Sleep well, mate.

Wogan: 1999-2008.

My parents got Wogan when they retired ten years ago, bringing a tiny puppy back from the breeders, so small he could fit in the cup of my two hands. This tiny thing grew into 12-stones of gentle giant. I was there the day they brought him home, and from the first instant fell in love with the mutt, forming a bond that continued for me right up to today.

Over the years, Wogan never tired of loving his family. He was always excited to see us when we visited, wagging what was left of a close-docked tail so fast his entire rump shook - and he loved to give and receive affection, to the extent of trying to climb onto your lap if you gave him half a chance!

He was the gentlest animal I ever saw, looking after 8-week-old kittens, washing them and carrying them gingerly back to their basket whenever they ventured too far.

He's the only dog I've ever known who seemed to laugh when you fussed him or played with him - whether that was tickling his enormous tummy as he lay sprawled in the living room, or playing with his nemesis the garden hose. This 'humph-humph' sound would come out as he wriggled around, tongue lolling from his chops, every inch at peace with the world. Wogan loved his people, his surroundings and everything about his life.

He'd not been well for a while, with a lump on his leg that turned out to be an aggressive - and migratory - tumour. Within a short time he was in a great deal of pain.

So my parents called the vet, took him into the garden - and let him go to sleep in the only place he's ever known.

It hurts. Coming hard on the heels of the loss of Sasha, their boxer, just three weeks ago when she escaped the gardens and was hit by a car (and the fscker didn't even bother to stop).

Right now the tears are here for all of us who knew him. I know that putting him to sleep was the right decision. And given time, I'll be able to look back at all the good memories of the best, most loving family dog we had and smile about it.

Just - not today.