Gemma knew she’d end up dead if she didn’t escape her violent partner, but what would happen to her beloved pet?
Stroking the ball of fur curled up in my lap with one hand, I wiped away my tears with the other.
‘What would I do without you?’ I sniffed, as my dog Dusty looked up at me with his gentle eyes.
Then as I heard footsteps approach the bedroom, I shook like a leaf.
It was my partner Richard — and he sounded like he was in his usual foul mood.
‘Stop your crying!’ he shouted, shoving his face into mine. ‘Or I’ll knock you both out.’
I held on to Dusty tightly as Richard stomped away.
You see, Dusty was more than just a pet.
Along with my son, my Rottweiler German Shepherd cross was my comfort blanket, my support — the only love and compassion I had to get me through the hell I was living in.
At first, my relationship with Richard had been lovely. He’d promised to protect me, love me and not let anyone hurt me.
But after two months of bliss, he went from being my knight in shining armour to a paranoid maniac.
One evening, I was asleep in bed when he marched into the bedroom, effing and blinding.
‘Where is he, then?’ he spat.
I was shocked to see he was holding a crossbow bolt in his hands.
‘Where’s who?’ I asked.
'You're hiding a lover'
‘You’re hiding a lover in your mattress!’ he screamed.
‘No, I’m not,’ I insisted, but he wouldn’t listen.
I managed to get off the bed just before he stabbed the mattress with the bolt and ripped it apart.
After he hurled the mattress out the window, I curled up on the floor and cried myself to sleep.
Every day, I was subjected to some kind of sick torture.
On different occasions, he’d thrown me through a glass door, and ripped an earring out of my ear.
He’d even performed degrading examinations on me down below to check I wasn’t cheating on him.
The only saving grace was that he never touched my son.
Every morning and night, I cried, while Dusty’s head was in my lap.
I was sleep-deprived and genuinely feared for my life.
One day, I was running a bath when Richard pinned me up against the bathroom wall.
‘I’m going to drown you,’ he smirked, as he grabbed my head and forced it under water, before eventually letting me go.
As I sat in the corner sobbing, Dusty walked over and nestled his head into my lap.
He wanted to protect me, and I could tell it broke his heart when he was forced to watch me in pain.
Only, it wasn’t long before Richard took his anger out on my beautiful furry boy too.
Too weak to stand up to Richard, I watched hopelessly as Dusty suffered at the hands of my evil partner.
The monster hit him with shovels, hammers and planks of wood.
One night, Richard got so angry, he grabbed his BB gun and aimed it at Dusty.
‘No, leave him alone!’ I screamed.
‘Shut up,’ he spat, and shot Dusty, the pellet piercing his flesh.
Dusty yelped and then scurried off whimpering.
I rushed him to the vets. Luckily the pellet hadn’t caused serious damage, and he recovered.
But as Richard’s campaign of torture continued, I realised enough was enough.
I’d endured three years of horrific abuse, and I knew that if I didn’t walk soon, I’d be dead.
But how would we escape?
After receiving a message from my old school friend Hayley, I opened up to her about my ordeal.
You need to get out of there, she texted. I’ll help you.
Together, we made plans to escape and found a place in a women’s refuge for me and my son.
But there was one problem. They couldn’t take dogs.
I needed to seek refuge but I didn’t want to rehome my beloved Dusty bear — or worse, leave him with Richard.
I can’t part with Dusty, I texted Hayley. It would destroy me.
He was the one who was there when I broke down, the one who laid beside me every time I cried.
I knew that if I left, Richard would hurt and, in all likelihood, kill my Dusty.
Leave it with me, she texted back. There has to be a way.
And soon, Hayley had some life-changing information.
There’s a free service called the Dogs Trust Freedom Project which will help you, she texted.
I cried tears of happiness as she explained it was a service which fostered pets while their owners escaped abusive partners.
Within 24 hours, an officer from the Trust collected Dusty and found him a foster home with a nice man called Frank.
I was sad to see him go, but it was a relief to know that once my son and I were safe, Dusty would be returned to me.
But now we faced the challenge of leaving without Richard suspecting that anything was up.
I dropped my son off at school and then came home.
‘I’m just going to take Dusty for a walk with my friend Hayley,’ I said, trying be best to act normal.
‘Who’s that?’ he asked.
‘She’s just a friend,’ I explained. ‘Don’t worry, I won’t be long.’
Little did Richard know that Dusty was already gone and that I wasn’t far behind — once I closed the front door, I would never be going back.
Soon, Richard was arrested.
Then, my son and I went into a refuge.
For safety reasons, I couldn’t meet up with Frank. So over the next seven months, I received regular updates on Dusty through letters and pictures in the post.
It was clear that he was having a great time with Frank. They went everywhere together — even the pub!
It eased my mind knowing he was looked after and loved so much.
When I was finally placed in a new home, Dusty was returned to me.
‘My beautiful boy!’ I exclaimed, as he bounded into my arms.
In time, Richard Ridley, of Billingham, County Durham, appeared in court.
He admitted two sexual assaults, two common assaults, two counts of criminal damage and one of affray, against me.
He was sentenced to nine and a half years in prison, handed a sexual harm prevention order and placed on the sex offenders register for life.
With Richard behind bars, I concentrated on helping other people in the same situation as I’d been in.
I waived my right to anonymity and spread the word about how the Dogs Trust Freedom Project helped to keep my little family together.
I hadn’t had the chance to express my gratitude to Frank properly, so I wrote a letter of thanks to him, and the BBC filmed Frank emotionally reading it to camera.
It read: Dear Frank, the last thing I ever wanted to lose was my Dusty bear. I’m forever grateful to you.
I might have lost everything else but I kept the most important part — my little family. And so it’s with great thanks to you, as a foster carer for the Dogs Trust Freedom Project, that I was able to do it. You will always be a part of our lives and forever in our hearts. All our love, the three amigos.
Then something amazing happened.
The Freedom Project saw my story and reached out to me.
They made me an ambassador of its North East branch.
I was so proud to help other domestic abuse survivors and give them the opportunity to escape violence at home, with the peace of mind that their pets were safe.
Then during the pandemic, with more people at home, the number of domestic violence cases rose.
The Freedom Project was stretched to its limit.
As a charity, we relied on donations to allow us to help more victims to escape abuse.
So I came up with a daring idea to raise money.
‘I’m going to do a charity skydive,’ I told colleagues, family and friends.
Soon, 13 other charity supporters had signed up to join me, and we’re planning to leap from a plane later this summer in aid of the Freedom Project.
Our target is to raise £3,000.
Violent abusers are known to torture pets to control their victims — and even kill them to show their power over a partner.
Now, there’s nothing else I’d rather be doing than helping others in my situation. Those people and their pets deserve to escape violence safely.
Gemma Willis, 37, Stockton-on-Tees, County Durham