We got a puppy when I was nine, and she died when I was 23. She grew up with my siblings and I, coming on adventures with us when we were kids, and I can't imagine the amount of teenage tears that girl's coat absorbed over the years.

But what I'll always be most grateful for, was the way she looked after my mother when she had cancer. My siblings and I were away at uni, and our mother hid as much of it from us as possible. But, our dad told us, wherever my mother was, there was the dog. Vomiting from the chemo? Lady was waiting at the foot of the stairs for her. Crying from the pain in her bones? Lady was in her lap, giving kisses. Passed out in the chair because all of her energy was sapped? Lady was curled up at her feet.

And when it was all done, and the cancer was gone, walking Lady was the reason she started getting out of the house and seeing people again. There's no doubt in my mind that she helped my mother's depression.

Lady made sure none of us were ever alone, and I cried for three days straight when she died. Here she is, for those few that read this. She was the best girl.