We had only been in Scotland for two days when Uriah let out the scream of death. He was playing in the garden, and I knew as soon as I looked at him that he had broken his leg. I also instinctively knew that it was cancer, which the vets soon confirmed. But I couldn’t let him go, not yet. I thought at best he might
have a good summer, but I really felt that he wouldn’t be around much longer…

We all prayed for more time, particularly Lana – they are inseparable.

Yet, unbelievably, seventeen months after having his leg amputated, Uriah is still here, going strong. He is an absolute gentleman, and every second with him is precious.