MY goodness, it is now over seven years since we had to put Scud, our wee rescue dog, to sleep.

I say 'we' because we were extremely privileged that it was genuinely, and exclusively, a family affair.

Scud was lying comfortably in front of the fire; her favourite place. She was held gently by my daughter, which she always loved, and my wife and son sat close by.

It didn't make it any easier but it was the right thing to do for her. She drifted peacefully away and we all tried to avoid eye contact.

Since then we have lost other important and much loved personalities. My father died, unexpectedly and suddenly, but after ninety years of a long, happy, permanently active life.

His brother, my dearest uncle passed away too. A dear friend succumbed to breast cancer after a long, very brave fight.

And it has dawned on me that there is a difference. Dogs tend to spend their entire lives with one person or family.

When they die, we generally try to replace them, although often with mixed results. I now proudly own three Labradors who, because I have the time and the inclination, are far better trained than Scud ever wasn’t!

But we don't do that with people. We don't search about for the next dad, hoping and praying that he will be as good as the last one.

We don't go through a process of obtaining a new parent, trying hard to train them to be as well-mannered, gentle and encouraging as their predecessor.

And so the grieving process for our dogs and our people is quite different.

I know I will never get over the death of my father but I don't really need to. And I don't really want to. He will forever be there in my head as the same person he always was. He will always be my dad. No one new will diminish or change him in my memory. I don't need to compare him with anyone else. And I never will.

Scud, however, like all dogs who are much loved and lost, posed a dilemma for me and my family. She was replaceable. Quite simply, we could go out and get another dog at any time and start afresh. We could try and find another of similar type, sex and breed or we could opt for a complete change (in Scud's case, anything with a touch of sanity would suffice).

And, after a while, of sorts, we did that. And they are so different from her that we really don’t make pointless comparisons.

And there's the rub. What if you don't think you can get another dog any bit as brilliant as the last? What if you feel like you are turning your back on years of memories if you bring home a new puppy?

What if you think you might just need to wait another week or month or year before you are ready? What if you make a mistake and get the wrong dog?

But then life is all 'what ifs?’ I think I prefer the ‘why nots?’