I got an email the other day as we were on our way to our youngest’s birthday treat. Getting an email is nothing new – I get too many, most of them are spam which I’m sure I’ve unsubscribed from at some point or other – but it was the subject which immediately put a lump in my throat: “Chester’s new home”.

I opened it with trepidation. You see, I’ve been swapping messages with various people from his foster family and the Guide Dogs rehoming team, but this sender’s name was unfamiliar.

I took a deep breath before opening it. I’m not going to go into the contents of the email – that’s between me and her – but I can say it put my mind at ease. I had to pause more than once to regain my composure. He is obviously in a home where he will be loved, where he will get the exercise he needs, where he will get the attention he deserves.

We were on the motorway, between Maidenhead and Slough – about 5 miles from the M25 turn-off towards Watford and the Harry Potter Studio Tour. Ches used to thrive on days out like this, whether it was a trip to Thorpe Park, the theatre, the Natural History Museum or just scything through pedestrians on a busy Oxford Street. These were the times when Chester would be at his most focused. He would be constantly spotting his paths and, the second a gap appeared wide enough for us both, he would be there, zipping through like Senna passing Prost on the straights of Imola.

As we near the studio, my anxiety starts to twitch, knowing how busy the place will likely be. The jostling from others, the number of people bumping my cane, almost tripping over it. My eldest does a phenomenal job sighted guiding me, but, for whatever reason, we just aren’t as visible as when I’ve got that handle attached to a focused, highly trained four-legged companion.

When Chester was withdrawn just after Easter, a sequence of events was triggered. The first was for me to decide whether our family circumstances would allow for him to remain with us.

This would have been ideal. Chester is such a happy, sensitive soul. No matter how long you leave him for, his whole body would be wagging uncontrollably, delighted to see you again the second you come back through the door. Whenever I left the house, he would be immediately by my side, ready and alert to put his harness on and get to work.

Immediately after the incident that caused Chester to be suspended, the process is to remove his harness. This seems such an unnecessary thing to do at such a sensitive time, but there is a very good reason – it removes any temptation to sneak the harness back on him, just one last time.

When they left with his harness, I slumped down in my office, staring blankly at my screen before my shoulders sagged and I broke down, inconsolable. I’m not one to lose control usually, but that sequence of events, especially after having such a positive time just the previous week in Cornwall, was a total shock to the system.

I thought long and hard all day on that Wednesday about what best to do next. The recommendation was that they come back a couple of days later and try again, but I just knew in the pit of my stomach that this was the biggest sign yet that Chester was exhausted.

He could work fantastically anywhere away from home, but the second I brought him close to where all this started when he was younger, I could feel in his harness that not all was fine. He was always so eager to please that he would never refuse his harness going on. In fact, he would punish me for days if I ever dreamed of going out without him. But there was always that sense that he was so eager to please that he would do anything, even if he wasn’t totally secure.

Kath and I talked long and hard that first day and, after a fitful night’s sleep, I decided that the best thing to do was to stop trying to get him to do something his heart really wasn’t in any more.

It wasn’t as if we hadn’t given it our all. I had been working with behavioural and training specialists for almost 18 months and every time there was a glimmer that we were turning a corner, something would happen and take us back a few steps. That type of situation is exhausting for everyone involved, man and beast.

The decision really was made the second that harness was picked up; it just needed time to percolate through the grey matter into a coherent view.

I remember the conversation with my trainer the following day where, after several pauses for breath and to compose myself, we hatched a plan to meet up and take Chester for a free run over the woods. My trainer is extremely experienced, but the first time she met me, she had seen Chester at one of his more anxious points, so it was important to me for her to see him at his most relaxed, which is when he is off-lead in the woods.

Unlike Oswald, who is like a newly freed prisoner when his lead comes off, Chester prefers to stay by your side when free running and, if he does go slightly further, a short whistle and call of his name and he is straight back by your side.

During the walk, we discussed what should happen next. There was an option that Chester could stay with us, but, as much as I yearned to keep him, it simply was not possible.

Chester was my partner, he was my companion, but he was also my mobility aid and, if he could not perform that essential duty, I really could not give him what he would need. I simply couldn’t give him the level of exercise he would require if he wasn’t working. And as a family, we already had our big oaf, Oswald. Combined with our other circumstances, there simply was no way we could support two dogs, especially if I ended up getting a new guide.

That next week, whilst the team arranged for a suitable foster family, was a total blur. I couldn’t concentrate, I couldn’t sleep, I couldn’t think. All I wanted to do was take this boy who had imprinted himself on my life and my family’s for almost 3 years for extra-long free runs and to allow him to start adjusting to non-working life.

After Chester was collected, the house became eerily quiet. Oswald was a shadow of his usual self and the kids were distraught.

Kath and I had spent all week explaining to our youngest that Chester would be going away as he was no longer my guide. This was especially hard for him to understand as he and Chester had such a close bond, with Chester always knowing when he was overwhelmed and nearing a meltdown.

Ches would cuddle into us in the evening before bedtime and my boy would lie there, fiddling with his paws and his tail feathering absently while watching another episode of Doctor Who.

Slowly, very slowly, we all began to adjust to being a single-dog family for the foreseeable future. I had the occasional update from his foster family, and Guide Dogs even sent a letter from Chester. All the team were fantastic in supporting us as a family during this transition and, within what felt like no time at all, the whole process of my reapplication began again.

And Chester is now at his new home.

Hearing about how he is adjusting to post-working life so well is honestly bittersweet. There remains a big part of me that thinks I should have stuck at it for a little bit longer and perhaps the anxiety and stress he was under would have faded away. But I know, deep down, that I did absolutely everything I could for that lad. Inevitably, his resolve had gone and there was simply no way he could continue as a working dog.

Hearing about how Chester has adjusted to his new home near the coast with his new owner and their guinea pigs is just wonderful. It sounds like Chester has well and truly moved on from the trauma of the past few years and so it is time for me to do the same.

These past few months have been simply awful. That’s not just because of losing Chester; there is so much more to the story – but that’s for another time.

This was the straw that broke the camel’s back. It made me realise that there is so much more I need to process. My mobility, my sight loss, my work, home life and so much more.

There are times when you need to put your head down and push forward and there are times when you have to take a beat and accept that it’s time to clear the decks.

That’s where I am right now. There is a lot of sludge that needs clearing before things can flow freely again and I must focus on getting that cleared away.

There is still much to do, but knowing Chester is in safe, loving hands is one more weight off my mind.

I think the fog is beginning to clear but, like they say, only time will tell.