In memory of my dad.

For those who have been wondering why I've been so quiet here over the past few months, this is why. It didn't feel right to simply reappear without acknowledging where I've been.

On 12th March, our family suffered the sudden and unimaginable loss of my dad at just 63 years old.

My dad was one of the most talented, hard-working and compassionate people I've ever known. He had an incredible ability to teach himself almost anything and somehow become an expert at it. Whether it was guitar, art, carpentry, cooking, interior design, pumpkin carving, or countless other skills, he approached everything with curiosity and creativity.

He also had a huge love for animals. They seemed to love him just as much, instinctively drawn to the same kindness that everyone who knew him recognised. It was simply in his nature to care for every living thing. He regularly invited wildlife into his conservatory (much to my disapproval), and we had an ongoing disagreement about whether Bruce would eventually catch the squirrel and seagulls he had befriended—or worse, the fox, who definitely wasn't supposed to be making itself at home.

The thing about sudden loss is that it takes an incredibly long time for your brain to accept that someone is no longer there. I still catch myself getting into the car after a consultation and instinctively reaching for my phone to send him a picture of the dog I've been working with. Or I'll pick up my phone between appointments, my finger already moving to call him before I remember that I can't. Those moments last only seconds, but they happen again and again, each one a quiet reminder that my mind is still adjusting to a reality I do not want to accept.

Grief is a strange thing. Although I'm doing much better than I was in those first weeks, it still arrives without warning. It finds you in the most ordinary moments and catches you completely off guard. I'm learning that this is simply the price of loving someone.

I needed to step away, to be with my family, and to give myself the time and space to grieve. To everyone who has checked in, waited patiently, recommended me, or continued to support my business during this time, thank you. It has meant more than I could ever put into words.

I'm not "back to normal", and I don't think life ever returns to what it was before. But I am ready to slowly find my way back to doing what I love: helping people better understand their dogs and build kinder, more compassionate relationships with them.