As a vet, I’ve spent most of my life in the company of animals, but the two most influential pets are probably the first two that I encountered: my childhood companions.

Honey was a ginger kitten who was given to me by my parents as my seventh birthday present. I had already decided by then that I wanted to be a vet, so with hindsight, I can now see that this was a strategy by my parents to test my interest in animals. I called him Honey because he was a fawn-type of ginger cat, which to my young eyes seemed honey-coloured. I had been told that she was a female, and only discovered that she was a “he” when we took him to the vet to be spayed at six months of age. It was too late to change his name, so he remained as a neutered male cat with a feminine name till the end of his days.

I adored Honey: he was a big, cuddly cat who like spending time being near me. My clearest memories of him are when I was feeling emotionally upset as a teenager, and I felt that the world was against me. Honey would sit on the foot of my bed and purr loudly, gazing at me. I had a strong sense that bad as things were, at least Honey would always be on my side. He lived to the age of sixteen: I was a newly qualified twenty two year old vet when I had to say goodbye to him.

Sheba, a female Golden Retriever, was my second pet. She arrived around the same time as Honey as an adorable eight week old puppy. She grew into a small adult dog, more collie-sized than the usual large Golden Retriever. She became my constant childhood companion when I was outdoors at home. She would come for regular walks and runs with me in the local area. She loved chasing rabbits: I remember her running through local barley fields, following rabbit scents. She had an odd kangaroo-like technique of running a few steps then leaping up in the air to see where she was in the field. She always look so joyful on these occasions: for a teenager who was prone to being over-serious, she brought lightness and a love of being alive into my daily life.

Sheba and Honey were close companions: they spent time curled up together in Sheba’s bed, and Sheba had an odd but adorable habit of washing Honey. She used to put her right paw on top of Honey’s shoulders, holding him still while she licked him thoroughly around his head and shoulders. Honey was prone to picking up rabbit fleas, which tend to cluster on the skin around the ears. Looking back, I wonder if Sheba was picking these off, as tiny delicate treats to savour. Or did she just enjoy the close contact with her feline friend. Honey certainly didn’t mind. He used to come up to Sheba and crouch down, waiting for her paw to descend on him.

Sheba lived to the age of fifteen. Again, the farewell was tough, but I knew that by then, she was tired and very old, and she was ready to go.

My childhood pets loved me, then they left me. They taught me a lot, and I will never forget them.

You can learn more about Pete here.