When they crossed the road I crossed with them. The boy tried to shoo me away, but I ignored him. And all the while the terrier was looking back at me, often having to be dragged along. Only when they started up the hill did I recognise exactly where I was. Only then did I know for sure where they were going, and where I was going too. I didn’t need them as pathfinders any more. I knew my own way. I raced past them, through the wide gates at the top of the road, and out into the park, the place Patrick always took me to play. The place I loved best in the whole world. I knew every path, every waste bin, every bench. There were children everywhere, dogs everywhere, and there at the top of the hill ahead of me was the bench I remembered, our bench, Patrick’s bench, my bench. There was someone up there, but I was still too far away to see who it was. I galloped up that hill, faster, faster with every stride.

Only now I wasn’t alone. I had another dog with me, running along beside me, silver-grey and shining. And he was fast, as fast as I was. Neck and neck we raced one another up towards the bench. And there was Patrick waiting for me, just as he always had been.

“You’ve found a friend then?” he said. Patrick was bigger than I remembered him, broader, taller, and his voice had changed. But it was Patrick all right. I leaned myself up against him, and felt his hand on my head, smoothing my ears gently. “A friendly friend too,” he went on. “I had a greyhound a bit like you once. You’re fawn though. He was gold, gold as the sun. He wasn’t as big as you are, and you’re a bit white round the muzzle too. And he was fast, really fast, a lot faster than you.” He turned his attention to the silver-grey dog who’d jumped up and was on two legs now, his paws on Patrick’s chest. “He was faster than you too, you big softie,” he said, shrugging him off. “Go on, now you’ve found someone your own size, go and play with him. Off you go. Go on boy! Go, go, go!”

They were the words I was waiting for. Off I went, off we went together, the silver-grey dog and me, racing round and round the top of the hill. I was loving it and hating it all at the same time. Patrick didn’t recognise me as I recognised him. But I was not forgotten, he had remembered me. I ran up to him and bounded about him, barking at him, trying to make him know me. But it was the other dog he knew, the other dog he loved, not me.

He threw sticks for us, and time and again I dropped them at his feet and sat down to wait for him to throw them again, just as I’d always done. Still he did not know me.