My wife and I breed dogs. We’re not running a puppy farm and we’re not breeding pedigrees, and believe me, we don’t make much money from it – people won’t pay much for mongrels. We don’t do it for the money. Let me say that right here and now. We have a pack of small dogs (a pomchi, a couple of shih-tzus and a couple of grown-up pups from a liaison between the pomchi and the shih-tzu), and the first time it happened, our pomchi Tinkerbell was a fantastic mum. She knew exactly what to do. It was a completely natural thing for her. And we handled the pups a lot. They became used to people and to other dogs, and when it was time for them to leave us for their forever home, we were sad. We’re some way down the line now, a few pregnancies from different mums, but always, until the pups leave us, they are like part of the family. Play-fighting, getting into mischief, biting our toes. They are awesome, and it’s a real eye-opener to see how some dogs make fantastic mums. Our dogs are “retired” after no more than three pregnancies, they’re neutered, but they still enjoy fussing around other pups.

It’s been a great journey, but it’s not without its heartbreak. So if you’re easily upset, you might not want to read on.

Our first heartbreak came after Tinkerbell was pregnant for the second time. We’d just taken in a rescue chihuahua which was infested with fleas and terrified of people. We named her Callie. We’d had her for two weeks when my wife’s daughter discovered Tinkerbell crying in the puppy crate. Two of her three pups were dead. The other appeared injured. It transpired that Callie had shaken two of the pups to death (we found the bite marks). But the third pup managed to survive after some care from the vet. Needless to say, we rehomed Callie, and we made sure to inform the new owner as to the reason why we had to pass her on. The heart-rending sight of Tinkerbell crying over the dead pups still affects us even now. She followed me as I took them into my office and found a small box to place them in. She wouldn’t leave me alone. We had to literally carry her out of the office. We buried the two pups in our garden, beneath a plant called Senecio candicans, also known as Angel Wings. The surviving pup we kept, and we named her Angel (a sharp contrast with her black coat). She’s actually not an Angel! She still poops in the house. But she loves us so much.

Our second heartbreak came just today. Angel had her first litter of pups five weeks ago. Six in total. Four black ones and two light-coloured stripy ones. One of the boys, a black pup, seemed to have a misshapen head, and was developing slowly, but he appeared to thrive after a week or so. But then, a week ago he seemed distressed, crying out. It was 10pm, my wife was in hospital, and I genuinely believed he was going to die. I lay awake all night on the bed, holding him and stroking him, because I didn’t want him to die alone. He fell asleep after a few hours, and then he rallied in the morning, and started licking my face, and I told my wife that we would keep him (I’m a sucker for a sob story). I got him to feed with his brothers and sisters, and he even came into my office and played with Granddad Chewie (our oldest shih-tzu, Chewbacca). I thought he was probably a bit mentally retarded, but I’d done some research and such pups can lead a pleasant and happy life, with the proper care. We named him Colt.

But then this morning, 8.30am, he became distressed. My wife was fussing him and she called me out of the office. He was crying out, he sounded scared, and he seemed to have a temperature. Then he had a seizure. We’ve dealt with fitting dogs before (occasionally it’s down to a temperate, sometimes it’s brought on by stress – a long car journey, a change in the home environment). But unfortunately, Colt’s condition was far worse. He had a second seizure a few minutes after the first, by which time the vets had opened. We booked him in for an emergency appointment, but even as we were getting ready to take him, he endured two more seizures. My wife and her daughter took Colt to the vets. I kissed him and hugged him before they left. I didn’t want to let him go. I knew what was coming. My wife phoned me a few minutes later to give me the bad news. The vet recommended that Colt be put down. A congenital condition, his misshapen skull. Whatever the reason, I was in bits. They brought Colt home, wrapped up in the blanket they’d taken him in. I unwrapped it and looked down at him. He had a bandage on his little front leg where they’d inserted the cannula. He was still warm, his eyes slightly open. He was at peace. I cried like a child. I found a cardboard box for him, and we placed him inside with part of the blanket with him mum’s scent on. We buried Colt in the garden, alongside his aunt and uncle – Angel’s brother and sister.

It was a sad day. The saddest.

My wife and I love dogs, we love watching puppies grow up, and we’ve always made sure that they’re going to a good home. We don’t breed dogs for the money – we recently rescued a Labrador pup from a puppy farm (she was infested with ear mites and worms – lots of worms) – we do it because we enjoy bringing new dogs into the world. Dogs can give us so much happiness, but sometimes there will be unbearable heartache. I’d like to thank you for taking the time to read this sad tale, and if you’re a dog-lover as well, give me a shout-out. And feel free to tell me happy, or sad, tales about your four-legged friend.