Anybody who watches my X feed will see that I gave Milo an arbitrary birthday date as I genuinely don’t know what it is.

I don’t know how old he is, I don’t know his full history.

I know that an obese man with a beard who may have done a menial job hurt him very badly.

I know that Warrington Animal Welfare are fucking liars.

And that’s it.

None of that really matters though, not really.

But today is a Sunday and it’s the 3rd of August.

And that’s the day that I adopted him in 2019.

I wasn’t alone that day, a friend came to see my aunt and uncle in Richmond, Yorkshire that day and it hadn’t been that long since their nightmare ended.

I’d spent a couple of years on that saga and the same friend was instrumental in helping with so many things.

That story (once afuckingain) is here.

In the end

I’ll explain later why this is relevant.

And while I was in the car, I got the call from Warrington asking me to pick Milo up that day, so a relaxed journey became more.

It was a shock as I’d only been to see him the day before, although a home visit the same day should have been a clue.

And so, many hours, loads of money at Pets at Home and a lot of driving, I adopted the little bugger.

That was a trigger for so many things and one of my biggest regrets is that I lost my friend and haven’t seen her since the end of 2019.

Still,

Having Milo made me understand what I actually cared about and, in truth, it was mostly him.

I didn’t give a shit – and still don’t about most people and I’ll choose him every single time over anybody left in my world.

He’s had some very painful operations – both his back knees were operated on, giving him a healthy hatred of the vet.

And when his friend from next door accidentally kicked him six feet into the air, I thought I’d lost him.

This was during Covid and I think that the vet who originally told me that I couldn’t carry my little buddy to the emergency table saw something in my eyes that he’d rarely seen.

Anyway.

A few hours later, the tough little fucker only had a cracked rib and it didn’t slow him down at all.

We’ve been everywhere in the UK together, he’s seen people come and go and he’s now had a very violent ‘sister’ for over three years.

Life isn’t perfect but, quite frankly, it’s as good as it gets.

I still have a social life that doesn’t include home, I’ve given up work for now, I’m vice-chair of the council, a trustee for the RAF and have been asked to be a school governor.

And this week, the investigative part of me kicked back in.

Twice.

I’ll anonymise this, but a planning application came in to the council, it was unusual so I did a little digging.

Fast forward two days and I’ve written letters to the head of the council asking for details of any contracts, to the CQC asking for an investigation and to HMRC to check that the non-UK national who owns the country pays any tax.

And then today, a field opposite suddenly had caravans and vans.

Nobody knows the actual details of who owns it, a few emails were sent to the council and – because it’s opposite my land, I wandered past.

While I was walking the dogs. I alerted a couple of the local landowners and I used all of the experience that I gained with my uncle, found the owner on facebook, then their home address etc. etc. and messaged them.

Panic over.

They were in their own field for the first time in 16 months.

This is the actual conversation with one of the landowners-

A strange Sunday but it looks like this right now.

Milo is asleep next to me.

My constant companion for six years.

Six years to the day.

With every day, even the bad ones, making me thankful for an arbitrary decision to adopt a dog, my little friend, smart and tough, funny and sometimes strange.

2193 days.