rescue after being dumped at the age of one. She was at that age an almighty pain in the ass and remained that way for a considerable number of years. She was abandoned a second time when my ex. husband left me. Several years passed before she stopped running up the stairs after her walk to see if Jamie was there. Now she’s just an old lady, with a weak bladder and very unsteady on her feet. You can still throw a ball, and she will trot off and fetch it for you. But she has the look in her eyes of, ‘Why didn’t you throw it a bit more when I was more able to chase it?’.

Fifteen years ago, I made a commitment to look after her until she’s dead (so did my ex. husband, but that’s another story). I will fulfil that promise. She’s not my biggest fan and we kind of tolerate each other, but she was always Jamie’s dog, there is no great bond between us. But she still enjoys her walks and loves her food. Long may that continue.

In a parallel universe I’d still be with Jamie and Sasha and Dillon would both be still around.

Now as I’m very much into my autumn years, it’s important to plan for the future, but also very important to enjoy the ‘now’. Appreciate the things and people around you today as they may not be here tomorrow.

I think this has also somewhat helped to ‘thaw’ the relationship with my mother. I spent Christmas day with her and my sister, and to be perfectly honest it was ‘fine’. Actually, it was probably better than ‘fine’, it was ‘good’. For something I was dreading it actually turned out to be a really good day. I think maybe when I was growing up, ‘life’ probably just got in her way, I kind of get that now.

As I sit here in Gran Canaria sipping the last of my cocktail, I raise the glass to you, ‘Dillon’. I’m sorry I wasn’t great and didn’t do as much with you as I could have. That’s one regret I’m going to have to live with forever.

Dedicated to ‘Dillon’, you were a good boy, I’ll miss you and love you forever.