When Hudson was born 14 months ago, we were a three-pet household.

Our eldest fur-child, a black fluffball called Suzuki, had already been a part of the family for almost 16 years, and aside from being a little thin and aloof, was praised by vets at each annual check-up for his exceptional health.

His feline brother, Levi, aged 12, was the chubby smooch of the family, a mischievous tabby who would do anything for cuddle.

And then there was Dominoe – or Dommie as he was affectionately known – a funny-looking pedigree dalmatian we adopted at a discounted rate because he didn’t have enough spots.

We didn’t care, we loved him anyway. And we took him everywhere with us – to the beach, the park, on treks to faraway places and often to McDonald’s drive-thru for his favourite ice-cream cone. He loved every second of our antics – his tail never stopped wagging.

Around the time I fell pregnant with Hudson, Dommie was diagnosed with a nasty, untreatable cancer. We were devastated by the news but hopeful he would at least live long enough to meet his human sibling.

And he did!

He was intrigued by the tiny, squawking little person we brought in to his house. A boy and his dog – they were destined to be great mates.

But sadly, when Hudson was just two months old, our much-loved hound became so sick that we had to make the devastating decision to put him to sleep. Bryan and I sat with him, Hudson playing quietly in the pram, as we stroked his velvety ears until his tail eventually stopped wagging.

Through the heartache of losing the precious pooch who had been in our lives for 11.5 years we had one comforting thought – at least we still had the two cats.

But three months later we returned home from a weekend drive to find Levi’s lifeless body sprawled in our front yard.

He was otherwise fit and well so we could only assume he had been hit by a car. It was a massive shock as we expected that of all our fur children, he’d be the last man standing.

As it turned out, it was our old man Suzuki (named after Bryan’s love of motorcycles) that was out last remaining pet. As Hudson grew, the two became friends. It was not uncommon for them to sit side-by-side – Hudson in his bouncer, Suzuki on the floor just enjoying each other’s company.

But he too fell ill. There was a growth on his brain, another in his lungs. He was having seizures and becoming increasingly frail. Two months after Levi died, Suzuki had a massive seizure in the middle of the night. I woke to his cries and sat on the loungeroom floor, gentle stroking the soft fur on his neck, as he looked at me, unable to move, and signalled that it was time to go. The vet said there was nothing more we could do.

And so, within five months we went from living in a lively home with three cherished fur babies to being a staid, pet-free household.

Thank goodness for the love – and distraction – of a newborn baby.

Losing any pet is heartbreaking. Losing three in the space of just five months was devastating.

With no space to bury them in the backyard, each pet was cremated and returned to us in a velvet bag, which was then carefully tucked into a glossy black gift bag by the cremation company. Which left us with three little black gift bags, sitting in a row in the cupboard under the kitchen sink until we could decide on a fitting resting place.

Today marks a year since we lost Dommie, so we decided it was the perfect time to spread his ashes at Seven Mile Beach, his favourite place.

The weather gods were smiling on us – blue sky, sunshine and sparkling water in a perfect shade of green. Hudson had a fantastic time playing on the sand and dipping his toes in the water.

There were plenty of tears from me as Dommie’s ashes were spread, but also laughter as Bryan and I reminisced about the good times.

Anyone who has ever loved – and lost – pets will understand just how special animals can be, and how incredibly hard it is to say goodbye to them when the time comes.

My carpet and clothes may now be fur-free, but there will always be some of those prickly dalmatian hairs that will remain stuck in my heart forever. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.