My little black dog Buddy is a complex little thing. He was a rescue we got from the SPCA to befriend our firstborn, Roxy. I’m not too sure what Buddy’s story was before we got him, but I don’t think it was very nice.

He is a nervous little fella. He has a crooked little front leg, he isn’t a fan of cars (he loves going for a walk in the park, but isn’t too keen on the drive there) and doesn’t enjoy strangers – dogs or people. He can be skittish at times – especially when there’s thunder, loud noises or crowds – so describing him as complex is not that far fetched.

He’s quite specific about his comfort zones – sucking his blanket is a definite winner and I have to say he loves a cuddle. Every night, after dinner, he finds a volunteer’s arms and before long he is completely dead to the world, with his mouth falling open a bit, revealing his vulnerable side.

That is my absolute favourite – I can actually kiss him to death. Why and how it is that he – out of all the thousands – made it into our home, I can’t explain, but what I do know, is that our home is a better place with him in it.

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