Just over two years ago, after a very chequered past involving two previous families and two protracted stays in the kennels of German Shepherd Rescue Scotland in Midlothian, five year old Cougar came to live with us.

I am, and will remain, convinced that, on the day we (me, Sylvie and our youngest son Robbie) collected him, he KNEW he was finally coming to his "forever" home: after an hour's car journey spent licking every face within reach, he strolled into our house, took a quick look around, took a long slobbery drink from his new shiny bowl in the kitchen, lay down in his new shiny basket by the fire in the lounge, gave a huge sigh and proceeded to solemnly inspect each of us in turn. When our eldest son Joe and his wife Jenny arrived to see the new boy, he greeted them as if he'd known and loved them all his life - as he did with everybody he ever met.

Just over a month ago, he was diagnosed with an insulinoma - an insulin-producing tumour on the pancreas - which caused his blood sugar level to drop to the extent that normal neurological, metabolic and physiological function was seriously compromised without intervention. After initial treatment, and blood sugar stabilisation, at the wonderful Small Animal Hospital in Glasgow, he came back home. He was on steroids and a four-hourly feeding regime (he and I slept together on an airbed in the lounge) to get his strength back up to the level required for surgery to excise the tumour.

Surgery was carried out at the SAH on Tuesday and the tumour (fortunately small and with no sign of having spread) was successfully excised. His blood sugar levels stabilised and everything was tickety-boo, with discharge anticipated on this Friday just past. To cut a long story short, that was when things started to go wrong: pancreatitis, laryngeal paralysis, an auto-immune disorder which caused awful ulcers on his tongue, and nerve damage which disrupted communications between his brain and legs. Individually, each of these could be treated with a reasonable probability of success but, collectively, he was faced with a long and hard mountain to climb with virtually no prospect of subsequently having what either we, or he, would regard as an acceptable quality of life.

The decision was made and, with a little help, and with his Mum and Dad by his side, he slipped quietly away just before lunch yesterday.

There were tears, and doubtless there will be the odd occasion in the future when a sudden memory triggers a few more, but I've had my catharsis (I went up to Kippen Muir at sunset yesterday evening and shouted profanities at the sky for half an hour or so - and felt very much better for it!) and life goes on.

My closest friends (you know who you are), and the wonderful volunteers at GSRS, have been kept in touch from the beginning and have been unbelievably supportive throughout. Thanks, guys - it means more to me than I could put into words. To Eilidh Gunn, the Vet at the SAH who looked after him, kept us fully in touch and advised on a regular basis, and was there at the end: you're an absolute star!