Ben came to us one cold February morning. We bought him as a guard dog for our business premises. However, it seems that Ben had different ideas....

He was 12 weeks old, all ears and feet. A beautiful black coat with tan markings, a collar of light fur around his throat and shoulders. He was the quietest of the litter, so he was the only one who hadn't already been sold. We paid our money and carried him out to the car. He was so scared, and when we got him home, he shot behind the nearest chair. Soon, however, he came to me, and to my son, but decided that he didn't want anything to do with my husband. This didn't go down too well, and he was heard to say that if the dog didn't change, he'd have to go back! We solved this by keeping a bag of doggy chocolate drops by the front door. My husband gave him one every time he came in, and Ben soon realised that it wasn't a bad thing to keep on his good side! However, he made up his mind that he was MY dog, and while he loved the rest of the family, I was the one.

On his first night with us, we tucked him up in a basket in the kitchen and went to bed. He was quiet all night. THE NEXT NIGHT, he started the most almighty racket, crying and whimpering, until we could stand it no more. We moved his blanket into our bedroom, but he still wouldn't settle. So we put him onto the end of the bed, and off he went to sleep.......

This went on for a couple of weeks, until we woke up one morning to find him in the middle of the bed - and enough was enough. He was moved outside the bedroom door, and eventually settled down. That was his place for the next 13 years.

For the first month or so, we didn't hear him bark, and we were a bit concerned - no need, because one morning, at about 5 a.m., he heard the milkman, and let out the loudest bark for such a small puppy. We were to hear that bark so often in the next 13 years. I realised that when he barked so madly at visitors, who were often nervous of him, it was because HE was afraid of THEM, but no one seemed to believe this!

He learned quickly, and we smiled at the things he'd do. He soon began to recognise vans delivering to our business across from our house, and he'd come to me and wait whilst I got out the chequebook. Taking it in his mouth, he'd trot across to my husband and wait impatiently till the cheque was torn out of the book, and the book given back to him. Then he'd trot proudly back to me, job done. When it was lunchtime, I would give him a card with "LUNCH" written on it, and he would go over and wouldn't move until my husband looked at the card. When I went shopping, I always had to give him something to carry home. He'd struggle bravely with the heaviest load, holding his head high so that the bag didn't touch the floor.

When he was about 4 years old, we bought an old house, and started to renovate it. One day, Ben was exploring upstairs. I decided to go home, and called to him. He glanced at the stairs, and saw that he couldn't get down, because they were blocked by a stepladder. In a flash, thinking that I was leaving him, he ran across the bedroom to the window, which had no glass in it, and launched himself into space. I ran outside, sure that he must be dead or seriously injured, and couldn't believe my eyes when he met me at the door. He was shaking, and had a graze on his nose, but apart from that, he was unharmed!

At 6 years old, he sat (very unwillingly) while I took photos of him. I entered one of them (the one on the first page) into a competition run by Winalot, the dog biscuit manufacturers, accompanied by a very corny slogan "There's lots more wag in a Winalot bag". I was thrilled to hear that we'd won a prize - Ben's portrait with a brass plaque proclaiming "Winalot Dog of the Year". This still has pride of place in my room, it's the absolute image of him, and his eyes seem to follow me.