Today began like any other walk: grey, damp, and full of the usual chaos. Alice, however, immediately made it clear that today was different.  She didn’t want to go out. She barely moved when I clipped her lead on. She sniffed at the puddles with polite disdain. She rolled over in the mud—slightly—then promptly ignored it. She was… off.

Alice is 19 years old. Nineteen. I rescued her 18 years ago, a scruffy little black dog who looked like Tramp from Lady and the Tramp …. Or Master Splinter. I had been planning a holiday that year, my first abroad since I was young. My previous dog had just died, and I thought some time away might be restorative. I was looking for a cattery for my cat, Mini Cooper, when I walked into a rescue and saw her.

She was dancing along, scruffy, joyful, and completely unaware of the grim news that awaited her. I said, “Oh, she’s cute,” and the staff explained the truth, Alice was on her way to be put to sleep!   She had been at the shelter for two weeks, too long for them to hold her, too many dogs coming in for them to manage. The kennel had already tried to rehome as many as possible, but Alice had been there as long as they had to legally wait, and now they needed space for the troops of dogs that came through the door, lost, unwanted, unloved….

I didn’t go on holiday that year. I brought Alice home instead.

The vet told me she was anywhere from nine months to four years old at the time. Looking back now, 18 years later, I’m thinking closer to nine months—because somehow, this tiny bundle of scruff, energy, and determination has survived for almost two decades, teaching me patience, love, and the absolute chaos of living with a dog who refuses to age gracefully.

Back on the walk today, as Alice lingered at the gate, not eager, not playful, I felt the weight of her years. I knew her pace would be slower, her energy more measured. But there she was, still willing to go out with me, still following me along the damp path, still part of the daily madness.

Nicolas barked at nothing. Shiva remained dignified. The client dogs pulled, tugged, and leapt. And Alice… she ambled along, calm, patient, and just a little tired, like a queen surveying her chaotic kingdom.

Diary note: Alice is old, yes. But she is still here. She is still mine. And somehow, after all these years, she keeps showing up.