Jess

Jess was a proper good girl. Staffy-cross, short legs, big chest, tongue always hangin’ out like she’d run a marathon, even when she hadn’t moved. Got her from a mate’s cousin who couldn’t keep her anymore. Said she was “too much.” Their loss, really. She fit right into my place. Took about three days to claim the sofa, and about a week to steal my heart. She weren’t posh. Snored like a chainsaw. Drooled on everything. But she was loyal. Wouldn’t leave my side. If I went to the loo, she waited at the door. If I had a rough day at work, she’d climb on my lap—even when she got too big for that sort of thing. She loved bacon, car rides and footy matches on the telly. Hated the hoover. Absolutely hated it. When she got sick, I did everything I could. Vets. Tests. Special food. But she faded fast. Last walk we took, she stopped halfway up the hill and just looked at me like, “That’s enough now.” We sat on a bench. She leaned against me the whole time. She passed the next morning. I still keep her collar hanging by the door. Still talk to her sometimes. Silly, I know. Miss you, Jess. Best dog I ever had.