Coming home.

If you head into the market town of Salisbury on the A36, you will pass over Skew Bridge. It lies at the edge of the Bemerton Heath Estate - of the council and, at that time, distinctly iffy variety - and the railway which it crosses marks the boundary between the tawdry and the twee.

After some commotion (blaring horns and frantic waving) it was here that the van drew to a halt. The side door slid open, and two strangers got in, one male one female; the male was preceded by a golden coloured creature of a similar size to my mother. Within seconds I found myself being raised high in the air, passed back into a pair of waiting hands.

Still in the air the girl stared at me, and I stared back. A grubby face. A black and white headscarf. Ragged, but colourful clothes. Metal rings through ears and nose. Young, so young. Not much older than me, if you ignore the strictures of time as it affects our different species. 17 years for a human isn't a million miles away from 6 weeks and one day for a canine, after all. Just taking our first steps in the world. Feeling our way blind, with so many mistakes ahead and yet to be made. And the eyes...

As I stared into those blue eyes, they melted. Fear, loneliness, disappointment, hurt, anger. They all gave way to the softness of a child who has finally found someone who it may actually be safe to trust.

At that moment, girl and pup learnt what was to be one of their most important lessons. That even when you have nothing -no roof, no heat, no food, no single place to call your own - home is with the one that you love.