Goodbye to my dear four legged friend

This weekend has been harrowing and upsetting to say the least. I finally had to make the painful decision to put my poor dog Sasha to sleep, as the bone cancer that had plagued her for so long finally took its toll.

Sasha was one in a million, a unique little dog that had bags of personality from the day I got her. A German Shepherd cross Collie, she was always going to be super smart, a little ditsy and cheeky as anything. I remember picking her up at six weeks old, she was a chubby little ball of fluff who refused to sit still in the car and actually managed to crawl under the pedals as I was driving - DOH! Typically one of those cheeky pups that you would put on the paper or take outside for ages, only to come in a pee on the carpet, but you really can't help laughing at them.

We went through a few rough times when she was young as I was moving here, there and everywhere. She'd often sleep in the car while I did a shift at work (only in the winter mind you), or go to doggy daycare which she loved. We had to live in a B&B for three weeks, which was highly entertaining. But she adored long walks and playtime on Plymouth Hoe and was constantly losing her kong on a rope and chasing the skate boarders.

When my little house in Plymouth was finally ready to move into, that really was an invitation for little doggy to go to town and trash as much as she could - teething years are always so awful. She literally ate my vinyl kitchen floor, ripped the seals off the fridge, stole and ate wooden spoons out the draws. I actually came home one day and couldn't find her, only to go upstairs, find my bedroom door open and the cheeky monkey sprawled out on my bed chewing away at the top of my chest of draws. Bizarrely for some strange reason she always used to eat anything wooden that she could find.

She was never really a sociable dog, her best mate was a complete Heinz 57 called Ricky. She adored him and they'd race around the park and get into all sorts of mischief. That was until I brought Neo home, a typical English farm cat (well kitten). You've never seen anything so small try to make himself look so big, with a tail like a loo brush, hissing and spitting and taking swipes at the dog. But these two became firm friends and would always look out for one another.

When I moved up to Wales and had a little rented house, I always remember the neighbours complaining about how much she barked when I wasn't there, as she suffered from separation anxiety quite alot. But there was one evening when her barking came to the rescue. Sasha was at the back door, making a fuss, barking and whining and scratching to go out. When I let her out she ran straight to the top of the garden and started whimpering, so torch in hand I followed her, only to find Neo dragging himself through the grass. He'd obviously been clipped by a car and had hauled himself all the way from the road, through several gardens to end up back home. The poor thing had a smashed pelvis, fractured hips and had to be wired and plated back together again. But it really did prove the bond between cat and dog, who would quite frequently curl up together at the end of my bed, which was wonderful to see especially after they'd been playing with one another, having boxing matches and taking swipes at one another - who says cats and dogs can't be friends?

Sasha used to love long walks in the fields and swimming in the river, although she wasn't a very good swimmer and wouldn't really go much further than she could stand.

When I moved to Dubai I brought both animals with me. They flew pretty well and seemed to acclimatise pretty easily. Sasha enjoyed her long desert walks and the odd trip to the beach. She had an amazing personality and was cheeky as anything. I had to have child locks on the cupboards and a bungee around the fridge, otherwise she'd break in and steal food or just generally mess about with stuff. You could always tell if she'd been up to something, as you'd come home to find her at the bottom of the stairs, head laid on her paws, giving you the puppy eyed look, tail wagging like mad, but looking guilty as hell. :-)

One day I came home though and she was looking green as anything and being sick, throwing up huge waxy balls which I couldn't figure out what they were. Even my friend J had no idea either, so I rushed her down to the vets and it turned out she'd broken into the bathroom and eaten not one, but three bars of soap! Her insides were literally filled with foam and poisoning her internal organs, so there really was no choice but to open her up and flush it all out - pretty gross. She did look a sight when I got her home, with a little T-shirt on to stop her having a go at the stitches and a cone round her neck as well. The cone really confused her and she'd literally walk into the wall and stand there not knowing what to do - poor thing.

She'd always make me laugh when I'd talk to her and she'd cock her head to one side listening. She knew all her toys individually and you could get her to fetch them one by one, telling her by name which one you wanted. She's shake paws with you and do all sorts of silly things. But her one obsession was food! Anyone would have thought that I never fed her, she was always after food and if you were sitting eating with a plate on your lap, she'd sit right in front of you and stare and the plate, then you, then the plate, then you, literally trying to will the food into her mouth. One not so hilarious evening, my housemate had cooked up something in the oven and left it in there to cool down. Sasha breaks into the oven and eats the entire tray of whatever it was, which I soon found out was loaded with chilli's! To say that the butt explosions she experienced later on were horrific is an understatement! Her face was hilarious, sort of 'what the hell is happening to me?' - sadly Sasha being Sasha never learnt the lesson.

Sadly at the beginning of this year Sasha was diagnosed with an aggressive bone cancer and had a tumour in her lower jaw. Surgery wasn't really an option as it would basically have meant removing her entire lower jaw, with a long and painful recovery, that would only have bought her an extra year or so and at ten years old I couldn't bear to put her through that. She had medications and continued to be happy, mischievous and playful but the lump in her jaw got bigger and bigger until only about a week ago it started to affect her eating and it broke my heart when she couldn't pick up her soft toys to play.

I got home on Saturday to see her mouth dripping with blood and I knew deep down that this was probably it. So I scooped her up and took her to the vet. They were brilliant with her and said that there really was nothing more that could be done and it really would be kinder at this point to put her to sleep, which was heartbreaking as apart from this horrid disease in her mouth she was just her normal self. So reluctantly I agreed, as I really didn't want to see her get any worse or be any pain.

I have to say it is the most awful thing to have to go through. You hope that your beloved pet might die peacefully in their sleep, but to do this is nothing short of horrific. I stayed with Sasha throughout the whole thing, stroke her head, looked into her eyes, talked to her and it might sound silly, but I think I actually saw the moment when she went, her spirit/soul whatever you wish to call it. She was there and then she wasn't.

My house seems to empty now. I keep expecting her to come running out from somewhere, or to jump on my bed and curl up with me the way she used to, and Neo (the cat) seems a bit bewildered as to where his friend has gone.

I miss that little dog so much. She was always cheerful and happy and I could never really be angry at her because she was so funny.

Cherish your animals, love them, be good to them.

R.I.P. Sasha Brain - 1998 - 2009