I once read that it takes very special people to own a dog. You love your children, you love your spouse, but thats easy because, when you make that decision, you don't expect them to be taken away much before your own life is over. Yes, we know abstractly that it can happen, but that only happens to other people, not us.

But, as the poem puts it, when you decide to give your heart to a dog, you know, even as you do it, that it will, not might, all too soon be taken and torn.

If you're lucky, as a child, your family, or members of it, own a dog which you love. The loss of it does not compare however to the loss of the dog that is yours. You know its yours when you sign the vets unspoken prescripton and as it says, at that point it is very much your own affair.

My heart has been torn three times now and still I've just given it again to a fourth.

Do I feel special?

Not really. Those who know will understand that if anything we are selfish and the price we pay is small for that unflinching love which cannot lie, that perfect passion and worship.

The wonder of it is not that I loved my dogs but that they loved me.

The first dog in my family was my oldest sister Diane's dog, Cindy. The second was my elder sister Carol's dog, Nikki.At this time I owned a rabbit called Bambi!

Diane went on to own and breed German Shepherd puppies from her dog Tally.

My first dog, Kristy, was one of these.

My parents also had one of Kristy's sister's pups, Jenna. In turn, one of her pups was our second dog, Corinna.

When we finally bought a house here in the USA the people moving out were emigrating and couldn't take their dog with them. She became our third dog, Lady.

Adopted from the rescue people, our fourth dog was, Rio who we got as a pup.

Our fifth dog was, Xena, who we rescued from the local animal shelter.

Sixth was Rex.

Currently our seventh is Rosie.