It was love at first sight.

When Henry bent to stroke the excitable pup, she jumped, licked, squeaked, and rolled onto her back. With her shiny black coat and clear white markings on her chest and ears, she was irresistible.

The girl from the shelter said, “She came in two days ago. The farmer from over Wolston way said he found her worrying sheep. She’s lucky she wasn’t shot.”

I’d been toying with the idea of a dog for a while, trying to decide if it was a good idea or not. Watching Henry's reaction to the adorable pup was the only confirmation I needed.

I was glad we had come to the shelter.

I asked, “So you have no idea where she came from?”

The girl shook her head. “No collar. The only thing I can tell you is that she’s been well cared for. We guess she’s around five months old. And she looks like she's a collie...and some other breed.

"We wait one week to give an owner the chance to turn up. If they don't show, we can then begin the adoption process."

Henry blurted out, “I'm nearly five, and I'm a big boy now, Mummy! Look, she loves me. Can she be our pet... please?”

My heart melted. My boy rarely demonstrated such an outpouring of delight and affection—for anything.

I smiled. “Well, if nobody comes to claim her, I don’t see why not.”

He leapt to his feet and gave a loud "yippee!" then ran up and down the shelter aisle. The pup ran with him, nipping at his sleeve.

The following week dragged by. If Henry asked once, he asked a thousand times a day, “When is she coming Mummy? Can I call her Biddy, like the naughty dog in my storybook?”

It was difficult to make him understand why we had to wait.

Finally, seven days had passed, and I made the call.

I held my breath when the receptionist said she'd check on the status of the collie pup. “Yes! We still have her."

Now it was my turn to yell "yippee" and run up and down the hallway.

As Biddy settled into our home, the change in Henry was dramatic.

He'd recently been diagnosed with autism, though I'd known it in my gut for a long time.

He lived in his own little world. He had a hard time communicating his thoughts and feelings. He found new situations to be a real challenge.

I didn't know if Biddy also sensed his condition, but it was clear they were a match made in heaven.

Henry became part of Biddy's daily routine. He would feed her, walk her, and even brush her.

I couldn't get over how much his attention span had improved.

But then our happy bubble burst quickly and completely one Tuesday morning when the shelter manager called me. What she said left me shocked.

I heard the first sentence clearly, but then the words became jumbled. I couldn't really hear or understand what she was saying any more. My head spun and my chest ached.

I wrote down the number the manager gave me. Then sat at the kitchen table and cried like I hadn’t cried for years.

Biddy ran to my side and whined. I bent down, and she nuzzled my neck. It was comforting. She even licked the tears off my cheeks.

I was grateful Henry was at pre-school.

A man who said he was Biddy's real owner had shown up at the shelter. He said he had been in the hospital in a coma, unconscious because he had been injured so badly.

That's why he hadn't come to get Biddy.

I was shocked. All I could think was Really?!

It felt like I was living a nightmare. What would I tell Henry?

I stared at the man's name and phone number forever. Finally, I  made the call.