When I was 11, I went to the home village to visit my grandfather for the first time. Grandad, who lived on his own, was accompanied by a farm dog called Barry. Barry was not a handsome boy, but he was faithful.

Bitten by a canine at 7, I was on my guard against Grandpa’s animal in the beginning. Unexpectedly Barry did not bark fiercely at me the way other dogs did. Instead, he greeted me by wagging his tail merrily. We clicked right away and thus our friendship was born.

There were a lot of fierce dogs about the farm in those days so I feared to go and play out. “You are as timid as a mouse,” Grandad said. “Let Barry go out with you.”

After that Barry shadowed me. Wherever I went, he was by my side. When other village dogs barked at me, Barry would bark back. There were many occasions when he chased some potential attackers away.

I do not know the reason, but as a child I was a loner. I did not have any human playmate. Grandad’s dog came in and filled the role. Barry played with me, ate with me and even slept with me. The strong bond Barry formed with me helped me to understand what it meant to be a friend.

The morning I was to leave the countryside, Barry still followed me. I said, “Go back, Barry.” He went back. When I got on the bike and was pedalling off, he came out and ran after me. Barry’s attachment to me was such that it was impossible for us two to part company.