A dog's life? Readers share their pet stories

Mary Adlington's dog, Murphy.

Murphy's lawless reign

I first saw Murphy on the day my dad died. Dad would have loved him. We decided at once that this bundle of black labrador was what we needed to cheer us up. We had always had rescue dogs, but Murphy was the first puppy we ever had. He became my fourth child and was not much bigger than my husband's shoe. From that time of sadness came years of joy.
Like all labradors he was driven by food and became adept at stealing it. At Christmas he stole the chocolate gifts hanging on the tree. He would nonchalantly slink past us with the tell-tale silver string hanging from his mouth, avoiding eye contact. When we had the builders in, he got into their van and stole their lunch, leaving the silver foil evidence on the lawn. When I stood at the door to say goodbye to friends after coffee, he would creep to the sugar bowl and then innocently come and stand next to me with a white, sugary nose.
But he had his uses as well. We walked him in the woods nearby and everyday he would bring home a log. As he grew stronger the logs became branches that would block the lane as we walked home. Even now, years after his death, we still have "Murphy's log pile". Mary Adlington

Our feline facilitators

Some of our pets have come and gone (chickens, fish, guinea pigs) but cats have been a constant since before our three children were born.
Trying to talk to my teenage son without the conversation sounding like a lecture or me getting cross at his apparent indifference, I found by accident that talking through our cats can break these barriers down.
So when something has gone wrong, the cat will sit with my son and me and ask the hard questions about how something has happened (clearly it's me doing the talking) and my son will reply lovingly to the cat. And if things are a little sad (dropped from the rugby team etc) our other cat, a tiny black kitten, will sit with us and facilitate the communication of feelings.
I know this sounds terribly twee and I should point out that my son is a normal 16 year old and I'm a normal (ish) father. I think it's the loving, non-threatening nature of a cat on your knee or squeezed up to one's chest, watching bright eyed and sometimes with a little purr as we speak, that allows a calm and often heartfelt conversation.
Anonymous

Falling for Bouncer

We didn't have children and just the two of us was fine by me. Then Andy said there were only so many dogs that he could own in his lifetime, so we went to see Bouncer and she came home with us. Within hours, she had tumbled down the stairs; explored the fishpond and escaped her puppy crate, spraying diarrhoea everywhere. I hated her. I coped by telling myself she was Andy's dog.
Then, two days after she arrived, Andy was admitted unexpectedly to hospital. Bouncer followed me devotedly, waddling unsteadily on her tiny puppy legs. That evening, I visited Andy, stinking of labrador wee and ragged with worry, leaving Bouncer shut in the kitchen. I berated my semi-conscious husband for his treachery.
On my return, Bouncer had gone. I searched the pond, hysterical, and finally ran wailing into the street, and into bedlam. Several neighbours had seen Bouncer run in front of a car: she had escaped by pushing through the catflap, the tape my DIY-hating husband had used to secure it flapping from her legs. A helpless puppy, looking as if she had had her legs bound with duct tape. It was no surprise that the Police and Animal Rescue were at the scene. One red face and a lengthy explanation later, I walked up the steps to the house with her wriggling in my arms, and knew then that she was my dog. Sarah Corbett

My guardian angel

Given that I have an allergy to cats, the sound of persistent mewing outside the back door one dark rainy evening, didn't fill me with delight.
On opening the door a small tabby kitten looked beguilingly up at me. What to do? I couldn't pick it up or I'd have started sneezing and wheezing within minutes. But neither could I leave it there. I had just split up with my partner and felt an affinity with this lost soul sitting outside on its own.
A novice at pets, I poured some milk into a saucer and placed it inside the door of the garden shed. The kitten trotted over, sniffed at the milk and settled inside for the night.
This pattern continued. In the difficult months when I had to get used to solitude, I came to rely on the kitten as a kind of independent companion who respected my space but kept me company, albeit at a distance.
After eight months I met a new partner and I think my little pet sensed this. One evening he didn't appear and I never saw him again, despite me keeping to my side of the bargain by providing food and drink.
I hope to this day that he went on to find another soul in need of company. He was my feline guardian angel for a short spell and I will never forget him. Anna Brown

The second life of Brian

My sister and I were thrilled when we bought our first flat. We cemented this rite of passage by obtaining kittens, brothers named Brian and Jerry.
Jerry was a nervous thing, who cowered under the bed when it thundered, while Brian was beautiful and fearless, with his affectionate nature, long tabby fur and appealing eyes. We loved them both.
Lindsey Sharp's kittens, Brian and Jerry. My sister married and bought the flat next door, and my brother moved in with me to help pay the mortgage but Brian and Jerry were still an important part of our family.
One morning, Brian went missing. We searched the streets but to no avail. Eventually, my brother came back, shaken, saying he had found Brian's body several streets away. Poor Brian had been hit by a car.
Distraught, we dug a hole in the garden while my brother retrieved the body. Still crying, we held a short ceremony and tried to contemplate life without Brian.
Just as we had filled in the hole, we turned round and saw ... Brian, sitting watching us. First with horror, and then with huge relief and happiness, we realised it wasn't Brian's ghost – we had buried someone else's cat. Lindsey Sharp

This hamster is for life

When I was 10 I bought a hamster. I loved him dearly, constantly worrying about his wellbeing. Once, my mum allowed my younger sister Suzie to play with him (something I'd never have sanctioned) Benjamin escaped through a hole in the floorboards. I arrived home to this crisis. It took three days, but we managed to coax him out using a trail of food.
Alan B Baker's illustration of his hamster, Benjamin. Every morning before school I'd warm some milk and mix it with his food. One freezing morning in 1963, Benjamin didn't appear for his breakfast. I gently put my hand into his nest and lifted out a cold, hard, dead hamster. I couldn't accept he had died and prayed to God that he would be alive when I got home from school. Three days of constantly checking passed before I could tell Mum. My voice was somehow locked in my throat and I was unable to speak. I was very, very frightened of my own emotion and also suffered from a bad stutter. Eventually all the pent-up grief poured out. I thought I'd never stop crying. It was my first experience of death.
A month later my dad died.
Years later, at art school I wrote and illustrated my first children's book. The inspiration came from Benjamin. It led to a successful series. The royalties enabled me to buy a second house. My sister Suzie now lives there. The image above is of Benjamin from one of my books inspired by him, titled Benjamin's Portrait. Alan B Baker

Our chubby chaffinch guests

I found Salty and Deano when I was checking for nests in a tree we had to remove on safety grounds in Saltdean, near Brighton. There were three chaffinch chicks in the nest, mouths open wanting grub. I took two home, my colleague took the other.
After a confab with Lucia and Cerys, my daughters, we named them and kept them in their original nest inside a cardboard box, feeding them meal worms and water through a pipette. Deano was a bit greedy and became a rotund fluffy fellow in no time. Salty was choosier with his food but was fattening up nicely.
Salty and Deano, the chaffinch chicks Carlos Daly rescued. After a week they were perching on the radio aerial and hopping around. Lucia and Cerys took them to school one day, which went down well.
Next was flight school! Salty and Deano were flying around the kitchen and wanted to test out the big bad world so I took them to work with me and they met up with their sibling Grumpy for some flight experience.
After five weeks they were looking like proper chaffinches and the time came to let them go. I took them up to a woodland near me and they flew off. If you are in Brigh