Every dog owner has one story. The one that begins as a lovely walk and somehow ends with you questioning every decision you’ve ever made.

This is ours.

It started on the beach.

I was out with one of our dogs – the little one. I walk our two dogs separately so they each get some one-to-one attention, training and, in theory, my complete supervision.

It was one of those perfect mornings. The sea was calm, the sun was out and the beach was beginning to fill up with dog walkers, joggers and families. Meanwhile, my little white dog was charging around off lead as though we’d personally hired the entire coastline for his entertainment.

I was happily wandering along, enjoying the fresh air, when I realised I couldn’t see him.

Now, every dog owner knows there’s a process.

You don’t panic immediately.

First, you convince yourself your dog is just behind a sand dune investigating something unpleasant. Then you call their name in a calm, confident voice because, obviously, they’re only seconds away from reappearing.

“Dog!”

Nothing.

I whistled.

Still nothing.

I walked a little further, fully expecting dog to come bounding towards me with that look dogs have which somehow suggests you’ve been the one wasting everyone’s time.

Nothing.

By now I’d covered considerably more beach than I’d intended. If I’d gone much further, I’d have needed a packed lunch and directions back.

Eventually I stopped a man walking towards me.

“Excuse me,” I asked. “Have you seen a little white curly-haired dog?”

He stopped to think.

“No…”

Not the answer I was hoping for.

“…but mine disappeared once for three hours.”

“Oh dear,” I replied.

“Yes,” he nodded. “He vanished into the countryside, came back covered in mud and then slept for two days.”

I wasn’t entirely sure how this information was helping, but he seemed keen to share it.

“Which direction were you heading?” he asked.

I looked at the stretch of beach behind me that I’d just marched along and decided to keep any sarcasm well and truly in a box.

“That way,” I replied, pointing vaguely into the distance in front of me.

“I hope you find him” he says.

I thanked the man and continued on.

By now it was becoming increasingly obvious that my search lacked both organisation and success.

So I rang my husband.

“I can’t find the dog.”

There was a brief silence.

I asked my husband to keep an eye out at home. Not because I genuinely believed the dog would simply wander back on his own, but because I was rapidly exhausting my list of sensible ideas.

The leisurely beach walk had officially become an endurance event.

Then my phone rang.

“He’s here,” my husband said. “I was just about to get in the car to come looking for you when I spotted him trotting up the path to the front gate.”

I stopped walking.

He’d gone home.

On his own.

Relief washed over me.

When I eventually got back, there was dog waiting at the front door, tail wagging furiously and looking absolutely delighted to see me… as though I’d been the one who’d wandered off.

Then I noticed what he’d brought with him.

A dead bird.

Apparently he’d found the greatest prize the beach had to offer, decided his morning was complete and simply made his own way home.

No note.

No explanation.

No concern whatsoever that I’d spent the best part of an hour marching up and down the coastline asking complete strangers if they’d seen him.

His expression said everything.

“Oh… there you are.”

Dogs have a remarkable talent.

They disappear without warning, create complete chaos and somehow make you feel as though you’re the disorganised one.

Did I tell him off?

Of course not.

He got a fuss, a cuddle and probably far more forgiveness than he deserved.

As for me, I announced he would never be allowed off the lead again.

It’s amazing how convincing you sound when you make these declarations especially when both of you know you’ll probably be having exactly the same argument with yourself on the next beach walk.