After three days, Dexter came home. He’d had a lot of surgery, but the vet was confident he could enjoy a decent quality of life. It took him a long time to recover, and I worked hard on his rehabilitation – building muscle tone, working on his mobility. For a year, Dexter had to wear a cone, and we had a specially commissioned wheelchair made that fitted around his stomach, with wheels at the front, so he could get around on three legs. He was still a puppy, had so much energy and just exuded positivity.

Every morning, first thing, I’d carry him down the porch steps, without his wheelchair, to go out in the yard. One day, I left him at the bottom while I popped inside to get my coffee. When I returned a few seconds later, Dexter was at the top of the steps. I looked around, dumbfounded. How had he got there?