Gwynie (Gwyneth Bryn) was that one best, very special dog who will live forever in my loving memory. We got her at ten weeks, and bought her a little furry ‘baby’ which she kept and protected for years. She walked immediately on the leash, greeting everyone she met with a wagging tail and big brown eyes. ‘What a happy puppy’, people said.

She grew into a loyal adult companion, but never lost her puppyness. She always made me laugh! We played with toys and balls, and we walked. Oh, did we walk! Seven days a week, fifty-two weeks a year, rain or shine or snow, miles and miles in every direction. She was always by my side; if I looked down at her, she was always looking up at me.

When my wife said, “Give Daddy kisses’, I got lots of friendly licking on face and neck.  When I said ‘Bedtime’, she led the way to the bedroom. When I said ‘Gwynie come’, she came to my side. She never had training; she just knew and wanted to please.

The lifespan of dogs, especially golden retrievers, is too short. Gwynie died of old age and kidney failure. She was twelve.