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Our local park had a section for puppies but we were bullied out of it by other owners, who were scared George would hurt their pups, — but the opposite was true.The smaller dogs ran around and under him, and he’d be constantly sidestepping them, obviously anxious and jittery.
Over the previous weeks, while Annabel slept, Christie had applied to the Guinness World Records people on George’s behalf.
Their owner emailed us a photo showing a chaotic jumble of paws, snouts and tails.
No matter how much we reminded ourselves that he had every home comfort (warm dog bed, warm blanket, warm kitchen, squeaky bone), each whimper created a picture in our heads of a tragic, abandoned pup, desperate for his mother.
Slowly, George understood that Annabel was our pack’s youngest member and in need of his affection and protection.
And on Christmas morning, he ended his three-month sulk, acknowledging her presence with a lick of her hand.
But while he might not have cared much for Annabel, George loved her dolls, especially a stuffed green one that played a nursery rhyme when squeezed.
Whenever he could, he placed it between his paws and pressed it so he could hear the tune.
As he approached his first birthday in November 2006, weighing about 14 stone, it was getting physically impossible to make him go anywhere he didn’t want to — including the vet’s surgery.
He had not forgotten the time he went there in possession of his manhood — and came out less than whole.
As well as a photo album, he had a growth chart — we were soon reading it in awe.
He was putting on more than a pound a day and he bounded around like Bambi, skittering on our wooden floors and hurling himself at everything he fancied, including us humans.
Slowly we realised that our enormous puppy was a big softie.