W atching as my four-month-old calf Lucy gulped milk, I smiled.
It was December 2013, and living on a 103-acre farm with my husband, Tom, then 61, I adored taking care of our dogs, cats, horses and cows.
‘You love your animals more than your kids,’ friends often teased me.
We had two grown-up daughters, Amy, then 32, and Kate, 30, who we adored, both married with kids and pets of their own. Whenever any of our animals sadly passed away, we buried them at the farm with care. But before we had the farm, we’d lost our border collie Sophie, aged 17, in 1995. Our poor girl had died of old age.
We’d paid to have sweet Sophie cremated, but we’d never got her ashes back, only her collar.…