My son Elliot, 6 at the time, didn’t really stand a chance – as he rolled about on the grass, a fluffy bundle of black fur smothered his face in slobbery kisses.
Mitzy, our gorgeous Patterdale terrier, and Elliot were joined at the hip.
‘Here comes double trouble,’ me and my partner Gary, 34, would joke.
Then one day in 2011, I let Mitzy, then 6, out into the garden. By then, we’d had her for six years.
She’d spend hours in the garden, exploring.
But when I went to call her in a bit later, she was gone.
‘Mitzy!’ I shouted, expecting to hear a rustle in the bushes.
Nothing.
‘She must’ve got out through a gap in the fence,’ I fretted to Gary.
‘She can’t have gone far,’…
