Benjy entered my life in a shoebox. I remember it clearly, sitting in our living room when, unexpectedly, my lovely nan bustled in with my excited auntie behind her. There was excitement in the air and I soon realised why when my nan put down the shoebox at my feet. 'This is Ben' she said. 'I thought we could share him'. Ben, quickly renamed Benjy, lived with my nan and I spent as much time with him as possible. He had the sweetest nature. I taught him to work at heel by using a random growly voice and my friend Sharyn and I used to trot around Garth mountain with her gorgeous Doberman Carla and my lovely Benjy Bailey. I loved the fact that behind his ears he had the crinkliest fur - he definitely had some sheepdog in him. I would walk up to my nan's house and he would be on sentry duty in the garden. I would wolf whistle and he would come hurtling down the hill and throw himself at me. Our hearts broke when he disappeared on Bonfire Night - let out in the garden and then probably frightened by a bang. We traipsed around the rescue centres for months. Some times my nan and I would think we'd seen him. I like to think he was spotted by someone who loved him just as well as we had done and that he lived to a ripe old age. Anything else keeps me awake at night. Benjy, the thought of you still makes my tummy flip over. Thank you for being ours.