On Friday, 20th June 2014, I walked into an animal rescue shelter and... Well, the rest is a bit of a blur, really. I know I met several dogs that day. Ziggy, Dustin, Roughy, and Pamela, to name but a few. Sadly, none of them were suitable for my one-bedroom maisonette with no enclosed garden. So I sat at the dog rehoming desk, contemplating going back to my original plan to get a cat.

Yes, it can be difficult to adopt from a rescue shelter as they tend to ask lots of questions. However, this is for good reason, and they always have the animal's best interests at heart. They need to know the dog is right for you, and also that you're right for the dog.

Then something else happened.

Another member of staff appeared, pulled up a chair, and sat down next to her colleague at the desk. My attention was immediately diverted to this interloper because the young lady was in her early thirties and rather pretty. And I'm not ashamed to admit that as a heterosexual male (40), this woman now had my undivided attention. She also seemed to have a solution to my problem.

The lady named Rachael was fostering a dog named Lulu. Apparently, this 10-month-old Staffordshire Bull Terrier X Akita would be fine with no enclosed garden. "What the hell's an Akita?" I thought to myself. "Who cares, it's a dog, right?"

I had several reservations about Lulu. Not least the separation anxiety and the whole "barking at other dogs" thing. Although Rachael assured me she didn't do the latter anymore.

On reflection, maybe I didn't ask enough questions. And twelve years on, I'd be going into this with a whole bunch of questions. As well as "What the hell's an Akita?" I'd be spending days researching both breeds and not just taking everything Rachael told me at face value. On the surface, people can appear to be kind, affable, genuine, and have your best interests at heart... but somewhere down the line, there's often a plot twist that blows everything out of the water.

There's obviously a lot more I could write about those early days, but this blog is merely a reflection on the past twelve years. For a more detailed account of my life with Luna and what became of our friendship with her foster carer, you're going to have to read my book. Available to pre-order from doglog.co.uk on 30th June 2026.

I could sit and stare into the middle distance for days, but I would still never find the word to describe the past 12 years. Luna didn't just tiptoe into my life; she burst in and turned my world upside down. So much so that I now feel like a completely different person. Although grief can also have that effect on you. But that's another story.

In twelve years, we've gone through one global pandemic, four house moves, and several trips to an emergency vet. Luna's survived one night in intensive care with bronchial pneumonia, running into barbed wire, and a rescue mission on the Blythburgh marshes after giving chase to a muntjac.

Dog walks can also be insanely expensive. Especially when your dog needs an operation as a result of going on one at the wrong time. Although I did also have to fork out almost £400 after losing both my house and car keys on one fateful walk.

So there's not one defining moment that piqued my anxiety; there are literally dozens.

It goes without saying that there have also been a lot of good days. Luna has quite the sense of humour, a real, loving nature, and the way she interacts with [most] dogs is a joy to behold.

Obviously, as she'll be turning 13 in a couple of months, I'm aware that our days are numbered. So I try to live more in the moment and enjoy my life with her. I mean, I could raise a glass and say, "Here's to the next 12 years!" but Luna's not going to live until she's 25 years old.

Is she?