I realised I had forgotten her face. At sixteen and a half years of age, her face had been transformed by time and her growing frailties. Spots faded, eyes clouded, her infirmity had become our preoccupation. A picture of her sleeping in my chair tears at me. Her fading greyed spots where once had been a clarity.

Gone almost a month now, I try to remember her youth and not her ageing. She had no known pedigree to speak of and yet, in her prime, she was in her every inch a beautiful creature. In markings and in form more perfect than her sister Flash perhaps, in her nature as true and faithful a companion as you could hope for. In her youth, before her muzzle was touched by grey, before her eyes clouded and hips weakened, her striking markings, boundless energy and her posture spoke of an unbounded, uncomplicated joy at being in the world.

KiKi and Django paddle in the pools as Leica’s ashes drift down and out to sea, each utterly absorbed in their surroundings as Leica and Flash had so often been there, in the flowing river.