Dogs once knew their place, usually a back room furnished with a plastic ‘bed’, which bore the marks (and odour) of various generations of four-legged forebears. Roaming rights might well have been extended to the kitchen, but not to any of the more formal rooms of the house — and never upstairs.

As their place in the hierarchy of a house has risen from faithful and obedient servant to — in some cases — kingpin, the way houses are decorated has evolved accordingly.

Floor surfaces are chief among them; although terracotta, tile, natural stone and engineered-wood floors can cope, carpet, whether it’s loop-pile wool or woven seagrass, is unsuitable for the daily post-walk muzzle dives — and worse.

Enter the increasingly popular option of faux sisal, which offers the aesthetic warmth of natural fibres, but with the durability, waterproof and stain-resistant qualities of man-made materials. ‘It resists damage from scratchy claws, wet dogs drying themselves and muddy paws and — in most cases— c an be bleach cleaned,’ explains Barney Green, founder of Unnatural Flooring, one of the first to pioneer this method of floor covering. ‘A bonus is that the synthetic yarn we use doesn’t attract or accommodate fleas, pests or textile moths and all our fitted flooring can be easily wet cleaned if necessary.’

Increasingly, dogs in this country, where there is an estimated population of 13.5 million (the highest in Europe), are not content to slumber on the floor; interior designers are discovering that the dogs and their needs are just as important as those of the client themselves.

Witness the fact that elevated interpretations of indoor dog kennels and dog beds have become regular features at WOW!house held each summer at the Design Centre, Chelsea Harbour in London. This year, Henri Fitzwilliam-Lay’s bedroom suite for Misia had a stylish dog bed created by Porta Romana to sit within her Art Deco-inspired scheme. Meanwhile, in Sara Cosgrove’s serene celadon morning room with Phillip Jeffries, a dog kennel sits next to a sofa upholstered in silk. Two words spring to mind: good luck.

To address the inevitable damage, the solution is to embrace a fabric that can withstand such treatment, says interior designer Rebecca Hughes. ‘Engineered for durability, high-performance textiles are designed to withstand everyday wear and tear and resist stains and moisture,’ she says. ‘Better still, many are fully washable, making it easy to deal with muddy paws, pet hair and the occasional spill.’

Advanced synthetic materials, such as solution-dyed acrylic and high-tech manufacturing processes introduced in recent years, have raised these fabrics from stiff and scratchy to soft and barely distinguishable from any natural alternative. ‘They evolved so much that most people would never know they were originally designed for outdoor use,’ believes Gareth Marc of Zimmer + Rohde. ‘You get all the practical benefits without sacrificing comfort or style.’

A further flourish comes in the form of additional plumbing facilities installed just for dogs. The post-muddy-walk hose-down using an outside tap that might have sufficed for generations has been upgraded to a dedicated indoor dog-washing area. Usually located in a utility or boot room and supplied with hot and cold water, these take the form of specially designed dog showers or generously sized sinks. Some have low-level pot-filler taps to keep the dog bowl topped up with fresh water.

Last year, Emma Sims-Hilditch demonstrated how to do it with style at her WOW!house Courtyard Room. ‘It reflects a broader shift towards designing spaces that cater to every member of the household, pets included,’ says studio lead Christina Bull.

This feature originally appeared in the July 22, 2026, issue of Country Life. Click here for more information on how to subscribe.

William Hogarth was a serial dog painter. Look in the corners of his 'A Harlot’s Progress’ (1732) or ‘Marriage à la Mode’ (1743–45) series and there they are, silent witnesses to the moral decay of the human subjects.

His own favoured breed was the pug and, in 1745, he immortalised his favourite in The Painter and his Pug (below) — in which the dog is the real subject. Hogarth shows himself in the guise of a painted portrait in the background, drolly suggesting that the animal had painted the man.

Pugs were known as Dutch mastiffs and the one in the painting was called Trump, possibly an anglicisation of ‘Tromp’, the name of two famous Dutch admirals. In 1742, Hogarth’s sculptor friend Louis-François Roubiliac made a statuette of Trump, which was later copied by the Chelsea Porcelain Factory; it sold very well.

In his later life, the painter, then living in Chiswick, would habitually drop by a local pub in the evening. If he stayed too long and supper at home was in danger of spoiling, Trump would be sent to fetch him and the publican would let Hogarth know: ‘Your servant is come for you, sir.’

When Trump died, Hogarth had him stuffed and kept him on his chimneypiece, and in 2001, a statue of the artist with his four-legged friend, made by Jim Mathieson, was unveiled by Ian Hislop and David Hockney on the Chiswick High Road, close to Hogarth's House, the artist's residence from 1749 until his death in 1764.

By all accounts, the dog in the 1968 hit musical film Oliver! belonged to the wrong character. Say ‘bull terrier’ and many will immediately think of Bull’s-eye, the famously unfortunate companion to Oliver Reed’s sinister criminal Bill Sikes, a fierce, brutish dog as feared as his cruel, unforgiving master — but anyone who owns a bull terrier will tell you that this dog is no villainous sidekick.

This is a breed with a big heart, a comical nature and an eye that holds a mischievous twinkle. Bull’s-eye would surely have been more at home with the film’s gentler interpretation of Fagin, charming his way around town and slyly picking a pocket or two — and nothing illustrates this better than Butch, the dog that played Bull’s-eye in the cinematic classic. ‘Butch was an old boy when he started filming Oliver!,’ recalls Cindy Sharville of her beloved family pet. ‘He was loving, clever and obedient, so long as treats were involvedv—vduring breaks, he would carry his bowl up to anyone eating, scrounging for food. Reed loved him and would sit on the floor with Butch on his lap.’

With its unique downfaced egg-shaped head, keen, bright eyes and muscular physique, this striking breed naturally catches the eye. David Mason’s first bull terrier Purdey made a splash in 2005, when she was photographed for The Sunday Times in a bespoke coat by Nutters of Savile Row, a brand then owned by Mason.

‘Purdey was such a lovely dog and when we lost her, it really was like losing a member of the family,’ admits Mason, founder of Mason & Sons, which champions and restores established British brands, such as Anthony Sinclair and Mr Fish. ‘It didn’t take us long to get our next one, Lulu. You’ll find that with bull terriers — once you’ve had one, you won’t want anything else.’

Currently the owner of two-year-old Vesper, who cheerfully greets customers at the company’s headquarters in John Lennon’s former Marylebone home, Mason concurs that the breed has become somewhat synonymous with Mason & Sons, thanks to his dogs taking a starring role in several campaigns.

‘They’re an important part of our life story — everything at Mason & Sons is British, including the dog,’ he laughs. ‘Bull terriers are an acquired taste. I think they’re beautiful, of course, but it’s their character that really has the appeal. They are notoriously stubborn and somehow always getting in trouble. They know right from wrong, but they can’t seem to help themselves. It can be maddening, but ultimately you love them for it.’

The breed owes its origins to James Hinks, an animal dealer in Birmingham who developed a new strain of all-white ‘bull-and-terriers’ during the 1850s. Having kept and bred fighting dogs, Hinks is believed to have crossed the bulldog, the now-extinct white English terrier and the dalmatian to produce his white ‘bull terrier’. Despite its ancestry, this dog was not bred with the fighting ring in mind — Hinks had set his sights on the show world, determined to establish a companion dog with a striking pure-white coat and a more refined appearance.

As his son James Hinks Jnr later wrote, the bull terrier was to be ‘the old fighting dog civilised, with all of his rough edges smoothed down without being softened; alert, active, plucky, muscular and a real gentleman’.

The conformation of the bull terrier has evolved through the years. Most notably, the head took on its distinctive long, domed ‘egg’ shape and the white coat gave way to colour as brindle, red and fawn were accepted in the breed standard. It has, however, retained its original characteristics: the strength and courage of its bulldog ancestry and the terrier’s wit and mischief. Perhaps most of all, it has stayed true to Hinks’s vision that it would become a companion dog — enthusiasts will tell you that the bull terrier’s purpose in life is to be right at your side.

‘After her morning walk, Olive will sit under my car and wait for me there, so I have to take her with me wherever I’m going,’ reveals Fleur Worsley of her bull terrier. ‘On the occasions I have to go to work without her, she hates it.’

A keen horsewoman, Worsley works for Oxford Polo where, she admits, a bull terrier tends to stand out. ‘My colleagues have spaniels, labradors, lurchers and whippets. I park up, open the boot and out jumps my bull terrier — people can be horrified,’ she admits. ‘But give Olive 10 minutes or so and they’ll be fussing over her.

'Bull terriers have an unfair reputation. Our postman was scared of Olive at first, but they’re now best friends. My husband never wanted one, but he adores Olive — he takes her shooting with him. She happily sits next to him on the peg.’

It is the natural comedian in the bull terrier that has hooked Worsley for life: ‘I’ll never be without one. They are hilarious — every morning, we’re woken up by Olive dramatically yawning in the kitchen. My sister got me a fridge magnet that says “Life is much merrier when you live with a bull terrier” and, for me, that sums it up.’

Breeder and judge Elaine Clark concurs that the bull terrier has a knack for comic timing, as she once witnessed in the presence of The Princess Royal. ‘Many years ago at Crufts, Princess Anne walked into the bull-terrier ring holding a bouquet of flowers,’ she recalls. ‘She stopped to talk to the judge, who was standing with a handler and their bull terrier. The next thing we knew, the dog had jumped up and snatched Princess Anne’s flowers, scoffing the lot. Luckily, she burst out laughing (The Princess Royal has kept English bull terriers for decades, which may explain her not minding the loss of the blooms.) If you don’t have a sense of humour, the bull terrier is not the dog for you.’

Smitten with the breed since she got her first puppy 40 years ago, Clark owns six miniature bull terriers, a breed almost identical to its larger counterpart in everything but size — although, sadly, the miniature is currently on the Kennel Club (KC)’s vulnerable native breed list, with only 264 registrations in 2023.

‘Bull terriers and miniatures are great family dogs. They adore children and know when to be gentle with them,’ enthuses Clark. ‘They’re happy to go on long walks, but don’t necessarily need loads of exercise. What they do like is a lot of attention and they can’t be left at home for a long time.’

Bill Lambert, the KC’s health, welfare and breeder services executive, grew up with bull terriers and, when it came to buying his own dog, there was no other breed. ‘My wife didn’t like the look of them at first, but that’s the wonderful thing about pedigree dogs — you need to go deeper than looks and the bull terrier is a great example,’ he says. ‘They don’t have universal appeal, but beauty is in the eye of the beholder. It’s their temperament — fun, stoic and kind — that makes them so special.’

The breed has its faults, Lambert notes. The white bull terriers in particular can be prone to deafness — although this issue has lessened thanks to the Brainstem Auditory Evoked Response (BAER) test, which many breeders now use — and the bull terrier’s stubborn nature can also make them difficult to train: ‘They are strong-willed and haven’t got great recall, so you need to be on the lookout and prepared to put them on lead around other dogs — they are strong and muscular, so you have to be responsible.’

Working at the KC, Lambert would be forgiven for being tempted by one of the many other dog breeds out there. ‘I love all dogs,’ he concludes. ‘The thing is, if I got another breed, that would only mean I’d have one fewer bull terrier — and, honestly, nothing else quite matches up.’

1 Pick up after your dog in public places and on farmland. No exceptions, no theatrics.

2 Carry extra bags; being prepared is the backbone of dignity, but never, ever, leave full ones hanging on trees.

3 ‘He’s never done that before’ is no excuse: train your dog.

4 Leads exist for a reason. Most dogs need them...

5 …but retractable leads should be banned in tight spaces.

7 Accordingly, training your dog to respond to the whistle is more refined than screaming like a fishwife.

8 Recall should be instant, not interpretive.

9 Jumping up is not being ‘friendly’, it’s rude.

10 Similarly, muddy paws belong on the ground, not on strangers’ clothing.

11 Children are not chew toys.

12 ‘No dogs’ signs are not a suggestion. Observe them.

13 Barking at all hours is not ‘character’.

14 Doggy clothing is tragic.

15 Other people’s front gardens are not canine lavatories.

16 Some dogs are nervous; respect their space.

17 If a venue is clearly unsuitable, don’t insist on bringing the dog anyway.

19 There’s nothing funny about your pooch’s bad breath. Sort it out.

20 A collar with ID is the law.

21 If you happen to fart, blame it on the dog. Even if there isn’t one.

22 Begging at tables is ghastly. Bad in children, worse in dogs.

23 If cattle show an unnerving interest, let your dog go; they will chase it, not you.

24 When in the park, your dog requires your full attention, not your social-media feed.

25 Rough play is charming, until it isn’t. Intervene.

26 If your dog misbehaves, apologise properly and immediately.

27 And yes, pay for any damage without fuss.

29 On public transport, keep your dog close and unobtrusive. Carry them on escalators, even if yours is a Great Dane.

30 Groom your dog properly — overt scruffiness is not a lifestyle choice.

31 They say dogs look like their owners, so make sure yours is a hottie.

32 You may allow your dog on the sofa, but others may not. Respect their house rules.

33 A hot car is not a kennel, not even for 10 minutes.

34 Dogs don’t sign Christmas cards...

35 …but you can get away with buying them a Christmas present.

36 Dogs are designed to walk, not be carried in a handbag.

38 Your dog is a reflection of you. Try not to disappoint.

39 Not everyone finds your dog as enchanting as you do: try to cope.

Across the marshes of the Suffolk coast, surrounded by children’s ponies, chickens and ornamental turkeys, a perfectly fired brioche bun surveys her land.

It’s been a good morning for Peggy — waking at 6am was swiftly followed by a rhinoceros charge around the house and garden, during which the devilish robot lawn mower received a thorough ticking off. Breakfast was supplemented by a lick around a couple of jam jars, a snaffle of honey (again, straight from the pot) and half a packet of Dorset Cereals Nutty Granola as somebody had carelessly left the dining-room door open and miniature bull terriers are athletic enough to scramble up onto the table.

Deciding which cheeky canine would take home the accolade of Britain’s Naughtiest Dog in association with Honey’s Real Dog Food was not easy. There were so many titillating tales of counter-surfers, coffee-table chewers, puddle-makers and displays of sheer greed that, despite extensive conversations deep into the night between our esteemed judges, there is always that niggling thought—‘did we pick the naughtiest one?’

On the announcement of our Chosen One, a swift response from Peggy’s owners Sir Edward and Lady Greenwell followed: ‘She is — surprise, surprise — being sedated as we speak for eating something disgusting… the vet says, despite all this, she is very jolly and keeping everyone at Aldeburgh Vets entertained. I will buy her a new bed in celebration as she’s eaten her latest one. I had told her that was it (she’s already destroyed six).’ It was in that moment that I knew we’d made the right choice.

‘She is very naughty,’ Clare beams in confirmation, ‘but there’s nothing malicious about it, she’s just full of fun, mischief and curiosity.’ Two-and-a-half-year-old Peggy was sourced from a litter bred by Mary Riall in Dorset. ‘We weren’t really looking, but a friend spotted an advertisement on Radio H-P,’ Clare remembers. ‘I said I’d had two standard bull terriers in the past — Phoebe and Plum — so I passed the test and we drove all the way down to Dorset. It was a sweet set up, a farm with lots of horses and dogs, and there was Bojo [Peggy’s mother] and Beetle, a miniature wire-haired dachshund who thought she was a maternity nurse in charge of bossing the puppies around.’

The Greenwells remain in touch with Peggy’s extended family, too — her almost identical brother, Simba, belongs to event rider Bubby Upton and her grandmother, aunt and cousin to Bubby’s mother, Rachel Upton.

Since arriving in Suffolk, Peggy’s bow-wow bad behaviour has garnered quite an audience. ‘We took her to the Hadleigh Show and we may as well have had our own stall there. All we needed was a couple of chairs and an umbrella and we could have charged £5 to pet her,’ Clare laughs. As well as eating three pairs of Edward’s Crocs, breaking numerous valuable vases (with and without flowers), nibbling antique furniture and far too many books to list, Peggy also enjoys turning her paw to a spot of light interior design, both structural (chewing skirting boards and ripping up flooring) and decorative (plumping soft furnishings and ‘editing’ prized family photographs). ‘She knows upstairs is off limits, so when she sneaks up there she goes mad,’ Clare reveals. ‘Nothing is safe up there — handbags, shoes, pictures — and she thunders through the bedrooms tossing all the cushions and pillows around. It’s like being in a sweetie shop for her.’

She also enjoys ‘helping’ around the house and garden, alerting the Greenwells to the presence of hedgehogs on her daily patrol and breaking into the larder a little too frequently to give it a ‘spring’ clean. In the kitchen, she is a dab paw at opening jars and once ate an entire bowl of fermenting grapes, which left her a ‘little bit tipsy’, but thankfully had no further ill effect.

Her worst misdemeanor? Attempting to ‘manage’ the poultry. ‘I came home, opened the kitchen door, and there was Harold, our rare-breed cröllwitzer turkey sitting on top of the Aga, bald and surrounded by a sea of white feathers, staring down at Peggy who was barking and bouncing around,’ remembers Clare. ‘I wrapped Harold in a couple of tea towels and rang Edward. It took us an hour and two big bin liners to clean up all of his feathers. Luckily, Harold recovered after being smothered in Sudocrem and all of his beautiful feathers have grown back.’

Country Life is delighted to report that Peggy, Harold and his cröllwitzer wife, Maud, are all still friends. Despite this minor lapse in terrier judgement, the Greenwells still love Peggy dearly, as do their children and 17 grandchildren. Little Alma, aged five, dotes on her and enjoys dressing Peggy up and popping her in a pram. Baby Archie, only 19 months, will crawl into her basket and sit in there hugging her and kissing her. ‘Peggy adores children,’ affirms her owner. ‘One of her favourite things to do when we’ve got grandchildren staying is to escape upstairs and join us for tea and toast as we read stories in bed or, if they’re all watching television, she’ll go and snuggle in between them all on the sofa. She’s very loving.’

Although Peggy doesn’t quite have the innate elegance of Edward’s black labradors, sensible Gus and seven-month-old Maud, Clare describes Peggy as jolie laide, an endearing expression used to define unconventional beauty. ‘She may be boisterous, but she’s unbelievably affectionate,’ she smiles. ‘Edward pretends he doesn’t love her, but he does, deeply. He’s amused by her and every so often I see a little glint of pride in his eye. It’s always, “Where’s Peggy?”’

This feature originally appeared in the July 22, 2026, issue of Country Life. Click here for more information on how to subscribe.

'The more I see of men, the more I like my dog,’ declared General de Gaulle. In this increasingly turbulent world, it’s a sentiment that resonates with anyone seeking refuge from the depressing headlines and finding solace in the form of a gentle nudge from a cold wet nose and a meaningful glance from soulful eyes.

Whereas Man may be complex, untrustworthy and difficult, Canis lupus familiaris can be a hero, a friend and a source of joy. At this year’s Crufts, the Royal Kennel Club Hero Dog Award went to Asha, an eight-year-old Staffordshire bull terrier who provides round-the-clock support and companionship to her 17-year-old, wheelchair-bound owner, Logan. Earlier this month, two-year-old black labrador Millie, a search-and-rescue dog from Kent, was selected to assist in the humanitarian effort following the Venezuelan earthquakes.

Yet despite their contribution to society, assisting, policing and even alerting us to medical conditions, dogs are afforded few rights or privileges — the British legal system classifies them as chattels rather than family members. Our firmest friend, one with the capacity to enrich our lives with unwavering love and loyalty, was once said to possess ‘all the virtues of Man without his Vices’, although if Lord Byron had been on our judging panel for this year’s Britain’s Naughtiest Dog contest in association with Honey’s Real Dog Food, he may have rethought that statement. Any dog owner knows that they occasionally come with their own form of chaos, a reality perfectly illustrated by our winner — a whirling dervish of mass destruction in appealing furry form.

It seems, however, that we can easily forgive the odd mischievous misdemeanor; Britons are indulging their dogs like never before. Gone are the days when Rex would be satisfied with a musty old tennis ball, a bone to gnaw on and a trip to the vet if he knocked at death’s door. A recent survey valued the British ‘pawprint’ economy at £10 billion, with more indulgent owners lavishing their dogs with spa-grade grooming experiences, gourmet food, designer beds and even private-jet charter.

We don’t blink when dogs appear on the catwalk or in fashion campaigns (the latest Hermès effort, directed by Tom Emmerson, depicts dreamlike vignettes of pups in luxurious settings), we take them to restaurants and modify cars to keep them safe. Inside our homes, interiors are evolving to accommodate the revised roaming rights according to canine command.

Yet have we gone too far? Enlightened attitudes to animal care are commendable, but the anthropomorphism of our pets and reluctance to enforce boundaries can only result in behavioural issues — our dogs are a mirror of our own attitudes. Only time will tell, but for now, the dog days are merely beginning.

I first came across a pair of Bavarian mountain hounds at Badminton Horse Trials. They were tucked beneath the counter of the Hiho Jewellery stand with rich chestnut coats, soulful eyes and slightly furrowed brows. Their markings were wonderfully distinctive.

Clem Ransford, their owner, says she can only bring them out when the customers have left: ‘They ask us more about the dogs than the jewellery!’ Clem and her husband first discovered the breed at Blair Atholl Horse Trials. They called their first puppy Minke, later breeding from her and keeping her daughter, Orca.

Today, Minke and Orca live with Clem and her family in West Dorset. Indoors, she laughs, they’re ‘more like dachshunds’, happiest buried beneath a blanket. It’s a far cry from the determined working hounds they become the moment they catch a scent. ‘They are not a dog, they are a hound,’ cautions Clem. ‘They make very good pets, but they are a working dog. When their noses go down, they are difficult to stop.’ However, despite being bred for the mountains of Bavaria, they’re curiously unimpressed by a wet English afternoon. ‘They hate the rain,’ says Clem. ‘They just want to be close to you.’

The breed originated in Germany during the late 19th century to track injured game through the mountains and, unlike many working breeds, have remained remarkably true to their original purpose.

Designed to work on steep slopes, they’re agile, athletic and built for difficult terrain. Clem jokes that they seem to have a ‘spring in their legs’, scrambling effortlessly across uneven ground. To call them scent hounds feels almost inadequate. Their noses are extraordinary. A Bavarian mountain hound can follow a scent that is up to 48 hours old, often over several miles and, perhaps most impressively, without becoming distracted by fresher scents that cross its path. They are occasionally utilised by the emergency services.

Perhaps their most remarkable quality, however, is their silence. When tracking, they do not bark continuously. Instead, they move quietly, only giving voice once they have located the injured animal.

There are thought to be around 1,000 Bavarian mountain hounds in the UK and the Royal Kennel Club records only 90 puppy registrations each year. With numbers that small, finding a well-bred puppy takes patience, and The Royal Kennel Club recommends breeders carry out a variety of best practice schemes and tests, including one for hip dysplasia, before proceeding. Prioritising genetic diversity and the fact that they’ve never been fashionable has also helped the breed to stay so true to its origins.

Would-be owners don’t need to live in a large house, but they will need a sizable garden with secure fencing. Consistent and patient training is a must, and they shouldn’t be left alone for too long — the dogs forms a deep attachment to their owners and can suffer from separation anxiety. The Bavarian mountain hound is not for everyone, but nor, one suspects, would it want to be.

‘I was working from home recently with Penny asleep at my feet. I popped into the kitchen to fetch a coffee and a biscuit, only to return a few minutes later to find Penny very much awake and standing on my desk,' says Alexander Atkins. 'They’re full of surprises and never cease to entertain.'

Penny is Alexander's four-year-old Gordon setter. Annabel Brook, who has owned two Gordons, agrees: ‘You’ll never have a dull moment as a Gordon owner’.

Not familiar with the breed? You’re not alone. This distinctive dog, known for its striking, sleek black and tan coat, is recognised by The Royal Kennel Club as a vulnerable native breed, with annual registrations below 300 puppies. Only 93 litters were registered in 2025, a 52% decline from 2024.

The Gordon owners I spoke to were fiercely supportive of the breed, exalting its merits as the perfect family dog for those with the space and time to provide exercise (at least two hours a day) and stimulation. And it seems this isn’t classic owner bias speaking: the Gordon really does seem to be an ideal family dog provided its energy needs can be met. ‘They are so conscientious and aware of others that they effortlessly embed themselves as part of the family. They’re fiercely loyal pack animals and absolutely adore their owners’, says Alexander, who was persuaded of the virtues of the Gordon after previously owning an Irish setter.

For anyone seeking companionship and affection, the Gordon fits the bill and more. ‘We went camping once only to wake up to find Islah between my husband and I with her head on our pillow,' says Annabel. Islah was subsequently barred from a luxury kennel after refusing to sleep anywhere other than beside the kennel’s owner.

Given their endearing loving nature (‘Fraser is a total tart’ were Alexander's exact words about his other Gordon), why the current lack of popularity? The answer lies in the breed’s origins as a working dog. It was originally developed by the 4^th Duke of Gordon at Gordon Castle in Scotland in the second half of the 18^th century. And much like clothes or architecture, dog breeds act as a barometer for the environments in which our ancestors lived. They are a product of their times.

The Gordon was bred for hunting grouse and pheasant, and in a time where game shooting was carried out by walking up, they thrived. Indeed, ‘the breed holds a special place in Royal Kennel Club history as a foundation breed, having been recognised when the Kennel Club was established in 1873’, a spokesperson for the Club tells me. Queen Victoria reportedly had a Gordon called Bony.

‘But game shooting has gone from walking up to driven shooting now, which the Gordon isn’t needed for’, Charlie Thorburn, owner of Mordor Gundogs, explains. Charlie founded his Perthshire training school in 2003 with a focus on training family dogs that also work in the shooting field.

Because Gordons haven’t been used for the original purpose for which they were bred for years, the breed’s genetics have shifted. ‘If you’re not working a dog, you can’t breed them for working ability because you can’t select the ones that are good at working’, explains Charlie. As a result, you’re unlikely to see a Gordon in the field. ‘I’ve trained about half a dozen Gordons, but none of them to a shooting level, more just getting them to be a bit more obedient — they’re pretty stubborn,' says Charlie.

But rather than relegating the breed to obsolescence, it seems the way forward is more about redefining the Gordon’s purpose as a dog for the active, outdoor-driven family. (I can’t help but think of the Gordon as the dog world’s equivalent of the person whose job has recently been replaced by AI). ‘Loyal, goofy, funny, kind and just adorable’, raves Annabel, whose current Gordon is a 10-year-old called Aggie. (Some Disney fans claim Goofy himself was modelled after a Gordon setter).

‘We used to do Cannicross when she was younger and we got a Parkrun PB together,' says Annabel.

One modern conundrum the Gordon hasn’t quite turned its chameleonic capabilities to yet? White jeans and cream sofas. No doubt the 4^th Duke of Gordon didn’t have this problem in the 1700s. ‘The price you pay for their love and affection is muddy trousers and dirty furniture,' says Alexander. A small price very much worth it, it would seem.

The Sealyham terrier has the sort of face that suggests it has seen a great deal of life and approved of only some of it. Small, white and faintly dishevelled, with dark intelligent eyes peering out beneath extravagant eyebrows, it resembles nothing so much as a retired colonel who has wandered out of a country house in search of a whisky and an argument.

Few dogs combine such comic dignity with such complete certainty in their own judgement, which may explain why Sealyham people become so devoted to them.

The breed began life, improbably enough, as a serious working dog. In the 1850s, Captain John Edwardes of Sealyham House in Pembrokeshire, required a small terrier game enough to go to earth after badger, otter and fox, while keeping pace with his pack of otterhounds. He insisted the dog be white, so that, underground or in the thick of a hunt, it could never be mistaken for its quarry. Edwardes kept no records, so the exact recipe is lost, but the now-extinct English white terrier, the Welsh corgi, the Dandie Dinmont and a little bull terrier are all thought to have had a hand in it. The result had to be fearless enough to face a badger underground, yet civilised enough to behave respectably indoors afterwards — a curious marriage of ferocity and good manners that has charmed owners ever since.

After the First World War, the Sealyham became the dog to be seen with. It swept the show ring, taking Best in Show at Westminster four times between the wars; Alfred Hitchcock adored them and famously appeared alongside two of his own, Geoffrey and Stanley, in the opening moments of The Birds. Princess Margaret reportedly insisted hers, Johnnie and Pippin, be brought to her room with her breakfast tray each morning; Cary Grant was so fond of the breed that he gave one his original name, Archie Leach. Agatha Christie kept them too, which seems entirely fitting because I imagine they would have made excellent witnesses.

The Sealyham is lazy compared to its terrier compatriates and very happy to while away several hours on the sofa. They like their own people best and are in no hurry to be charmed by anyone else.

The Kennel Club registered more than 1,000 Sealyhams in 1938; by 2008, the figure had collapsed to 43 puppies, placing the breed among the most endangered native dogs in Britain. Even now only about 100 or so are registered in a typical year. Country Life itself sounded the alarm, devoting a 2011 cover to the cause: ‘SOS: Save Our Sealyhams’.

Salvation, such as it is, has come from a devoted few who speak of them with unguarded affection. The interior designer Bee Osborne, who keeps the breed, calls them simply the perfect small dog: loyal, but not needy, sturdy and brave, friendly and kind-spirited. The only real drawback, she admits, is practical rather than temperamental — for a dog this low to the ground and this emphatically white requires bathing rather more often than one might like. Her devotion runs further than most: she has named a whole range of paints after her Sealyhams.

And there are flickers of a revival. A younger generation is beginning to rediscover the breed. In an age of dogs bred to be relentlessly agreeable, there is something appealing about one that reserves the right not to be. Watching a Sealyham trot across a lawn, whiskered face set in faint but unwavering self-belief, one feels it belongs to a Britain quietly disappearing. The Sealyham, characteristically, seems unconcerned. It has always expected the world to come back round to its way of thinking — eventually.

Canonically associated with palaces and peeresses, papillons are, at heart, merry little opportunists: bubbly as Champagne and primed to hop into any arms that will stroke them.

A descendant of the toy spaniel, their name, of course, means ‘butterfly’ in French, bestowed for the extravagant ears that flare from their heads like open wings. Although, as Vita Sackville-West observed of the papillon: ‘No butterfly ever sported such richly fringed hairy wings. The first shower of rain would soon bring it down if it did.’

Believed to have been introduced during the reign of Louis XIV to complement the elaborate fashions of the court, papillons have long been favoured by members of European nobility, from Madame de Pompadour to Queen Victoria. Their admirers have also included Marie Antoinette, whose favourite dog, called Coco, is said to have stayed by her side during her imprisonment in the Temple and the Conciergerie.

Their diminutive stature meant that courtly ladies could carry them in the wide sleeves of their gowns or in their muffs to warm their hands in the winter; conveniently, papillons typically grow to between eight and 11 inches tall and can weigh as little as five pounds.

Yet the papillon’s story begins centuries before it first graced the salons of Versailles. Their ancestors can be spotted in Renaissance paintings throughout Europe — they appear in revered works by Titian, Rubens and van Dyck — where they are often depicted perching on velvet-draped seats or peeking up from beneath banquet tables.

Although be wary not to mistake them for their drop-eared cousins, the similarly charming drop-eared phalène (or ‘moth’). Indeed, papillons understand performance — as demonstrated by their many Crufts accolades. They consistently win in the Toy Breed category and have even snapped up Best in Show, for they certainly know how to turn heads.

Their fur, though profuse, is relatively easy to maintain because it lacks the dense undercoat that tangles so readily in other breeds. Regular brushing is usually enough to keep their coat glossy and free of knots. Papillons are not, however, merely ornamental. Beneath the frippery is a surprisingly hardy canine. They may look as though they ought to shy from muddy weather, but most papillons enjoy the outdoors. They take long walks and woodland explorations in stride, making them equally suited to life in a country pile as they are a London flat. Papillons are also known for their agility and speed. In dog sports, such as obedience and agility competitions, they regularly outperform much larger breeds thanks to their quick reflexes.

The breed arrived comparatively late in Britain, becoming recognised by the UK’s Kennel Club in the 1920s, quickly gaining popularity both for their handsomeness and astonishing intelligence. In fact, papillons are often ranked among the smartest of all dog breeds, capable of learning commands quickly and responding eagerly to training.

However, such intelligence can also bring with it a certain amount of willfulness. ‘He has me well-trained,’ says the Hampshire owner Dee Duff of her 12-year-old papillon, Alfie. ‘He only goes where he wants to go, and decides how long for. He can be very stubborn!’ Indeed, there is something almost comic about the contrast between their appearance and temperament. They may weigh little more than a bag of sugar, but they move through life with complete conviction.

Today, they appeal to a wide range of owners for their companionship, their trainability and their adaptability: among them are the singer Christina Aguilera and the actor George Takei.

Papillons are affectionate without being clingy and lively without becoming overwhelming. They tend to form very close bonds with their families and are often happiest when included in everyday activities. Though friendly by nature, they are also alert little watchdogs, quick to announce visitors with sharp barks that belie their tiny stature.

Their elegance is most apparent when they are in motion: their ears float, their expression is serene and their tails stream behind them like a plume, as though caught in some perpetual parade. The duality of their poise and adventurousness is perhaps what makes them so enduringly delightful.

The ‘room’ is a gem of Louis XVI architecture, a triumph of gilded beech, rich velvet upholstery and pineapple finials fringing an exquisite dome. It is not, however, a miniature boudoir, but a maison de chien — a glorified dog bed from about 1775.

Which pampered pooch rested its paws on the plump cushion? The bed is very similar to another, now at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York, which furniture-maker Claude I Sené made for Marie Antoinette to house her beloved poodle, Pompon. Might this, too, have once been hers — or rather, Pompon’s? The maison de chien will be on offer with Mallett at the Treasure House Fair, London. This year’s edition of the Treasure House Fair will run until June 30.

If antique dog beds aren't your style, one need only look to 'Barkitecture', the kennel design competition that took place at Goodwoof earlier this year.

With entries auctioned by Bonhams on behalf of Battersea Dogs & Cats Home, the highly anticipated competition was, this year, hosted by Kevin McCloud, which pretty much tells you all you need to know about it.

The theme for 2026 was 'Dogs in Space', a perfect choice when it comes to making spaces which will be occupied by dogs, you could argue. The winner was HPW Architecture, with 'Star Paws Sleeping Module'.

Their concept — or concpet if you will —was inspired by rescue dog Murphy and up-cycled from disused components (it looks a lot like a washing machine if you ask me, so I imagine some of the components might have been from one of these).

Another practice, Hall + Bednarczyk Architects, celebrated the moment in the film 2001: A Space Odyssey where a bone transforms into a spaceship with their design.

A rocket-shaped kennel, by George & James Architects, was so good, it even saw real life astronaut Tim Peake get on board.

It just goes to show, however mad your ambitions for your dogs kennel are, there are plenty of designs — both old and new — that are simply from another planet. But that's dog people for you.

A version of this feature originally appeared in the June 10, 2026, issue of Country Life. Click here for more information on how to subscribe.

The playful ‘dance’ of the Nova Scotia duck tolling retriever is a curious sight to behold. It typically takes place on the shoreline of a river, lake or sea, the dog’s voluminous, orange coat bouncing as they move from side-to-side, their body and steps designed to intrigue and attract the waterfowl paddling past. It is this skill — the ability to lure ducks from deeper waters by mimicking the behaviour of a fox — that makes the duck tolling retriever unique, and has cemented them as the faithful companions of Canadian hunters for centuries.

The Nova Scotia duck tolling retriever was recently thrust into the spotlight with the release of off-beat horror film Good Boy (2025), a story told entirely from the perspective of a dog, Indy (don’t worry, he lives), who belongs, in real life, to the film’s creator, Ben Leonberg. However, they are still relatively rare in the UK, with only a few thousand registered and fewer than 300 born each year.

Their origin story begins on the southern tip of the Nova Scotia peninsula, where hunting ducks on the squiggly coastline and myriad lakes of Yarmouth County has been a popular pastime since the 1800s. Duck tolling retrievers were trained to tempt the ducks into range and, once they were dispatched of, retrieve them.

They are also popular pets: Canadian ice dancer Tessa Virtue has one called Zoë; actor Steve Martin has one called Sonny. The retrievers made their way across the pond in the 1980s, but would-be owners beware. They are as demanding as they are delightful and you need to be prepared to put up with the ‘toller scream’, high-pitched and frantic calls that sound alarming, but are in fact their way of expressing excitement. Energetic, athletic and highly intelligent, duck tolling retrievers need hobbies, jobs and plenty of exercise. Think flyball, agility and dock diving. The upside? They are very trainable and pick up tricks quickly. Surprisingly, they are also sensitive, so may be cautious, or even suspicious, of strangers.

Often mistaken for large spaniels, this breed is, in fact, the smallest of the retrievers. They have a deliciously soft, medium-length double coat with white markings and a feathered tail which requires regular brushing and the occasional trim around the paws and face — a small sacrifice for such a handsome hound. Their style is so unusual and demeanour so alert and intriguing, that owners often report being stopped in the street by strangers.

The Nova Scotia duck tolling retriever might be rare, but those who choose to take one on rarely have any regrets. Spirited and deeply devoted to their family, this breed will ask a great deal of you — regular exercise, plenty of patience and a good sense of humour — but it gives back far more in return.

Famed for their low to the ground bodies and gorgeously long, luscious coats, Skye terriers may look handsome (at least when groomed), but they have a history as hardworking companions. Beneath all that hair is an incredibly loyal, fearless and dignified dog whose history still ripples across Scotland today.

If you've ever visited Edinburgh, chances are you've come across Greyfriars Bobby, the bronze statue commemorating Scotland's most famous canine (below). Bobby belonged to John Gray, a night watchman, and when Gray died in 1858, the little terrier reportedly refused to leave his grave. For 14 years, through rain and snow, he kept watch in Greyfriars Kirkyard, winning the affection of locals and visitors alike. To this day, Bobby remains the ultimate symbol of the Skye terrier. Devoted, and stubborn enough to follow his heart.

John Gray’s best friend might be the Skye terrier we all know and love, but Queen Victoria technically got there first. Her dog Islay helped turn the breed into a royal favourite, and the rest of society quickly followed. Skye terriers became a fixture of aristocratic life, and, by the Victorian era, it was said duchesses would be embarrassed to be seen in the park without one at their heels. Queen Victoria herself called Islay ‘my faithful little companion’ and ‘a great darling’.

Curiously, there’s a pattern of the breed appearing in bronze. It is not just Greyfriars Bobby — Queen Victoria’s Islay is commemorated with a statue in Sydney, while Robert Louis Stevenson’s Skye terrier, Cuillin, appears alongside the novelist in a memorial at Colinton Parish Church, in Edinburgh.

The Skye terrier’s royal connections, however, stretch further back than Victorian drawing rooms. One of the original terriers of the Hebrides, and by some accounts perhaps the oldest terrier breed in Scotland, the Skye can be traced back at least to the 14th century.

By the late 16th century, Dr John Caius, physician to Elizabeth I, was already noting the breed’s distinctive presence and working ability in Of Englishe Dogges (1570). These were not ornamental dogs, but hunters of fox, badger, otter and vermin — small, sure footed and far quicker than their long, glamorous coats might suggest. Elizabeth I’s cousin, Mary, Queen of Scots, owned one too, and eyewitness reports detail it hiding in her skirts on the day of her execution.

The Skye terrier’s appearance has changed considerably since the days of their royal status, shaped by its journey from working dog to show ring favourite, and companion. The breed became longer and heavier in body, with a more profuse coat encouraged by show standards. That coat comes with a commitment — weekly grooming is the bare minimum.

Typically weighing 16-18kg and living for around 12-15 years, the Skye terrier is suited to indoor life and adapts to both city and country settings. One of their most distinctive features is a veil of hair over the eyes, originally bred as protection when working through dense brush. Coat colours range from black and grey to fawn and cream, all with black points, and occasional small white chest markings. Their body is twice as long as it is tall, with short legs and two ear variations — pricked (most common) or dropped.

Despite the breed’s past popularity, numbers have fallen sharply. With fewer than 4,000 estimated worldwide, the Skye terrier is now classified as a ‘Vulnerable Native Breed’ by the Royal Kennel Club, and in 2025 just 33 new registrations were recorded.

Loyal by nature, Skye terriers can be a little territorial, especially over the person they bond most closely to. They respond best to patient training and a sense of humour, as they are not the most pliable of dogs. But with their unmistakable silhouette and striking coat, they are affectionate, clever, and full of character — well worth the extra grooming. One hopes they’re never reduced to history books alone, but continue turning heads for years to come.

To celebrate World Ocean Day on June 8, and inspired by a delightfully silly TikTok trend, I've been considering an important question: which marine animals look most like man's best friend?

I strongly recommend taking all comparisons with a pinch of sea salt.

Seal = Staffordshire bull terrier

There's something undeniably Staffie-esque about a seal. The big soulful eyes. The smooth, silky appearance. The compact, muscular build. Even the expression is similar — a mixture of optimism and the vague hope that somebody nearby might have snacks.

Great white shark = English bull terrier

With their smooth egg-shaped heads, tiny triangular eyes and prominent noses, the resemblance to a great white shark is surprisingly strong. The crucial difference, of course, is that one is a famously affectionate clown of the dog world and the other is a three-tonne apex predator.

I'd happily come face-to-face with an English bull terrier every day of the week. A great white shark, rather less so.

Swordfish = borzoi

The longest snoots in their respective worlds.

The borzoi's famously elongated head has become the subject of countless internet memes, but the breed was originally developed by Russian aristocrats to hunt wolves. The swordfish, meanwhile, can reach speeds of more than 95km/h thanks in part to its streamlined shape.

Dolphin = Labrador retriever

Both seem permanently delighted to see you. Both are intelligent, sociable and eager to interact with the world around them. Labradors consistently rank among Britain's most popular dogs and dolphins are one of the few marine animals known to play simply for fun.

I think they'd make great friends.

Walrus = French bulldog

A comparison based largely on what experts might describe as 'squishy faces'.

The walrus's magnificent wrinkles, impressive whiskers and permanently unimpressed expression feel remarkably French bulldog-like. Both also have a tendency to look simultaneously grumpy and charming.

Elephant seal = bloodhound

It's all about the nose.

The male elephant seal's inflatable proboscis can reach nearly 2m in length and produces the extraordinary roaring noises used to impress rivals. The bloodhound's nose is equally impressive in its own way, possessing around 300 million scent receptors — among the highest of any dog breed.

Pufferfish = Pomeranian

Small? Yes.

Round? Also yes.

Capable of dramatically increasing in size when feeling threatened? Absolutely.

The pufferfish inflates with water; the Pomeranian simply inflates with confidence. Both somehow manage to occupy far more space than their physical dimensions would suggest.

Beluga whale = Samoyed

The resemblance between a beluga whale and a Samoyed isn't so much about appearance as it is about vibe. Both are bright white, endlessly friendly-looking and appear to spend their lives smiling. Belugas are often described as the most expressive of all whales, thanks to their flexible facial features, while Samoyeds are famous for the trademark 'Sammy smile' that gives them their perpetually cheerful appearance.

Manatee = basset hound

With their substantial frames, gentle nature and wonderfully unhurried approach to life, manatees and basset hounds feel remarkably alike. Both have a certain soft-edged charm, complete with droopy expressions, ample rolls (always a compliment) and a tendency to look as though they've just woken from an exceptionally good nap with neither appearing to be in any particular rush to get anywhere.

Dumbo octopus = Boston terrier

Both have enormous expressive eyes, compact bodies and an uncanny ability to look like animated characters brought to life. The dumbo octopus, named after the elephant-like fins protruding from either side of its head, may be one of the cutest creatures in the ocean. The Boston terrier is certainly one of the cutest dogs.

Whether you're a dog person, an ocean enthusiast or simply someone who enjoys comparing animals that have no business being compared, here's to celebrating the remarkable creatures that make both our oceans and our lives infinitely more interesting.

‘Of the new breeds that have come to us in recent years the German seems as likely as any to win over the British public,’ Country Life reported in 1937.

At the time, the boxer was still largely unknown in Britain. Yet within a decade, the breed would surge in popularity, becoming one of the nation's favourite dogs. Following the Second World War, Country Life observed that boxers were ‘intelligent and teachable, and when they have quality they are good-lookers’.

The breed was developed in Germany towards the end of the 19th century by crossing an old Continental fighting type known as the Bullenbeisser — literally ‘bull biter’ — with a white English-bred old-fashioned bulldog. The Bullenbeisser was an agile, powerful and exceptionally courageous dog, bred to hunt bears and boars as well as participate in bull-baiting. The resulting boxer would later be described by Country Life, rather aptly, as a ‘stream-lined bulldog’.

The Munich-based Deutscher Boxer Club was founded in 1896, although it took another six years before a breed standard was established and a further three before it gained widespread acceptance. Early breeders Philip and Friederun Stockmann, founders of the influential 'vom Dom' kennel, recalled that the first show boxers were ‘mostly white or piebald, small to the ground, without much nobility and often with very poor hindquarters but with fine and typical heads’.

The first attempts to establish the breed in Britain met with little success. A well-bred bitch arrived in 1911 but made little impression, while a pair imported into Northern Ireland in 1919 failed to reproduce. In Germany, however, the breed flourished as a working dog.

One of the first breeds used for military and police service in Germany, boxers served as messenger dogs, guards, pack carriers and patrol dogs during both World Wars. Their athleticism, intelligence and trainability made them highly valued working companions. Although they are now rarely employed in working roles in Britain, boxers remain adept at tracking, obedience and protection work.

By the 1940s, Britain had begun to take notice and, by the following decade, the boxer ranked among the country's most popular breeds.

In a letter published in Country Life on February 29, 1952, reader Robert T. Ruddick of Wiltshire summed up the breed's appeal: ‘No boxer could be just an ordinary dog. They stand out a mile in every respect from every other breed, being highly intelligent, docile, good-natured and reliable.’

That assessment still rings true today. Described by Country Life as ‘an athlete, with a body as active as his mind’, the boxer combines energy and intelligence with a notably affectionate nature. The magazine also praised the breed's ability to balance ‘a fondness for minding the baby with a sensible and level-headed ability to mind the house’.

Playful, energetic and often gloriously silly, boxers possess a clownish streak that has endeared them to generations of owners. Their capacity to entertain is matched by their devotion to family life, making them both engaging companions and dependable household dogs.

The breed's admirers have included Zara Tindall, Clare Balding, Humphrey Bogart, Shirley Temple, Tony Curtis and Simon Callow.

As Country Life observed in 1970, the boxer is ‘not too big for a house of moderate size, with a short close coat that is no trouble to keep clean, a fondness for children’ and a distinctly ‘clownish’ sense of fun.

More than half a century later, that prediction appears to have been correct. The boxer remains a familiar sight at British firesides — an intelligent, loyal and endlessly entertaining companion.

For more of Agnes Stamp's fascinating breed histories, discover The Country Life Book of Dogs.

Unless you’ve been living under a rock — or perhaps in a particularly remote farmhouse without WiFi — you’ll know that Rivals, the television adaptation of Dame Jilly Cooper’s gloriously chaotic 1988 novel, returned to screens last Friday. Between the shoulder pads, adultery and backcombed hair, episode one also delivered something equally important: dogs. A lot of dogs at the highly anticipated final of the Rutshire Cup between the Remington Steelers and the Jones Jets.

Naturally, I approached this with the seriousness it deserved. There was pausing, rewinding, freeze-framing, zooming and a lot of screenshotting — all in the name of important journalism.

Here they are, in order of appearance…

Poodle

The first dog we see is a large poodle — elegant, extremely well groomed and sporting the classic pom-pom cut. Standard poodles have somehow acquired a reputation for being delicate, when in reality they were originally bred as hardy working water dogs, retrieving game from lakes and marshes across Germany and France. Their elaborate coat was designed to keep vital joints warm while helping them swim more efficiently. They’ve long attracted eccentric aristocrats and notable owners, from Prince Rupert of the Rhine to Winston Churchill’s beloved Rufus and Rufus II. So it makes perfect sense we’d find them on the polo pitch of Lord Lieutenant Henry Hampshire (Brendan Patricks) and Lady Hermione Hampshire (Olivia Poulet).

Pointer

Next, a pair of white-and-tan English pointers. Few breeds look more perfectly suited to a polo field. Originally developed from Old Spanish pointers and refined in Britain during the 18th century, pointers became favourites on sporting estates thanks to their speed, stamina and dramatic instinct to freeze stock-still when they spot game.

Smooth collie

Then there was a blue merle smooth collie. Smooth collies have always been overshadowed by their fluffier cousins made famous by Lassie, but collie devotees will insist they are the superior model. Originally bred as Scottish herding dogs, they were once beloved by Queen Victoria, who kept smooth collies at Windsor. The blue merle colouring — all marbled silver-grey coats and pale eyes — gives them a distinctly wolfish elegance.

Border collie or Australian shepherd

One chocolate-and-white dog required forensic-level analysis. Border collie or Australian shepherd? I’m still not entirely certain, although given where the show is set I’d lean towards border collie. Border collies, shaped by the harsh landscapes of the Anglo–Scottish border, are widely considered the cleverest dogs in the world and have an unnerving ability to outthink their owners. Australian shepherds, meanwhile, aren’t Australian at all, but Californian dogs descended from sheepdogs linked to Basque shepherds. Either way, the dog looked far too intelligent to be hanging around the ridiculous humans surrounding it.

Terrier mix

Taggie’s beloved Gertrude appears to be some kind of terrier mix — perhaps Norfolk, Norwich or Cairn. Jilly Cooper described her as a ‘scruffy, tight-skinned mongrel’, which honestly covers a large percentage of Britain’s dogs. Norfolk terriers and Norwich terriers were originally tiny East Anglian ratters popular with Cambridge students, while Cairn terriers hail from the Scottish Highlands and were bred to hunt vermin among rocky cairns. All three breeds share the same essential quality: the absolute conviction that they are capable of taking down an animal roughly six times their size.

Great Dane

A harlequin Great Dane introduced to us as ‘David Bow-Wowie’ appeared next, which may genuinely be one of the greatest fictional dog names ever created. Harlequin Danes — white with dramatic black patches — are one of the most theatrical-looking dogs in existence. Originally bred in Germany to hunt boar, Great Danes have since evolved into oversized sofa ornaments who believe themselves to be lapdogs despite weighing roughly the same as a grand piano.

Dalmatian

Next up, a Dalmatian looking glamorous as ever. Long before Disney got involved, Dalmatians were carriage dogs bred to run alongside horses for miles at a time, so this feels like a perfectly placed breed for the polo field. Extremely athletic working dogs, they still look as though they should belong to someone wearing silk gloves and arriving fashionably late.

Labrador retrievers

Off the polo field we find Lady Monica Baddingham, Tony’s wife, walking out of their honey-stone manor with a pair of matching yellow Labrador retrievers. Originally bred in Newfoundland to retrieve fishing nets from icy waters, Labradors have become Britain’s definitive family-and-country-house dog. Yellow Labs in particular have that permanently optimistic expression that makes them look delighted simply to be included in events. The black Labrador — noticed only by the keenest-eyed viewers — briefly lurking near David Tennant’s feet at the end of the episode also carries that classic ‘proper working dog’ reputation: sleek, steady and deeply serious about snacks.

Jack Russell

Rupert has two Jack Russells spotted sitting on Tony Baddingham’s lap — strangely relaxed on the lap of their master’s arch nemesis, if you ask me. Developed by the ‘Sporting Parson’ Reverend John Russell in the 19th century, Jack Russells were bred to bolt foxes underground while still keeping up with horses above ground. Modern Jack Russells remain fearless and usually one poor decision away from vanishing into a hedge after something furry. Queen Camilla’s rescue Jack Russells, Beth and Bluebell, even became the first dogs ever embroidered onto a British coronation gown and featured on the Country Life frontispiece.

Springer spaniel

And finally, of course, there had to be a springer. No fictional countryside setting would be complete without at least one. Originally bred to ‘spring’ game from cover, springer spaniels combine astonishing athleticism with complete emotional softness. They are beloved by gamekeepers, shooting estates and anyone willing to accept muddy pawprints as part of the décor.

We look forward to spotting more dogs throughout the series almost as much as the steamy love affairs, dramatic rivalries and memorable one-liners.

Not all dogs begin life with comfort, stability or a family waiting patiently at the front door. Some arrive with stories we will never fully know. Yet for many owners, rescue dogs become the dogs that change everything.

National Rescue Dog Day takes place annually on May 20 to raise awareness of dogs waiting for homes, to encourage adoption and to highlight the importance of giving animals a second chance. Founded by Tails That Teach, the day celebrates rescue pets and the people who take them in.

Rescue dogs were also celebrated this weekend at Goodwoof, where hundreds of rehomed dogs gathered for a special parade led by the Duke of Richmond. Rescue dogs and their owners walked from the front of Goodwood House to The Kennels, taking centre stage at the annual celebration of all things canine and my personal favourite day of the year. The event also announced a growing partnership with Battersea Dogs & Cats Home, Goodwoof's official charity partner for 2026.

A rescue dog is simply a dog that has been adopted or rehomed after being surrendered by a previous owner, found as a stray or removed from unsuitable circumstances. Some have experienced neglect or abandonment. Others arrive through no fault of their own — following bereavement, illness, changes in family circumstances or financial hardship.

Britain has a long history of caring for abandoned animals. Battersea Dogs & Cats Home was founded in 1860 by Mary Tealby. The charity began life as the Temporary Home for Lost and Starving Dogs in a stableyard in Holloway, north London, with the promise that no dog 'in any condition be, on any pretence whatever, refused admittance'. At a time when stray dogs filled Victorian streets, it was among the first organisations dedicated to animal welfare. More than 160 years later, the need remains significant.

The Royal Family’s connection with Battersea stretches back generations, from Queen Victoria’s patronage to Queen Camilla’s beloved rescue Jack Russells, Bluebell and Beth, who even appeared together on the July 13, 2022, Country Life frontispiece wearing pearls belonging to Her Royal Highness, then Duchess of Cornwall, no less — a fitting symbol of the affection and support the Royals have long shown the charity.

Animal welfare organisations estimate that tens of thousands of dogs are currently waiting for homes across the UK through rescue centres and foster networks. In recent years, demand for rescue dogs rose sharply during and after the pandemic, although shelters have also reported increasing numbers of animals being surrendered amid rising living costs.

For many owners, however, rescue dogs offer something difficult to quantify. There is the obvious benefit of giving an animal a home, but there are often unexpected rewards too. Rescue dogs can make wonderful companions and many owners speak of the particular bond that develops through earning a nervous dog's trust and helping them gain confidence.

As Katy Birchall discovered in an earlier Country Life piece on rescue dogs, owners often describe rescue animals as changing their lives just as much as they change the dog's. Television presenter and former tennis player Sue Barker said of her rescue dog Charlie: 'He makes me laugh every single day; I've never met a dog with so much personality.'

She also credited him with changing her own routines: 'He's in heaven with all the hedgerows and footpaths we have here. Thanks to him, I'm a lot healthier. He's really put a spring in my step.'

Rug designer Luke Irwin described a similarly transformative effect. 'We're so lucky that we live in the country and can give these dogs such an incredible life of freedom, space and walks,' he said of his Battersea rescue dog Rabbit. 'He's brought so much to our family, I can't imagine life without him.'

Rabbit also developed something of a reputation of his own after winning Country Life's Britain's naughtiest dog competition when he secretly climbed into an Amazon delivery van and set off on an unscheduled adventure around the country.

The countryside itself can also play a role in helping rescue dogs settle. Kaye Mughal, centre manager at Battersea Old Windsor, told Country Life: 'When you think of Battersea, it's easy just to think of London. However, a lot of the dogs here are country breeds looking for country owners.' She added: 'When a dog is transferred here from London, we often see a remarkable difference. A quieter, countryside environment is hugely beneficial and the dogs really come out of their shells.'

We have two rescue dogs in our family today: Stanley and Charlie.

Stanley, our miniature dapple dachshund, came to us in a somewhat unconventional fashion after we found him listed online. Sitting in the car before our visit, my mother and I rather unconvincingly reassured each other that we were only looking and absolutely would not be returning home with another dog — a promise that lasted all of five minutes.

When we met Stanley he was tiny and trembling, with thinning fur and eyes full of nerves. It quickly became apparent that he had never walked on a lead, eaten from a bowl or been house-trained. Looking back, we suspect much of his early life had been spent with very little routine or care.

Charlie arrived later under very different circumstances. Another dachshund — a standard black-and-tan, and rather larger than standard — he had originally been bought as a companion dog and had become significantly overweight through lack of exercise, something any dachshund owner will know can be particularly dangerous for the breed's vulnerable backs. Although he was by no means neglected, he was incredibly needy and had become deeply dependent on constant company and attention.

The joy Charlie has brought to our family has been immeasurable, but perhaps most surprisingly, he gave Stanley something too. After a short adjustment period — which is entirely normal when bringing a rescue dog into another dog's space — we watched Stanley play like a puppy at the age of 11.

Rescue dogs often arrive with unknown histories, odd habits and a few emotional scars. They require hard work, dedication and patience, like any dog. But more often than not, what they give back far outweighs what they ask for.

The poodle was not always the dog the world is obsessed with today. Then, suddenly, in the 1950s, the poodle became the dog to own. Elegant women hoisted them across Manhattan; department stores hosted poodle parades; society hostesses dressed them in ribbons and jewels. One American newspaper declared that when a girl ‘makes the big time she traditionally acquires three things — minks, gems, and a poodle.’ I’ve never wanted to make the big time more in my life. Some women even cut their hair short and fluffed it up, to resemble a poodle — including actress Elizabeth Taylor.

Today, poodles appear in Gucci campaigns, Mulberry shoots and on Mugler runways; Jeremy Scott once sent them down the catwalk at London Fashion Week. But behind their elaborate clips lies a surprisingly athletic, working dog. Most cynologists believe the poodle originated in Germany during the Middle Ages, where it was bred as a water retriever. Its name comes from the German pudel — ‘to splash in water’. Numerous German artworks from as early as the 17th century have poodle-like dogs in them — long before the breed was formally recognised by the Kennel Club in Britain, in 1874. Standard Poodles were the original hunting dogs, bred for retrieving waterfowl, while miniature and toy varieties were later bred down for companionship and specialised tasks, such as truffle hunting.

Plenty of people know poodles for their inventive hairstyles (or clips), but the origin of the craze was entirely practical. The traditional poodle clip was designed for swimming efficiency, with the legs and hindquarters shaved to reduce drag in the water, while pom-poms of fur protected the joints and vital organs from freezing temperatures. Over time, practicality turned into extravagance and nowhere embraced that extravagance more enthusiastically than Poodles, Inc.

Over time, the poodle evolved from sporting dog to status symbol and no dog did more to shape that transformation than a silver-grey toy poodle named Masterpiece. Masterpiece belonged to Count Alexis Pulaski, a mysterious Russian émigré who became utterly obsessed with the breed after looking after his friend Gilbert Kahn’s dogs in the late 1930s. Soon afterwards, he opened Poodles, Inc, on West 52nd Street in New York, just a few doors down from the famous 21 Club. It was part salon, part boutique, part luxury hotel for dogs. Clients could board their poodles while travelling, buy them accessories and choose from an extraordinary menu of hairstyles. Poodles, Inc. reportedly offered 16 different clips. There was the bouffant-inspired ‘Mae West’, the ‘Tom Collins’ flat top and even the ‘Sailor Clip’, designed to make a dog’s legs resemble bell bottoms. You could even give your poodle a moustache.

Then, in August 1946, Pulaski bred a litter that would change his life. One puppy immediately stood out: a grey toy poodle he named Pulaski’s Masterpiece. Pulaski adored him and once joked that Masterpiece looked like ‘Louis XVI posing for a portrait in his little grey wig’. I don’t disagree. The dog quickly became a New York celebrity. Masterpiece attended cocktail parties, featured in American Vogue, earned $25 an hour for modelling — reportedly more than some human models — and had his own bank account. He attended Paris Fashion Week and even travelled to Cuba as a goodwill ambassador. Rita Hayworth’s third husband, Prince Aly Khan, is said to have offered $25,000 for him — an astronomical sum at the time, and still today, but Pulaski refused. Before long, newspapers were calling Masterpiece ‘the world’s most valuable dog’.

His puppies went to stars including Judy Garland, Eva Perón and Gary Cooper, helping fuel America’s obsession with the breed. At one point, Masterpiece led a parade of 70 poodles down Fifth Avenue before taking his place on a green velvet throne in a department store window. Bud Boccone, managing editor of the American Kennel Club Gazette, believes the breed’s appeal lies in its complexity: ‘They’re beautiful animals, very smart but complex,’ he says. ‘That’s what makes them so companionable. They have a kind of human-like character.’

Then, in May 1953, Masterpiece vanished. Pulaski had briefly stepped downstairs at Poodles, Inc. When he returned, the dog was gone. A witness later claimed to have seen a dark-haired woman in a red coat leaving the shop with a small grey poodle calmly walking beside her, not on a lead. Because Masterpiece was so obedient and rarely barked, many believed he had simply followed her willingly. Newspapers across America reported on the disappearance. Groomers across New York were placed on alert. Thousands of leaflets were distributed and police in 13 states notified. Pulaski pleaded publicly for the dog’s return, reportedly saying: ‘Stealing a dog like that is like stealing the Hope Diamond.’

At the time, poodle thefts were increasingly common. Their popularity and value had made them targets. But no ransom note ever arrived. I can’t help but wonder whether Masterpiece had simply had enough of being New York society’s most photographed dog. Perhaps he fancied retiring quietly onto somebody’s sofa. Whatever happened, Pulaski never recovered from the loss and Masterpiece was never seen again.

Almost a year later, a journalist visiting Poodles, Inc. described the shop as feeling like a memorial. Photographs of Masterpiece still lined the walls and, in one corner, his green velvet throne sat empty. Pulaski eventually closed the business and devoted himself to writing an encyclopaedia on the breed, Pulaski on Poodles. Sir Winston Churchill, himself a devoted poodle owner, is said to have requested a copy. Pulaski remained convinced that, beneath all the glamour and absurdity, ‘the poodle should be bred primarily as a pet, for temperament, willingness to please, and a radiation of charm.’

Few dogs are as instantly recognisable or as consistently charming as the corgi. Low to the ground, but brimming with confidence, they have a habit of winning over even the most hardened dog sceptics. You may not spend quite as much time online as I do, but you will almost certainly have encountered their global appeal: take Winston the corgi (@worldwidewinston), who has amassed close to 600,000 followers documenting his travels testing pet-friendly hotels, restaurants and airlines — with regular appearances at The Lowell and The Connaught.

If you have ever spent time around a corgi puppy (or, indeed, a corgi owner) you will know about the moment their ears ‘pop up’. Puppies are born with soft, floppy ears, and the transition to upright is something of a rite of passage. Typically, this happens between two and six months of age, often during teething, when the cartilage strengthens and the ears rise, sometimes one at a time, sometimes with the occasional, temporary relapse, see below.

Before going any further, it is worth getting one thing straight: there are two distinct types of corgi: the Pembroke Welsh corgi and the Cardigan Welsh corgi (similar at a glance, but with telling differences once you know what to look for). The Cardigan is the older of the two, with roots stretching back as far as 1200 BC, and tends to be slightly larger and longer in body (a sturdier, more ‘workmanlike’ dog). It carries a long, bushy tail and rounded ears, and appears in a wider range of colours such as blue merle and brindle (among the rarer and most striking variations within the breed).

Pembrokes, by contrast, are more compact and ‘foxy’ in expression, with pointed ears and traditionally shorter tails; they are also, broadly speaking, the more outgoing of the pair — sociable, energetic and often described as natural ‘performers’. It is this variety that most people picture when they think of a corgi, thanks in no small part to Elizabeth II. Her lifelong devotion to Pembroke Welsh corgis began with Susan, given to her on her 18th birthday in 1944, and grew into a dynasty spanning more than 30 dogs. They travelled with her, appeared in official photographs and became, in many ways, part of the fabric of the monarchy. For many people, ‘corgi’ means a Pembroke corgi, a perception shaped largely by the late Queen’s patronage.

The Cardigan, by comparison, has remained the quieter sibling, though no less deserving of attention. Longer-backed and longer-tailed (its Welsh nickname, Ci Llatharid, or ‘yard dog’, refers to its length from nose to tail), it possesses the same sharp intelligence and steadfast loyalty, just delivered with a slightly more measured air.

That herding instinct is key to understanding both their temperament and their shape. Corgis were bred as drovers — dogs tasked with moving cattle across long distances — and their low-slung build was an advantage rather than an accident. By keeping close to the ground, they could nip at the heels of cattle and dart out of the way of a retaliatory kick in a split second. Their surprising stamina meant they could cover miles in a day, while their sharp bark helped keep livestock in line. In Wales, they were considered so valuable that laws once set their worth in livestock terms: a good droving dog could be worth far more than an ordinary farm animal. According to Welsh legend, corgis were the preferred mounts of fairies, with faint ‘saddle marks’ said to be visible in the colouring of some coats — something I very much like to believe as truth.

I’ve recently returned from a few days in Rome, so it felt like as good a time as any to turn my attention to the Italian greyhound — the much smaller, more delicate cousin of the English greyhound, widely known in recent years as ‘iggies’. The Italian greyhound is one of the smallest dog breeds in the world — a miniature sighthound known for its elegance, speed and surprisingly big personality.

Despite the name, the breed’s origins stretch back to the Mediterranean — most likely Italy and Greece — with tiny sighthounds appearing in ancient art and artefacts thousands of years ago. They were later adored by European nobility and formally recognised as a breed by The Kennel Club in 1901. As Jane Moseley observed when speaking to Katy Birchall for Country Life (September 5, 2018), the breed has long held a certain fascination — ‘the enduring curiosity surrounding the smallest of the sighthounds’.

They’re often thought of as the perfect city dog — and for anyone wondering, yes, Italian greyhounds can make excellent city companions — but when it comes to Italian greyhound temperament, there’s a bit more to them than that. A friend of mine has one, named Baby Ragu (her government name) and she was the first Italian greyhound I properly befriended. Every time I see her, she flashes her ‘happy teeth’, a quirk any fan of the breed will know and love, before launching into a series of frantic zoomies. I’ve never seen anything quite like it.

That’s the thing — they may be tiny, but they are still very much sighthounds. Quick, nimble and surprisingly athletic, they can jump far higher than you’d expect. ‘They’re real sighthounds. You can walk them as far as you want and they’re still bouncing,’ said Jo Amsel, who owns 12, also speaking to Birchall for Country Life. One minute they’re airborne, the next they’re folded neatly into your lap, burrowing under a blanket as if they’ve always lived there.

Italian greyhounds have long been favourites of the rich, royal and well-dressed. They were beloved by figures such as Catherine the Great — who kept several small Italian greyhound–type dogs — and Queen Victoria, often appearing in portraits perched elegantly beside their owners. As Christine Chau, co-founder of luxury dog-bed company Charley Chau, recalled to Country Life, ‘the first time I set eyes on one was in a painting… elegant and slightly mischievous-looking’, a description that feels entirely accurate. Today, that legacy continues with TV royalty in the form of Kylie Jenner and Uma Thurman. They’ve become something of a fashion icon in their own right, frequently spotted in campaigns, on runways and across Instagram wrapped in knitwear that is, frankly, better than most people’s. Take Tika the Iggy, perhaps the most famous of them all, who amassed more than a million followers on Instagram and millions more on TikTok, setting the tone for that particular corner of the internet.

They’re affectionate, sensitive and deeply attached to their humans — so much so that they can be prone to separation anxiety. ‘They need plenty of attention and don’t really understand the concept of personal space, preferring to sit on you than next to you,’ said photographer Ben Bailey-Davies, describing their affectionate — and slightly demanding — nature. They dislike the cold (hence the jumpers, practical as well as aesthetic), and they’re still hunters at heart, so recall can be… optimistic. Prospective owners should know that Italian greyhound care requires a bit of attention, particularly when it comes to warmth, dental health and handling their delicate limbs.

They are very small. Most Italian greyhounds weigh between 3–5kg — about the same as a small bag of potatoes, but with significantly more opinions — with dogs typically slightly larger than bitches, though the difference is minimal. They stand at around 32–38cm at the shoulder — all legs, really — which only adds to their slightly otherworldly look. They typically live between 12 and 15 years, which is a long time to be sharing your sofa (and your blankets).

They might look like delicate little creatures — and, at times, behave like them — but spend five minutes with one and you’ll realise their personality is a lot bigger: fast, funny, faintly ridiculous and completely irresistible.

Let’s be honest — let loose behind the wheel of a sports car, how many of us would probably crash it? Replace ‘car’ with ‘spaniel’ and it might be that many people tempted by a cocker or springer would actually be better off with the slightly steadier field spaniel, suggests Jeremy Hunt (‘Minor spaniels become a major force’, February 10, 2000), praising its ‘calm temperament’. A medium-sized breed best suited to country life, the field spaniel is also a rare one — with just 73 puppies registered with the Kennel Club in 2024.

This may make the field spaniel a more suitable pet — although Peggy Grayson, in The History and Management of the Field Spaniel, issues a word of warning: ‘People must be told how big a Field will grow, what a lot it will eat and how much more exercise it will require than a run in the park… They must be told that this is not a breed for people out at work all day.’ In short: it’s still a spaniel.

Described in C. Bede Maxwell’s The Truth About Sporting Dogs as the ‘jack-of-all-trades spaniel’, the breed came about when land spaniels were divided into cockers (smaller), springers (larger, with white), and solid-coloured dogs (fields). Longer in the body than its relatives, the field spaniel was nearly lost on several occasions — something S. M. Lampson attributed to show enthusiasts who decided the breed had to be ‘long, low dogs’. This, he said, led to a generation of spaniels that ‘resembled sausages with two legs at each end’ (‘Can the field spaniel survive?’, September 13, 1962).

The two World Wars were also disastrous for the breed. By 1949, the Kennel Club’s studbook listed only one dog. Fortunately, breed enthusiasts helped revive it in the 1960s, returning it to a well-balanced, active sporting dog — usually in liver or black, but occasionally with tan markings or in roan.

Today, the Field Spaniel Society describes the breed as ‘a true country man’, ‘an avid traveller’ with a love of cars, and ‘an excellent rough shooter’s dog’ with a ‘highly developed sense of humour’.

Out of the show ring, the steady, silky-eared field spaniel remains every inch a proper country dog.

This feature originally appeared in the March 26, 2025, issue of Country Life. Click here for more information on how to subscribe.

About 26,000 years ago, a small boy walked through the Chauvet–Pont-d’Arc cave in the Ardèche carrying a burning torch. Walking beside him was an animal. The pair left a long trail of sooty footprints. The paw marks have been the subject of much debate among archaeologists — dog or wolf? To the French huntsman, however, there is no argument: the prints are those of a faithful hound, incontestable proof that, when it comes to using canines to pursue game, France is at the head of the pack.

Whatever the provenance of those paw prints, the certainty is that the French have been hunting with hounds for thousands of years. In the 1st century BC, Julius Caesar and his invading legionaries noted that the Gauls used two types of dog for hunting — smooth-coated sight hounds and shaggy scent hounds. Arguably the most famous dog in the Roman Empire was a Gaulish hound named Margarita. This beloved canine’s marble funerary plaque is on display in the British Museum. It tells us that she was once ‘taught to roam unexplored woodland with courage and chase hirsute game in the hills’. Latterly, however, her owners took her to Rome, where she renounced her wild youth and learnt to sleep on a blanket.

Today, there are more than half a million hunting hounds in France, divided into more than two dozen breeds, with more than 150 elite packs registered with the Société de Vènerie, 13 hound clubs and an estimated 400,000 hunt followers. The French hunt boar, red and roe deer, fox, rabbit and hare. Although the terrifyingly ferocious wolf packs that feature in the hunting tales of Alexandre Dumas and Guy de Maupassant no longer roam Gallic forests mauling livestock and eating farm workers, the hounds that once pursued them remain at the ready.

The French are justifiably proud of their hounds, although it is believed that many of the nation’s most famous breeds owe their origins to the Abbey of Saint-Hubert in what is now Belgium. Here, from about AD850, the Benedictine monks engaged in one of the first selective dog-breeding programmes. The result was a long-legged, powerful and heavily jowled scent hound, the Chien de Saint-Hubert (Saint Hubert of Liège is the patron saint of huntsmen, his conversion to the religious life having come about via the intervention of a talking stag). Each year, the monks would send prize dogs to the King of France as a tribute and, as the numbers of their own packs swelled, French monarchs gave dogs to their noblemen.

In the 11th century, some of these dogs found their way to England. They are the ancestors of our beloved bloodhounds. Over time, the French monarchy’s hounds would develop into a distinct breed that was named — with a surprising lack of Gallic flair — Chien Blanc de Roi (the King’s White Dog). It was from this smooth-coated hound, captured on canvas by Louis XV’s court painter Jean-Baptiste Oudry, that many famous French breeds, including the Poitevin, the Billy and the Porcelaine, descended.

The Poitevin is perhaps the most venerable of all French hounds and can trace its ancestry to the region around Poitiers in western France. Originally bred to hunt stags and wolves, many are descended from the pack of a certain Monsieur Larye, a celebrated 18th-century huntsman, who was himself mercilessly pursued by the revolutionaries and guillotined in 1793. Tri-coloured, smooth-coated, tall and powerful, with enough stamina to cover 35 miles in a day, the Poitevin has a Roman nose, runs at a lolloping gallop and has a soulful air that matches its deep and sonorous voice. Described by experts as being ‘reserved and slightly introverted’, the breed is the professor of the pursuit.

A very similar beast to the Poitevin is the Billy. Despite sounding distinctly British, the Billy actually takes its name from the Château de Billy in Poitou, where it was first bred.

The Français Tricolore is, as its name suggests, noted for its three-coloured markings, which give it a look of fashionable élan. Little wonder that the great superstar of the Belle Époque, Sarah Bernhardt, posed with a pack for an evocative painting by Louise Abbéma that casts the actress as Diana the Huntress in a dashing tricorne hat.

More similar in appearance to the original hounds of the Abbey of Saint-Hubert is the Grand Bleu de Gascogne, of whom the French huntsman Pierre de Castets wrote: ‘There is no more noble beast… with his majestic allure, powerful voice and air of aristocratic melancholy.’ The Grand Bleu has a beautiful black, white and tan coat and the heavy head of a bloodhound. As its name suggests, it originated in south-west France, although the breed was fully refined in the mid 19th century by Baron Prosper de Ruble.

The Baron’s wolf-hunting pack gained nationwide renown and made a dramatic subject for the great Parisian painter of hunting scenes, Jules Bertrand Gélibert. The Empress Eugénie was impressed and offered Baron de Ruble a small fortune for his prize dog, Major. An ardent believer in the Bourbon monarchy, the Baron refused to sell.

The Griffon is generally a tall, rough-coated hound of ancient pedigree. The mighty Griffon-Nivernais looks like a descendant of the dogs portrayed in the Palaeolithic cave paintings in the Dordogne. In 1800, a cattle breeder near the city of Nevers, in what is now Bourgogne–Franche-Comté, found his herds constantly harassed by wolves. He sent to a relative in the western province of the Vendée for help.

Thirteen gigantic shaggy hounds — Grand Griffons-Vendéen — duly arrived. In a few years, it is claimed, the pack had killed 200 wolves. The original ferocious dogs were eventually crossed with an English foxhound named Archer and the Griffon-Nivernais was the result. The Griffon-Nivernais is craggy and hirsute, with a faint air of scruffy neglect and a peculiar magnetism. If he were a man, he would surely be propping up a bar in a provincial French town with a glass of vin rouge in one hand and a Gauloise in the other.

A friend of mine returned from a decade working in France with one. Big Rick, as he was known, was a sturdy fellow. When you patted him on the back, he felt as solid and immovable as a three-seat Victorian sofa. Like the Gaulish hound Margarita, Big Rick had adapted comfortably to domestic life in a new land. ‘In France, he was forever chasing prey — deer, hare, wild boar…,’ said my friend. ‘But, when we moved back home, he quickly worked out that if he approached old ladies and looked at them with his big brown eyes, they’d pretty much always give him a biscuit.’ Ah yes, that mysterious Gallic charm to which few seem averse.

The Griffon Fauve de Bretagne has royal pedigree. François I (1515–47) kept a pack. The inhabitants of Brittany are noted for their Celtic fieriness and refusal to retreat, so, naturally, the hound that the locals bred displays similar characteristics. The coat is a rich golden brown, short and rough as a toothbrush. The hounds carry their sterns proudly and their heads upright, giving the impression of being ever ready to serve — or scrap. In Gustave Flaubert’s short story The Legend of Saint Julien the Hospitaller, the protagonist’s father assembles a vast array of hunting dogs that includes 34 hounds from Brittany. Flaubert tells us that they were ‘great barkers, with broad chests and russet coats flecked with white’ — undoubtedly Griffon Fauve de Bretagne.

Although these tall and strapping dogs were certainly wonderful, they did create a problem for the general population. In France, only gentlemen were allowed to hunt on horseback; the petit gens had to pursue their quarry on foot. As even the speediest French man or woman couldn’t possibly keep up with the long-legged hounds, they bred their own short version. Low to the ground, with a sense of smell that would shame the most expert sommelier, these hounds were known collectively as bassets (from bas, French for low, an adjective that, perhaps, also summarised the social status of their owners).

The most famous of the Basset Griffon come from the Vendée in western France. Truncated versions of the giant Grand Griffon-Vendéen that had terrorised the wolves of Nivernais, the bassets come in grand and petit versions (an early depiction appears in Alphonse Daudet’s comic novel Tartarin de Tarascon). Among the French, the Vendée is a byword for the stubborn independence of its peoples, for the roughness of its wild and scrubby terrain and for backwardness. (‘If France is attacked by nuclear missiles, run for the Vendée,’ Parisians quip. ‘Everything gets there 20 years late.’) The dogs from the region are low slung, with thick shaggy coats to protect them from the thorn bushes that form the bocage.

Because the countryside made it hard to see far ahead, the little hounds of the Vendée were bred to produce a baying call that seems to come from an animal at least 10 times their size. I once owned a Petit Basset Griffon-Vendéen, or perhaps he owned me — such were the demands of his Gallic temperament that it was often hard to tell. One sunny day on the Isle of Mull, I sat at the top of Ben Buie and could hear him baying on the beach some 2,352ft below. ‘He’s scented a fox,’ the friend who was looking after him texted. ‘It was so far away, I could only see it with binoculars.’ Both Grand and Petit Basset Griffon-Vendéen have happy faces, carry their tails as upright as a Napoleonic hussar’s sabre and walk with a rolling swagger that suggests a matelot on shore leave.

The Basset Bleu de Gascogne is perhaps the least energetic of these small hunting dogs and, in the past, was commended by one of its great breeders as being ideal for ‘the old huntsman riddled with gout or rheumatism’. The Basset Fauve de Bretagne, by contrast, is a livewire. The smallest of all French hounds, it makes up for this with pugnacity. With a high-pitched call, a wiry wheaten coat and a look in its eye that suggests it will stand no meddling, this little hound has a cocky attitude reminiscent of James Cagney in his The Roaring Twenties pomp.

French hounds have come a long way since that dog walked with the boy across the Chauvet–Pont-d’Arc cave in flickering firelight — and yet their baying call remains as evocative of the Gallic countryside as the sound of the accordion is to the streets of Paris.

This feature originally appeared in the March 25, 2026, issue of Country Life. Click here for more information on how to subscribe.

For 65 years, the Dulux dog has been one of the most recognisable faces in British advertising — a shaggy, good-natured old English sheepdog padding loyally alongside the nation through life’s milestones.

That legacy was marked in suitably charming fashion at The Royal Kennel Club in London last week, at a joint birthday celebration for the newest Dulux dog and the brand’s anniversary.

I met Marianne Shillingford, creative director of Dulux, and Ellen Wheeler, owner and breeder of multiple Dulux dogs, to celebrate the breed’s most famous ambassador.

The occasion featured archive photography tracing the adverts across the decades, a neatly iced cake and a full afternoon tea spread, alongside a preview of the newest advert starring the latest ‘Ms Dulux’, Dot.

‘We are here… to celebrate the 65th birthday of the Dulux dog, the lovable old English sheepdog who is our brand mascot,’ says Marianne. Its origin story, she explains, was pure accident. During the filming of a 1961 advert, a crew member’s dog, Dash, kept wandering onto set. ‘Whenever the old English sheepdog arrived, everybody just went “oh” — it stole everyone’s heart,’ she recalls. ‘What a decision that director made that day.’

Since then, the breed has become inseparable from the brand — a symbol, as Marianne puts it, ‘of trust… a friend always by your side through life’s moments’. The dogs themselves have achieved a level of fame most actors would envy. At one Dulux-sponsored event, she notes, a sheepdog drew a longer queue than the members of One Direction.

Today’s Dulux dog, Dorothy — known as Dot — continues that legacy. Bred and owned by Ellen, she comes from a remarkable lineage: her mother and grandmother both held the role before her. ‘There’s a whole lineage,’ says Marianne. ‘We watched her grandmother teaching her tricks — there must be something in the genes that makes an amazing Dulux dog.’

Dot, still young, is already every inch the star. ‘She is a proper rock star,’ Marianne laughs — though, like many of her breed, capable of chaos: ‘One wag of the tail and the whole set’s wiped out.’

Long before advertising fame, the old English sheepdog was a working animal — a drover’s companion developed in the 18th century to move livestock over long distances. Intelligent, steady and non-aggressive, it needed stamina, loyalty and, crucially, a weatherproof coat. That famously shaggy fleece — often likened to wool — helped protect against the British climate, giving rise to the (slightly misleading) notion that the breed is ‘hypoallergenic’.

Its exact origins remain hazy, but it is widely believed to have emerged from a mix of British herding dogs and continental breeds. By the 19th century, it was firmly established, often known as the ‘bobtail’ — its docked tail marking it as a working dog and therefore exempt from tax.

The breed’s distinctive look and gentle humour have long attracted admirers. Paul McCartney famously wrote Martha My Dear about his own sheepdog, while the dogs have appeared on screen from Chitty Chitty Bang Bang to Hook. In the 1960s — as Marianne notes — they were ‘a guaranteed wow factor at any party’, favoured by rock stars and actors alike.

Yet, for all its cultural cachet, the old English sheepdog is now under threat. Once among Britain’s most popular breeds — with thousands of puppies registered annually at its peak — numbers have fallen sharply in recent decades. The Royal Kennel Club has placed it on its Vulnerable Native Breeds list, with registrations dropping to just a few hundred a year.

The reasons are largely practical. These are big, energetic dogs requiring space, exercise and significant grooming — a challenging fit for modern, smaller homes. And yet, those who know them tend to be devoted. They are affectionate, intuitive and famously loyal — dogs that, as many owners will attest, prefer to be wherever their people are.

Perhaps that is why the Dulux dog endures — not simply as an advertising icon, but as a reminder of something older and softer in British life: a large, slightly unruly, deeply loveable and recognisable presence.

With just 146 puppies registered with the Kennel Club in 2024, the Scottish deerhound remains one of Britain’s rarer native breeds — and one that feels most at home in the open countryside its history is rooted in. Large, powerful and unmistakably elegant, it carries itself with a quiet authority that reflects its long and noble past.

Recorded in Scotland for at least 500 years and originally known as the Scottish wolfdog, the deerhound was first used to control wolves and later developed into a specialist breed for coursing red deer. The Kennel Club describes it as a perfect blend of ‘speed, power and endurance necessary to pull down a stag’, combined with a general bearing of ‘gentle dignity’.

Deerhounds resemble rough-coated greyhounds and are closely related to Irish wolfhounds — slightly smaller, but no less imposing. Males stand at least 30in at the withers and weigh around 45.5kg. Despite their size, they are known for their grace and devotion — although you would certainly notice if one attempted to climb onto your lap.

The breed fell out of favour in the early 19th century, when many of Scotland’s great estates were divided into smaller holdings focused on stalking and shooting — pursuits better suited to tracking dogs such as collies. A Victorian revival followed, led in part by Queen Victoria, who kept deerhounds at Windsor alongside Prince Albert. One such dog, a bluish-fawn named Keildar, was used by the Prince Consort for deer stalking in Windsor Park.

Their quiet nobility has long inspired artists and writers. Sir Edwin Landseer painted several deerhounds, including Maida, the favourite dog of Sir Walter Scott, who described the breed as ‘the most perfect creature of Heaven’. Maida, a gift from the Chief of Glengarry, appears in Scott’s Waverley novels and was depicted by Landseer ‘with much spirit indeed’.

The breed’s history extends even further afield. General George Custer, the American Civil War cavalry officer, owned deerhounds — including Tuck, who is said to have died at the Battle of Little Bighorn. According to the Scottish Deerhound Club of America, she would nudge his hand insistently while he wrote, demanding attention.

More recently, the breed found a place in popular culture: in Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, Sirius Black’s animagus form, Padfoot, was portrayed by a deerhound named Kilbourne Macleod.

Available in shades of grey, blue and brindle — sometimes with white markings — the deerhound remains an aristocratic icon: a dog of princes, poets and sportsmen, as at home on a Highland estate as by the fireside.

I’m starting to wonder if I should get business cards printed for my dog. Glen of Imaal terrier owners — and there aren’t many of us — will understand this. Go anywhere with a Glen and it will elicit smiles and questions, including the tentative, yet inevitable: ‘What is he?’

You tell them, enunciating the name slowly because ‘Glen of Imaal terrier’ is a mouthful and liable to be misheard. You repeat it, perhaps twice, and explain a little more about the breed. ‘He’s so lovely,’ they say. ‘What a character’ — and you part company. Every time, you’re left wondering how a breed that attracts such admiration can remain relatively unknown.

Glen of Imaal terriers are named after their place of origin, a remote area of Co Wicklow, where they worked on farms to keep predators such as rats in check. The breed was so localised, it was barely known across the rest of Ireland, let alone further afield, until the end of the 19th century. In 1956, a reader of The Field from Co Antrim wrote to the magazine asking: ‘Could any reader give me a description of the “Glen of Imaal Terrier?” Is it still in existence?’ In the same year, the Glen received a brief mention in Country Life, as ‘an extremely game little dog’.

By 2008, a litter of Glen puppies was considered such a novelty, it was reported in both the Daily Mail and The Times. Today, they remain unicorn-like, a fixture on the Royal Kennel Club’s list of vulnerable native breeds; only once in the past decade have more than 100 Glen puppies been registered in a year.

I’ve had my Glen, Feargal, almost five years and have yet to bump into another by chance. The breed is ruggedly handsome, with a charmingly unkept coat available in shades of wheaten, blue and brindle. They have half-pricked ears, soft panda eyes and a jaunty gait. According to the breed standard, their tail should be ‘carried gaily’ and a good Glen will exhibit ‘maximum substance for size’. In other words, they’re pleasingly chunky.

‘Years ago, we had a very fine West Highland terrier who was quite a character and large for his breed,’ reveals broadcaster Clive Anderson, who — with his wife, Prof Jane Anderson — owns Ailsa. ‘I didn’t think I could find another Westie quite like him and was attracted to the idea of a Glen, a fairly similar, sturdy breed.’ The Andersons’ bitch is named after Ailsa Craig, a small, granite island (of Olympic curling-stone fame) off the west coast of Scotland. Given her heavy-set stature, the name ‘seems to suit her,’ notes Clive.

True to type, she loves everyone in the Anderson family and beyond, but ‘definitely has a mind of her own and will sit or lie down in the street if she feels it is not really time to go home yet’. Described as a big dog on short legs or, as I prefer, an Irish wolfhound after a boil wash, the breed is achondroplastic — a dwarf breed — bred specifically to do a job: digging out badgers.

Their short legs, bowed outwards like those of a Queen Anne chair, operate like mechanical diggers. Behind that mop of shaggy hair, they have long jaws with a scissor bite and their muscular physique makes them extraordinarily powerful. Try taking a Glen for a walk — that strength combined with a low centre of gravity means you’ll need to hold on for dear life if they spot a cat or a fox. However, their occasional pugnacity melts away in the presence of humans. They are incredibly friendly and, at the end of a walk, Feargal will sit often outside our front door as I discard walking boots, surveying the street on the off chance a neighbour, the postman, a passing builder (anyone, really) will stop to tickle his tummy.

Unlike most terriers, they rarely bark (a trait from their working days, when they were bred to remain silent underground). Fireworks, sausages sizzling under the grill or a fire alarm are the only things to trigger his deep, sonorous bark — so, although he might invite burglars in and even point out where the valuables are, I am at least confident he’d save us in the event of a fire.

Strong and mostly silent, many Glens reveal their mulish character on walks. When a member of a Glen of Imaal terrier Facebook group posted a photograph of their dog flopped on the pavement refusing to move and asked if anyone else had experienced similar behaviour, members responded with photographs of their own Glens doing exactly the same thing, sprawled across kerbs or in the middle of roads; a damning body of evidence testifying to the breed’s legendary stubbornness.

They will walk for miles if they can do it at their pace. However, if you’re the active type and want a dog that will trot alongside you on a morning jog, think again, as they have a habit of putting the brakes on without warning.

A sweet charm offensive can be found in the form of the ‘Glen Sit’ — a unique, secret weapon guaranteed to dent the resolve of the most determined owner. They sit up, unaided, with their hind legs out in front of them and fore paws by their side, a feat made possible by their solid muscular bodies. It is both odd and adorable. ‘He looks like a Gummy Bear,’ hooted an astonished walker when Feargal performed a Glen Sit in our park. Whether begging for a toast crust or angling for a chest rub, they know exactly when to deploy their special superpower.

This article first appeared in the March 11 issue of Country Life. For more information on how to subscribe, click here.

Last night, Crufts declared Bruin the Clumber spaniel Best in Show. In honour of his success, we're revisiting a feature on Clumbers that originally appeared in a 2017 issue of Country Life.

Click here for more information on how to subscribe.

For the Clumber spaniel, 2017 was a year to celebrate. The fortunes of these handsome, muscular, lemon- and orange-marked white gundogs have languished since the Second World War. Annual puppy registrations hovered around the 200 mark. By comparison, The Kennel Club registers some 30,000 cocker and springer spaniel puppies every year.

Spring 2017, however, for the first time since 1911, a Clumber spaniel won an any variety field trial. When three-year-old Midori Diamond Huddlestone, known as Rigg, triumphed over 15 springers in the novice stake of the Tyne Tees and Tweed Field Trial Association, he became the first Clumber any variety field-trial winner for more than 100 years. Press coverage of Rigg’s success added to high-profile owners — including The Princess Royal, president of the Working Clumber Spaniel Society, and Justin Welby, the former Archbishop of Canterbury, who, back then, owned a Clumber called Bramble — has contributed to renewed interest in this historic British breed.

For Clumber aficionados, Rigg’s victory came as no surprise. His owner, committee member of the Working Clumber Spaniel Society John Smith-Bodden, pointed to the breed’s ‘fantastic noses’ and their dogged thoroughness in hunting out their quarry, an assessment seconded by the Marquess of Salisbury, who, at the time of writing, was working his third successive Clumber spaniel, Lincoln. ‘They have enormous stamina and wonderful scenting qualities,’ Lord Salisbury told me. ‘They also typically show none of the over-excitement or flibbety-jibbertiness of some springers.’

Instead, these dogs are reliable and sure-footed, noted for their gentle mouths and gentle dispositions, their quietness in the field, tenacity in working through dense cover and, above all, their affectionate natures. ‘In the field, they’re totally focused on the task in hand,’ said Charlotte Chilvers, whose dogs Bumble and Hebe are working gundogs as well as pets for her two young sons, Robert and Oliver. ‘They are such kind dogs, so loving — a joy to be around. They seem to understand the dynamic of family life. Although my husband works them, they’re not one-person dogs. The children spend more time on the dogs’ beds than anywhere else in the house.’

Today’s Clumbers are descendants of the stocky, marmalade- and liver-splashed white spaniels bred and trained for the 2nd Duke of Newcastle by gamekeeper William Mansell, at Clumber Park in Nottinghamshire, in the last quarter of the 18th century. A handful of these dogs is visible in The Return from Shooting, a painting of 1788 by Francis Wheatley, in which the Duke, William Mansell and Newcastle’s friend Col Litchfield are depicted in an autumn landscape with gamekeepers and springer-type spaniels.

Tradition invests these first Clumbers with a French pedigree. Their progenitors were reputedly dogs given to the Duke by the duc de Noailles, a picturesque tradition unsubstantiated by material in the papers of either the Newcastle or Noailles families.

Whatever the truth of their origins — and it may be, as has been suggested, that the distinctive heavy doughtiness of the Clumber shape arose through the inclusion of some hound blood in Mansell’s breeding programme — the breed’s early popularity is attributable to Newcastle’s sponsorship: dogs from Clumber Park made their way into the Duke of Portland’s kennels at nearby Welbeck Abbey and those of the Foljambe family at Osberton Hall near Worksop. Members of the Foljambe family afterwards bred some of the first Clumbers entered in dog shows.

In her journal for October 1840, Queen Victoria recorded a walk in the park at Windsor with Prince Albert and ‘his seven fine Clumber Spaniels’: ‘We went into the Slopes… in order that I should see how the dogs found out the game; they are such nice, dear dogs.’ The Prince bequeathed his fondness for the breed and his habit of working them as a pack to his eldest son and grandson; Edward VII and George V, both keen shots, each kept a number of Clumbers in the kennels at Sandringham.

In one contemporary account, it was the breed’s suitability for working in groups that particularly attracted George V, his favour ‘largely attributable to their special suitability for the covert shooting in which His Majesty delights and to the fact that the clumber, almost alone of shooting dogs, can be worked in packs’.

Dog painter Reuben Ward Binks placed the King’s favourite, Sandringham Susan, in the centre of his charming George V’s Clumber Spaniels at Sandringham, a portrait of six royal Clumbers painted in 1930.

Today, few owners are able to accommodate packs of working dogs on this scale. In addition, those Clumber breeders who preserved the breed from extinction in the years after the Second World War contributed to the development of an increasingly heavy, slow-moving spaniel lacking athleticism and unsuited to working coverts. Without any working purpose, the breed experienced a sharp decline in popularity from which it has yet to recover fully.

Today’s owners all agree that the Clumber deserves to be more widely kept, both as a working dog and a pet. Lord Salisbury admires the breed’s ability to wriggle through undergrowth to put up birds and their stubbornness in running down their prey: ‘They’re not the intellectual stars of the canine world, but they’re pretty grounded and they have delightful personalities. And, as I grow older, Lincoln proceeds at something nearer my own stately pace.’

Owner Claire Griffith, who works her rescue Clumber Finn on her husband’s North Wales estate, admires his fixity of purpose. ‘He works very well in dense thicket and does quite a lot of putting up,’ she said. ‘He works much more carefully than other spaniels, picking up birds that other dogs miss and working steadily and slowly.’

Claire identified Finn’s complete lack of aggression as a typical Clumber trait. His slow determination is also typical, although, for some owners, it comes close to stubbornness and John suggested that puppies can be slower to train as working dogs than other spaniel types.

John and his wife, Jane, have six Clumbers, including Rigg, whose performance in the field he described as ‘poetry in motion’. Beyond the dogs’ adroitness in putting up or retrieving partridge, pheasant and duck and their gentleness, loyalty and affection, the Smith-Boddens, like other owners, admire the Clumber’s gorgeous good looks. Claire waited many years before she was able to acquire one of her own. ‘Somewhere, there is a 19th-century painting of Clumbers in the heather,’ she remembered. ‘I’d always rather wanted one.’ The long-awaited Finn, rehomed from a keeper on Anglesey, is a ‘very beautiful white and ginger’.

It’s not entirely true that Clumbers are silent dogs. Despite their quietness when working, they have a distinctive singsong woo woo bark that Charlotte told me delights her sons and with which Clumbers typically greet their owners each morning. It seems characteristic of these gentle, patrician spaniels that even their bark should be mellifluous and winning.

The Country Life quiz runs daily every afternoon, with new editions published at 4pm.

Missed a day? Want more quizzes? Catch up with all our previous quizzes here.

Dogs, as many women will tell you, have a way of becoming both companion and confidant; a constant presence and comfort through life’s various chapters. The novelist Jilly Cooper understood this better than most. When her late husband, Leo Cooper, was once asked what she wore in bed, he famously replied: ‘Dogs.’ Same here, Jilly, same here.

Elizabeth II was perhaps the most famous dog lover of all. Her corgi dynasty began with Susan, a Pembroke Welsh corgi given to the future Queen on her 18th birthday in 1944. Susan travelled everywhere (she was famously smuggled beneath a rug in the royal carriage during the royal honeymoon) and from her descended a dynasty of more than 30 royal corgis. They followed her from palace to palace, rode in helicopters and even received Christmas stockings at Sandringham filled by Her Majesty. It was also thanks to the Queen — and an illicit romance between Princess Margaret’s dachshund Pipkin and one of her corgis — that the world was introduced to the dorgi.

For writer Dodie Smith, a dog quite literally changed her life. The author of The Hundred and One Dalmatians based the story closely on her own household. She and her husband owned a Dalmatian named Pongo, who inspired the fictional hero of the book. One of their puppies was even born apparently lifeless before being revived by her husband, a moment that later found its way into the story we all know and love.

Hollywood royalty Audrey Hepburn rarely appeared without her Yorkshire terrier, aptly named Mr Famous, a tiny dog with a remarkably glamorous life. He travelled with her around the world, perched in bicycle baskets, appeared in photo shoots with Cecil Beaton and even made a cameo in the 1957 film Funny Face. Hepburn adored him, and photographs from the era frequently show the small terrier tucked comfortably in her arms.

One such dog became an unlikely celebrity in her own right. Demi Moore’s tiny chihuahua, Pilaf, was discovered by her daughter during the pandemic and flown from Thailand to Los Angeles to join the family. Since then the miniature dog has accompanied Moore across the globe — including numerous trips to Europe — and frequently appears tucked into a sling at fashion shows and film premieres.

Dogs have long had a place in politics, too. Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis was particularly fond of a German Shepherd named Clipper, a gift from her father-in-law, Joseph P. Kennedy. Clipper was often seen beside her at the White House and quickly developed a reputation as a loyal guardian. When a reporter once asked what the dog liked to eat, Jackie replied, with characteristic wit, ‘reporters’. A useful reminder to self: channel Jackie O.

Spaniels, meanwhile, appear to be the breed of choice for many women. The Princess of Wales shares her home with Orla, a lively black cocker spaniel who joined the family in 2020 after being given to the couple by her brother, James Middleton. Newly appointed Crufts presenter Claudia Winkleman — along with Mary Berry and Oprah Winfrey — has also been devoted to spaniels and it is easy to see why. The Kennel Club refers to the breed as the ‘merry cocker’, thanks to its famously ever-wagging tail.

The Lionesses have an incredibly strong canine contingent. Beth Mead’s working cocker spaniel, Myle, is something of a star in his own right, with almost 50,000 followers on Instagram. Lucy Bronze is devoted to her French bulldog, Narla, while Lauren James often shares glimpses of her American bully, and Chloe Kelly’s dachshund, Otis, has become a familiar face to fans on social media. Even two-time European champions, it seems, are not immune to the charms of a devoted dog.

Across generations and professions, the pattern is remarkably consistent: where there are remarkable women, there are very often dogs at their side.

18,000 canine competitors — arriving from New Zealand to Peru — and more than 2,600 entries across British and Irish native breeds are currently gathering in Birmingham for Crufts 2026. It is the biggest date in the canine calendar.

Today (March 6), the second day of proceedings, it's the turn of the terriers and hounds to battle it out in the Main Arena. Terriers are the second-most successful group when it comes to Best in Show at Crufts — they boast 22 wins. Judging will commence at 6.25pm.

Until then, we will be bringing you all the action — live — from the agility ring, to the heel work competition, plus all the famous doggie faces we come across at Crufts we run into in between.

You’re probably wondering who is going to be guiding you through this day of canine chaos. Well wonder no more.

On the ground, in the NEC in Birmingham, is Flo Allen, Country Life’s Social Media Editor, and Agnes Stamp, Acting Deputy Features Editor and the author of Country Life’s Book of Dogs — more on that later.

Behind a laptop — fielding all of Flo and Agnes’s voice notes, emails, pictures and videos — is Rosie Paterson (that's me), Digital Content Director.

They’re three of the most dog-obsessed members of the Country Life editorial team… which is saying something.

Throughout the day, we will also be bringing you insights from the wider Country Life team, canine-enthusiast friends and, if you’re lucky, Tiffin — our resident office dog. His owner is Octavia Pollock, Chief Sub Editor.

Are you at Crufts today?

Let us know by messaging us on Instagram.

And we want to hear from you, even if you’re not enjoying the show in person. Get in touch and tell us what you want to see, and what breed you think will win Best in Show.

I promise that there are plenty of pictures of dogs incoming, but until then, I thought you'd like to see one of your roving reporters, Agnes and Flo.

Their practical accessories include a copy of Country Life's Book of Dogs and one of our most recent issues, announcing our Britain's Naughtiest Dog competition.

My childhood companion was a Jack Russell called Rigsby who was best described as Satan incarnate. Rigsby ate the next door neighbour's chickens, cockerel and Guinea pigs, disappeared down a storm drain for more than 16 hours, and once stole a whole ham from the fridge.

If you've got your own Rigsby — my thoughts and prayers are with you — remember to enter the competition before by April 28. You'll find all the entry criteria and terms and conditions, here.

So we’re not saying that size is everything, but… Flo and Agnes did just meet Caspar who is a three-year-old Irish wolfhound — the world's tallest dog breed, originally bred for hunting wolves and elk.

And he’s rather handsome.

Shortly after having his picture taken with Agnes (below), I’m told that Caspar went rogue and escaped his pen in the direction of the otterhound stand. Given how long his legs are (me, jealous? Never), I can’t imagine it was that difficult. You’ll all be relieved to hear that Caspar has now been corralled.

There’s more: Caspar belongs to Trudie Styler, actress, director, and film producer, and wife of Sting. Country Life spoke to her in 2018 about her love of the breed and how she and Sting came to get their first puppy. You can read that piece here.

Other famous Irish wolfhounds include Seamus, the Irish Guards' regimental mascot. Flo went to meet him a few months ago and you'd be mad not to watch the footage. Click here to give it a watch — and don't forget to follow us on Instagram.

From the biggest to the smallest: meet Mable the chihuahua (below). She is one, so this is her first-ever Crufts — and she doesn’t look entirely impressed. Perhaps she should go and have a chat with Caspar?

Mable sleeps in the bed with her human Mum. As she should. Records of dogs sleeping beside humans stretch back centuries (Mary, Queen of Scots was pro it), but the debate remains lively.

Country Life spoke to Devonshire author Callie Coles on this exact topic a few months ago, but if you’ve seen her viral Instagram videos of the children’s ponies plodding through her kitchen, you can probably guess which side of the divide she’s on…

‘At the moment, the whippets and dachshund sleep in the kitchen, the others in the boot room,’ says Callie. ‘But I love dogs in the bed — when it is cold, they are a hot-water bottle. Another heartbeat is always helpful for sleep, especially when Toby, my husband, is away.’ When asked who would be ejected from the bed first, Callie is unequivocal. ‘The children! There is no peace with that noisy rabble about.’

I don't want to make this blog all about me, but I did just come across this picture (above) of Rosie the bloodhound wearing a duffel coat and deer-hunting hat, at Crufts 1964.

Unfortunately, I haven't been able to find out why my namesake is dressed like Sherlock Holmes.

The picture below is of Champion bloodhound Leo of Reynalton, at Crufts in 1935. He is being cuddled by a little girl called Dorothy Holder and won Best in Show SIX times. A bit greedy if you ask me.

Look who Agnes has just come across!

The Spinone Italiano — or Italian spinone — is a type of hunting dog. They were first seen in the UK in the early 1980s at the Game Fair. I'm told that they have lovely temperaments which somewhat makes up for the slobber (I suppose no one's perfect...).

I've just been informed by my much more cultured colleague James that there's a very famous scent-tracking dog called Toby in the Sherlock Holmes stories — which probably explains Rosie's get up (scroll down two posts if you don't know what I'm talking about).

Apparently, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle describes Toby as an 'ugly long-haired, lop-eared... half spaniel and half lurcher' which is a tad rude.

And this is why you should always read the books and not just watch the films.

These fashionable hounds have just arrived at the NEC, and are giving the models at Paris Fashion Week — which is currently in full swing — a run for their money.

With the exception of what look like whippets in the second slide, these dogs are all Afghan hounds which originate in the cold mountains of Afghanistan. They're distinguished by their long, glamorous coats and long limbs.

Well that's it. We've peaked early and can all pack up and go home. How on earth are we going to find anything cuter than Gino and Maisie the Jack Russells?

I audibly squealed when the picture came through.

In case you're wondering, Maisie is three and Gino is seven.

The agility heats are kicking off inside the NEC Birmingham and they're being live-streamed on YouTube.

I did a double take when I spotted a comment from a viewer that read: 'Interesting to see a collar. Isn't agility normally done naked?' Turns out, they're talking about the dogs... and not their human companions.

This just in from West Sussex: Tiffin — quite literally shivering with excitement — picking up some agility skills.

The apricot-coloured miniature poodle belongs to Octavia Pollock, our Chief Sub Editor, who presumably is now getting no work done. I apologise in advance if next week's issue doesn't hit the shelves on time.

A reminder of what on earth is going on and who I am if you're just joining us...

On the ground, in the NEC in Birmingham, is Flo Allen, Country Life’s Social Media Editor, and Agnes Stamp, Acting Deputy Features Editor and the author of Country Life’s Book of Dogs.

Behind a laptop — fielding all of Flo and Agnes’s voice notes, emails, pictures and videos (and let me tell you, there's a lot of them) — is Rosie Paterson (that's me), Digital Content Director.

A love of dogs is essential if you want to work for Country Life. In fact, it's the first question we ask people in interviews (joking, sort of). You can meet some of the team and their beloved canine companions in the video, below.

And remember to get in touch with your thoughts and questions via Instagram.

Meet Vega the saluki and find out how she prepares for her star turn in the show ring

Agnes has been talking to Anna, who has 25 years showing experience, and her saluki Vega, who has been competing for six months.

Vega was bred by a friend of Anna's in Missouri, USA, and has been in the UK for a whole year.

'The best preparation is letting them see a bit of life,' says Anna. 'I take her out and about, she goes into town and meets people and other dogs and they get used to this kind of environment because the show ring is the easy bit. The environment is the tricky bit.'

She might look docile here, but Vega can be a bit of a menace. At home, she's called Vega-mouse, after cartoon character Danger Mouse, and recently 'annihilated' a doormat.

Whatever happens in the show ring, though, Anna says she's already won. 'We all take the best home.'

P.s The word saluki is derived from the Arabic word salūqī, which signifies a person or thing hailing from the ancient city of Saluq.

What exactly are the judges looking for?

Agnes and Flo have been talking to the owners of two Bavarian mountain hounds, a breed of dog used in Germany since the early 20th century to trail wounded game.

Brothers Jock and Ludo are part of a rarefied club in the UK because only around 90 individuals are registered in angle single year.

'The best thing is about them is that they're really loving and very devoted to their family... they bark and they cuddle you when you come home,' say their human escorts.

So what does it take to win Best in Show in today's hound presentation? (A quick reminder that there are seven group presentations: gundog, hound, pastoral, terrier, toy, utility, and working. The winner from each one makes it to the Best in Show final on March 8.)

'The judges look for their conformation: so are they strong and athletic. They look for them to stand nicely and show nicely, but it all falls down to the judges personal judgement. Some are heavily built like these [Jock and Ludo] and some are finer built. Different judges will like different things.'

Consider us all brand new and enthusiastic Bavarian mountain hound fans.

Breaking news: Flo and Agnes were ring-side to watch Vega take third place in the saluki competition. A fantastic result — and doesn't she know it!

The path to the final

I chose to take a lunch break at the wrong time because I've come back to a flurry of messages and updates. Apologies one and all.

Most importantly, Agnes has pinned down a Crufts expert to explain how Crufts goes about whittling down thousands of gorgeous dogs to just one triumphant winner.

Remember Vega, who came third in the saluki competition? Well the formal name for that specific competition is Junior Bitch Saluki Class (shall we call it JBSC for short?). The winning JBSC saluki, known technically as the 'Unbeaten' bitch, progresses to the 'Challenge'. And it's the same process for the dogs, and the 'Veteran' (Crufts' words, not mine) bitches and dogs.

Here's a quick — and hopefully clear — breakdown of how it all works:

• Step one: Dogs first compete against others of their same breed, split by age and gender
• Step two: The top male and female go head-to-head. The winner is named Best of Breed
• Step three: Each Best of Breed winner moves to one of seven Group Finals
• Step four: One winner is chosen from each of these seven groups to advance to the Best in Show final

And I thought the Olympic curling rules were hard to follow....

'I just watched a barefoot woman strip off to a hot pink showgirl outfit while a Border collie runs through her legs'

Crufts hosts the finals of both heelwork to music and freestyle competitions. The competitors are the top 10 dogs that qualify at premier competitions annually.

Agnes and Flo just sent me a voice note of the live commentary: 'She's fast, she's crazy, she loves to dance'.

I'm planning to launch a petition calling on the powers that be to rename this part of proceedings: 'Strictly Come Dogging'.

Overheard at Crufts: 'Can you give him some dignity please?'

Are they talking about a dog, its owner, a judge? What is the dog/owner/judge doing? I need answers.

In 2017, Tatler published a now famous article titled: 'Is it a dog toy or sex toy?' And before you roll your eyes at me and say 'don't be ridiculous, only an idiot wouldn't be able to tell them apart', you should know that I don't have a single friend who has got every single one right.

Anyway, in Monday's editorial meeting, I'm going to suggest that we steal the concept and publish a version called: 'Is it a poodle or topiary?'

'The rarest of the land spaniels'

Meet Wilberforce, the nine-month-old Sussex spaniel. He's in his first year of showing and at Crufts to compete in Best Puppy in Breed. However, there are so few of them that he's competing against five of his own littermates!

According to the Royal Kennel Club, Sussex spaniels are the rarest of the land spaniels and were the most vulnerable breed in the UK in 2018 when only 34 puppies were registered. They have since experienced a boost in popularity, with 52 Sussex spaniel puppies registered in 2019.

Claudia Winkleman, who is making her Crufts' hosting debut, has claimed that the famous dog show is better than her own wedding: 'I quite liked my wedding, this is better.'

Claudia joins Clare Balding who has presented coverage of Crufts on and off since 2004. Yesterday, a Canadian Inuit dog called Kuku got his paws on Clare's phone while she was busy interviewing double Olympic gold-winning skeleton racer Matt Weston, and made a run for it.

I've just come across these hot off the press images of some patient competitors being groomed and I couldn't not share them. All of the dogs that compete at Crufts must be in peak physical condition and judges will be on the look out for a healthy skin and coat.

However, new to Crufts this year is the Royal Kennel Club Dog Grooming Championship, which will focus on technical skill and artistry.

What was I just saying about topiary...?

Overheard at Crufts: 'I'm really more of a cat person.'

Crufts is a bit of an odd thing to turn up to if you're more of a feline aficionado, but who I am to judge? And I suppose this is as good a time as any to tell you all about the time that the founder of Crufts tried to organise a cat show.

Acknowledged as the ‘prince of showmen’ by the late-19th-century world of dog fanciers and, later, as ‘the Napoleon of dog shows’, Charles Cruft (above, 1852–1938) had a phenomenal capacity for hard graft and, importantly, a mind for marketing.

Cruft eschewed the family jewellery business in 1876 to work for James Spratt, who had devised a way of turning Navy-surplus ships’ biscuits into ‘dog cakes’ — a patent poised to capitalise on the burgeoning pet-food market. Cruft would visit the kennels of country estates, schmoozing the wealthy and influential, at the same time as peddling the dog food. It was the Duchess of Newcastle who first suggested: ‘Why not try your hand at organising a national terrier show?’

The First Great Terrier Show, held in 1886, was a success. Country Life later noted: ‘There was no Cruft-organised show that failed to have the words “great” or “famous” in its title’ and Cruft, unashamedly ‘creative’, would routinely inflate entry figures. In 1891, he would secure his lasting name: the first ‘Cruft’s Great Dog Show’, held at the Royal Agricultural Hall in Islington. It accepted entries for all breeds and was described as the ‘most extraordinary dog show ever held’. Queen Victoria and the Prince of Wales both exhibited. After his death, his wife, Emma, sold the show to the Kennel Club in 1942.

However, his attempt to organise two cat shows did not go very well and he quickly dropped the idea.

Cruft’s Great International Cat Show was held at St Stephen’s Hall in the Royal Aquarium in Westminster on March 7-8, 1894. Astonishingly, considering that he had given himself just weeks to organise the event, he managed to attract 567 entries, making it the biggest cat show of the time.

Despite an extensive advertising campaign, opening until 10 o’clock at night for each of the two days, and the assistance of the railway companies who made available special carriages to ease the problems of bringing the cats up to London, it was poorly supported by the public. The weather in March was atrocious; it rained cats and dogs, you might say. Even the press, other than those with a vested interest, paid it scant attention and when Cruft drew up the accounts for the event, he found that he had lost £100.

He was, though, persuaded to organise a second show, at the same venue in 1895. Again, it attracted around 600 entries, but it was clear that Cruft’s heart was not in it.

Additional reporting by Martin Fone.

Flo and Agnes have just been chatting to Arielle the Maltese — an ancient toy dog breed — whose owner has revealed that she didn't have any fur when they rescued her.

'We weren't ever expecting Arielle to have hair all over,' she says. Well would you look at her now! At Crufts aka the Oscars of the dog world — and with a gloriously full and sleek coat. As well as lots of delicate brushing (with what looks like a human hairbrush), Arielle's owner straightens her coat with a set of GHDs. Obviously.

'How do you get the hair so white?' asks Agnes. 'She has a bath nearly every week, but they're almost self-cleaning, so say they're dirty, you pop them in a blanket in the car and they come out clean,' comes the reply. 'It sounds strange, but it is genuinely how it works.'

Top tips for banishing tear stains

Arielle's owner kindly shared her top three tips for getting rid of the reddish-brown marks that you might've spotted on your furry friend's face.

They're caused by iron-rich molecules found in tears, saliva, and urine that oxidise on fur. They are common in white and light-coated breeds, especially Maltese dogs, poodles and shih tzus.

1. Make sure your dog drinks plenty of water
2. Watch what they eat. A lot of mass-produced dog foods are full of poor-quality ingredients and artificial additives that lead to inflammation and excess tearing
3. Don't put their food in a porous, plastic bowl which can harbour harmful bacteria and mould — even with regular washing. Buy a ceramic one instead

The very energetic fly ball competition is about to start.

Agnes has messaged me to say that the competing dogs are all wearing little leg warmers (I assume to keep their muscles supple?).

I don't know what these two Dalmatians are called, but I do know I'm jealous that Agnes and Flo got to meet them.

Behind their famous spots lies a clever, athletic dog with intense determination and serious stamina (they were bred to run alongside horse-drawn vehicles, guarding both carriage and occupants).

You can read all about them, here.

And back to the fly ball competition which I'm told has already descended into chaos. 'The dogs from opposing teams took their eyes off the prize and started playing with each other,' says Aggie.

The teams in question? Barking 4 Balls and Tails We Win.

Flo has just sent through this video live from the fly ball arena so things look like they might be back on track.

The high-speed, team-based relay race requires dogs (four per team) to navigate four, 51-foot hurdles, trigger a box to release a tennis ball, and return over the same hurdles.

Rather them than me.

Next Wednesday's issue — our biannual interior design special — has just been sent to the printers, much to the delight of Rocky and Nimrod who belong to Country Life's Managing and Features Editor, Paula Minchin.

They've been waiting for her to read the final pages so that she can take them out for a walk!

Flo, Country Life's Social Media Editor, is doing a sterling job chasing after the best dogs for your viewing pleasure.

We will be sharing plenty of behind-the-scenes footage with you on Instagram in the coming days, but until then take a look at this: Italian greyhounds (sometimes known as Iggys) Delphine, Summer, Nico and Bridget.

I wonder if they make those jumpers in human sizes?

I'm taking a (very) brief break from blogging about Crufts to show you all one of my favourite Country Life dog-related features.

Last year, we commissioned USA-based illustrator Tug Rice to match some much-loved breeds to the luxury fashion brands that share their history, temperament and vibe — because why not.

These are some of the drawings he did:

You can see the entire set of images here, and on our Instagram page.

The much-anticipated West Midlands Police dog display is about to start. Flo cornered the force earlier and asked them if they let the dogs sleep in their beds.

Does anyone want to guess what they said?

I've been writing about and looking at photographs of dogs for seven hours and I think it's made me go slightly mad, so when Flo sent me this video of a dog dancing to Chim Chim Cher-ee, a song from 1964 musical film Mary Poppins, I did start to think I might be in the grip of a particularly intense fever dream.

Panic not! This is very much ALL REAL.

Triphazard — not a name that inspires confidence, it has to be said — is the winner of the Freestyle Heelwork to Music Competition. And, I'm sure you'll all agree, a very deserving winner.

Agnes and Flo's key takeaways from the Police dog display so far:

1. This is not a display team, they are working dogs
2. Kipper the Belgian malinois is the best looking dog in the unit
3. The Police have long favoured working with the versatile, intelligent, and loyal German shepherd, though the hard-working malinois is becoming increasingly popular. Incidentally, Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis owned a German shepherd. He was called Clipper and, according to Traphes Bryant, White House electrician and unofficial dog handler for Presidents Kennedy, Johnson, and Nixon, was trained by the Metropolitan police
4. Police Dog (PD) Ernie, a cocker spaniel, is very popular with the audience. He is a search and detection dog who regularly assists the Nuclear and the West Midlands Police
5. PDs can be trained to face down rioters. During the 'riot control' portion of the display, the dogs 'jumped through the shields like spears poking through a Roman shield wall'

I'm sure I'm not the only one who didn't know about the Nuclear Police (see previous post). I've had a Google and 'the Civil Nuclear Constabulary is a special police force responsible for providing law enforcement and security at any relevant nuclear site and for security of nuclear materials in transit within the United Kingdom. The force has over 1,500 police officers and support staff.'

The dogs that assist them are highly-trained and typically specialise in bomb detection, patrol and suspect apprehension.

Every day's a school day.

If you're just joining us on this rainy Friday afternoon a) welcome to the mad house and b) here is what's going on.

Country Life is reporting live from Crufts at the NEC in Birmingham. Today (March 6), the second day of proceedings, it's the turn of the terriers and hounds to battle it out in the Main Arena. Terriers are the second-most successful group when it comes to Best in Show at Crufts — they boast 22 wins. Judging will commence at 6.25pm.

Until then, we are bringing you all the action — live — from the agility ring, to the heel work competition, and pictures of all the famous doggie faces we come across in between.

On the ground is Flo Allen, Country Life’s Social Media Editor, and Agnes Stamp, Acting Deputy Features Editor and the author of Country Life’s Book of Dogs.

Behind a laptop — fielding all of Flo and Agnes’s voice notes, emails, pictures and videos — is Rosie Paterson (that's me), Digital Content Director.

'Best Veteran Bitch'

No, this isn't my planned epitaph, it's the title just awarded to Rosie (ANOTHER NAMESAKE), the eight-year-old English bull terrier from Paisley, Scotland.

Rosie is now through to the next round: Best in Breed.

There's about an hour to go until the Group Judging and Presentations get underway. The terriers will go first, at 6.25pm, followed by the hounds, at 7.15pm.

Ahead of the big moment(s), Agnes and Flo spoke to Åge Gjetnes, a second-time Crufts judge from Norway.

'I myself am an Afghan hound person, and poodles, and I have had Afghan hounds for almost 43 years and have experienced success here myself — by winning the utility group in 2015 with my miniature poodle, who is still alive.

'All the breeds at Championship shows are judged by a breed standard. Of course, the most important thing is happy, healthy, well-functional dogs without any health issues. They need to have good temperament, they should be a good weight, they should have good muscle tone and be good representatives of their breed.

'It's always subjective because it's how do I interpret the written standard according to other judges, but if we all did the same thing there would be no reason to do dog shows. There would be no excitement! There are things that are very important to me that are not important to other judges and that's the way is it.

'The number one thing for me is that they are functional — and of course temperament. They should be happy dogs and it should be obvious that they are well taken care of.'

Dean Usher, Country Life's Art Director has just sent me this photograph of Oakley — who looks a bit annoyed at being forced to watch Crufts because he prefers EastEnders.

Fred, Oakley's brother, is a much more enthusiastic viewer. He is recovering from a recent trip to the vets with some television time, and is particularly obsessed with fly ball.

The Vulnerable British and Irish Breeds competition is underway and it's designed to help raise awareness of rare native breeds whose annual puppy registrations stand at fewer than 300 — thus leaving them at risk of disappearing from the UK’s streets and parks.

Here is the Royal Kennel Club's complete list of vulnerable breeds:

• Bearded collie
• Bloodhound
• Bull terrier (miniature)
• Collie (smooth)
• Dandie Dinmont terrier
• Deerhound
• English setter
• English toy terrier (black & tan)
• Foxhound
• Fox terrier (smooth)
• Glen of Imaal terrier
• Gordon setter
• Greyhound
• Harrier
• Irish red & white setter
• Irish terrier
• Irish wolfhound
• Kerry Blue terrier
• King Charles spaniel
• Lakeland terrier
• Lancashire heeler
• Manchester terrier
• Mastiff
• Norwich terrier
• Otterhound
• Retriever (curly coated)
• Sealyham terrier
• Skye terrier
• Soft coated wheaten terrier
• Spaniel (Clumber)
• Spaniel (field)
• Spaniel (Irish water)
• Spaniel (Sussex)
• Spaniel (Welsh springer)
• Welsh corgi (Cardigan)

Agnes and Flo are watching the Vulnerable British and Irish Breeds competition live and have just sent me the shortlist:

• Bullmastiff
• Bloodhound
• Scottish deerhound
• Greyhound
• Welsh terrier
• Gordon setter
• Irish water spaniel

'This judge clearly likes big dogs,' says Flo.

The Irish wolfhound that took home the Vulnerable Breeds crown last year is back in the ring and hoping for a repeat performance. 'They look at you like you’re an equal,’ says their handler, 'but you need a big car.

The Irish wolfhound has done it for the second year in a row!

It's time for Country Life's unofficial awards

The most obscure dog

The Bergamasco shepherd, a shaggy and lovable sheepdog from the Italian Alps.

The fluffiest dog

This Old English sheepdog.

The dog with the most squish-able pads

Wednesday, Wilbur and Pie — just look at those toe beans!

The dog with the biggest IDGAF energy

This borzoi — a Russian sighthound bred for hunting wolves — looks like how I feel right now.

Best dressed

It's the Italian greyhounds, of course.

Rosie's favourite dog

Gus the miniature English bull terrier from Glasgow.

One of the commentators just described a Dandie Dinmont competing in the Terrier Group Presentation as having a 'weasel-like body'. He meant is as a good thing, but I cannot help, but feel insulted on the Dandie's behalf.

A wire fox terrier called Twinkle von der Bismarckquelle has just appeared on my screen and I think he should win an award for his name alone.

Which terrier is going to take top place this evening...? They Best in Breed winners are currently all strutting their stuff in the Main Arena. A Jack Russell has won the last two years and more than 100 have entered this time round.

Three-year-old Elvis the Jack Russell is eliciting some of the loudest applause of the night. The fact that he is objectively cute might have something to do with it. I've asked Flo to try and steal him for me.

Sprite the West Highland terrier is the last dog to be judged in the Terrier Group Presentation. The popular family dog is 'possessed with no shortage of self esteem' says the commentators.

And here is your terrier shortlist:

1. Bedlington terrier
2. Dandie Dinmont
3. Wire fox terrier
4. Lakeland terrier
5. Irish terrier
6. Norwich terrier
7. Soft-coated wheaten terrier
8. Welsh terrier

A LAKELAND FROM MALTA HAS WON BEST IN GROUP IN THE TERRIER PRESENTATION.

The runner up is the soft-coated wheaten terrier, followed by Irish terrier in third place, and a Norwich terrier in fourth.

Pictures to follow.

'It's a dream come true,' says Evan who is Freddie the Lakeland terrier's owner. 'I've been coming here for 20 years.'

'This is his last show,' he continues. 'He's retiring young.' (Sounds nice Freddie.)

Evan Calleja, Bill Browne-Cole and Cara Davani, with Freddie the Lakeland terrier who won the Best of Breed and Best in Group (terrier) competitions on the second day of Crufts 2026.

And just like that we're onto the Hound Group Presentation. There was a tiny delay when they couldn't find the judge.

Surely the hound category competitors vary the most in size? A miniature dachshund just appeared in the ring, followed by a deerhound.

For reference, a miniature dachshund typically stands 5-6 inches at the shoulder; a deerhound measures 30-32 inches.

Here is Kayla, the soft-coated wheaten terrier who won Best of Breed and came second in Best in Group in the Terrier Presentation.

And here is Larry, a Norwich terrier. He won Best of Breed and came fourth in Best of Group.

My own dog, Patzy the Patterjack, is pretending to read this blog because she'll do anything for food — including flatter me.

Unfortunately, she would not fare well at Crufts because a) she's a mongrel, b) she's partially blind, and c) she's not very well behaved around other dogs and men.

She is practically perfect in every other way though. Sort of.

The judges are still looking at all of the hounds competing in the Best in Group competition, but I've already chosen my favourite: Thorax the basset fauve de Bretagne.

The name translates to fawn-coloured hound of Brittany and they are serious hunters.

According to the American Kennel Club, the basset fauve 'is a small, stocky, rough-coated hardy dog that is energetic and fast for its size.' They get along well with children and other pets, but training and socialisation is a must, 'or Fauves can get into mischief'.

Here's Elvis, the Jack Russell terrier that I mentioned earlier in the blog.

He was photographed with owner Javier Sotelo of Spain shortly after winning Best of Breed.

The Jack Russell is consistently ranked as one of the UK’s most popular small dog breeds, holding the 11th spot overall in 2025.

And here comes another obscure dog that I've never heard of: a black and tan coonhound.

They're a type of American sighthound developed for the hunting of raccoons. Their distinguishing feature is a long, low-set or velvety ears. Apparently, a few years ago a coonhound went missing in the NEC carpark and a pack of other coonhounds were dispatched to find it.

After what feels like a very long time, we have a hound Best in Group shortlist:

• Afghan hound
• Petit basset Griffon Vendéen
• Borzoi
• Standard wire haired dachshund
• Greyhound
• Ibizan hound
• Saluki
• Pharaoh hound

(Thorax was robbed.)

AND MEGAN THE PETIT BASSET GRIFFON VENDÉEN HAS WON BEST IN GROUP IN THE HOUND PRESENTATION.

Second place to the saluki, third to the Afghan hound, and fourth to the borzoi.

Megan is now being interviewed.

'She is my very much loved pet,' says owner Eva. In the last year, Megan has competed in Helsinki and New York, as well as Crufts and you can see her again in Sunday night's Best in Show final.

'She did it!' concludes Eva who is a bit shocked and probably very jet-lagged.

Megan is oozing personality on her victory lap around the Arena! And just take a look at her Instagram account. Instant follow.

Right, that's it from me (Rosie), Flo and Agnes. Thank you for sticking with us for nearly 12 hours and we hope that we kept you vaguely entertained.

We sadly won't be back tomorrow — I never thought I'd say or write these words, but I think I've seen enough dogs for at least 72 hours — but you'll find coverage of all the action on Channel 4 and on the Crufts YouTube channel.

And don't forget to order a copy of Country Life's Book of Dogs, by clicking on this very link. Authored by our own Agnes Stamp, it is a celebration of the many breeds of dog we love, as seen through the pages of the magazine.

Goodnight!

The Country Life quiz runs daily every afternoon, with new editions published at 4pm.

Missed a day? Want more quizzes? Catch up with all our previous quizzes here.

N.B. This is a type-the-answer quiz, rather than our usual multiple choice. Just start typing and once you've completed the correct breed name, the result will automatically appear.

Stuck? Clicking the 'hint' button will give you the first letter of the answer.

The world’s most famous dog show returns this week, drawing some 18,698 canine entries from around the globe. More than 200 breeds will compete for the coveted title of ‘Best in Show’ from a pool of the finest four-legged talent, including 4,299 overseas entries with some jetting in from as far as New Zealand, Peru and Argentina. France leads the international pack with 538 dogs, followed by Italy (436), Germany (425) and the Netherlands (353).

The inaugural Crufts show took place in 1891 at the Royal Agricultural Hall in Islington, north London, attracting about 2,000 competitors. It was the brainchild of Charles Cruft (1852–1938), a man widely acknowledged by the late-19th-century world of dog fanciers as the ‘prince of showmen’ and, later, as ‘the Napoleon of dog shows’. His event accepted entries for all breeds and was described as the ‘most extraordinary dog show ever held’. Queen Victoria and the Prince of Wales both exhibited. Each year, Cruft, a master of publicity, would find innovative ways of piquing public interest—showcasing exotic breeds, new competitions (there was even a class for the best stuffed dog) and celebrity endorsement.

As coats are combed, nails trimmed and bouffants blow dried in readiness for this year’s ring, we break down what you should look out for at Crufts 2026.

A new faithful

Raven-haired broadcaster Claudia Winkleman will join Clare Balding, Ellie Simmonds and Radzi Chinyangany to present the live coverage.

Cuts above the rest

Hall 8 will play host to a glamorous new dog grooming competition, sponsored by Artero. For the first time, elite groomers will compete against each other showcasing their creativity, precision and style. The Best Dog Groomer in Show title will be awarded during Sunday’s grand finale.

Discover dogs

The much-loved Discover Dogs area returns to Hall 3, allowing visitors to meet more than 200 pedigree breeds up close. Expert breed specialists and knowledgeable owners will be on hand to answer breed-specific questions. This year also sees the debut of three newly recognised breeds: the Hungarian mudi, Icelandic sheepdog and Pyrenean mastiff.

Royal seal of approval

Crufts 2026 will mark a historic first for the Royal Kennel Club as the institution unveils its new identity following its royal warrant. Look out for the launch of the new Crufts Club, a new initiative created to enhance modern dog ownership by bringing owners closer to trusted experts and a range of health and training resources.

Top dogs…

The labrador retriever is the most popular entrant, with 547 labradors vying for position. The versatile lab is closely followed by the gorgeous golden retriever (529). The other top 10 entrants include the whippet, cocker spaniel, Staffordshire bull terrier, Border collie, flat-coated retriever, Cavalier King Charles spaniel, dalmatian and the Shetland sheepdog.

…and the underdog

The komondor, also known as the Hungarian sheepdog and resembling a large mop, is the ultimate rarity with only three entered into this year’s ring.

Supporting our canine heritage

There are 2,602 entries across 39 British and Irish native breeds officially listed as vulnerable — a solid turnout at a time when many of these breeds are reporting falling numbers. Stand-out entries include 100 miniature bull terriers, 66 greyhounds, 124 English setters and 104 old English sheepdogs.

Paw patrol

The West Midlands Police Dog Unit is set to return to Crufts, showcasing both their operational dogs and pups in training. The military working dogs of the Royal Air Force are also performing, as are the incredible Medical Detection Dogs.

Ring craft

The activities ring offers visitors the opportunity to have a go at a plethora of canine sports including obedience, agility, working trials and heelwork to music, all with trained dogs and knowledgeable handlers.

Re-tail therapy

More than 500 dog-specific trade stands offer a range of pet products from food and grooming supplies to artisan accessories, toys and treats for all those pampered pooches waiting patiently at home.

Crufts dog show runs from March 5–8 at the NEC Birmingham. We’ll be reporting live from Crufts on March 6. You can follow along on the Country Life website and on Instagram.

There are few things more electric in the dog world than the moment the Crufts judge points, the arena holds its breath and one dog becomes Best in Show. It is quite simply, theatre, but it also makes history. For more than a century, Crufts has crowned dogs that go on to shape their breeds' story, popularity and reputation. Ahead of this year’s show, starting on March 5, we are taking a look at the last 10 winners — and the stories behind them.

2025: Una Donna Che Conta, whippet

The whippet is, in many ways, the perfect Crufts winner: elegant, athletic, effortlessly chic — a model performer. Originating in the North of England in the 18th century, the breed was developed by working-class communities who wanted a small, fast dog for rabbit coursing — the ‘poor man’s racehorse’.

Whippets are gentle, affectionate and faintly ridiculous, prone to dramatic sighs and an insistence on sleeping under duvets — the ones I know anyway. They have won Crufts Best in Show four times and yet remain one of Britain’s quieter success stories — never as numerous as labradors, but beloved by those in the know.

2024: Brighttouch Drift The Line Through Dialynn, Australian shepherd

Despite the name, the Australian shepherd is of American origin, developed in the western USA during the 19th century to herd livestock. Highly intelligent, intensely loyal and blessed with extraordinary stamina, they are dogs that need both purpose and people.

Their Crufts win was a landmark moment — the first for the breed — although they have fared better in America, winning Westminster four times. Australian shepherds are increasingly popular in Britain, although their energy levels mean they are best suited to the truly committed or the country.

2023: Kan Trace Very Cheeky Chic, Lagotto Romagnolo

An Italian truffle-hunting dog with a face like a well-loved teddy bear, the lagotto romagnolo dates back to at least the Renaissance era, when it worked as a water retriever in the marshlands of Romagna. When those marshes were drained, the breed found a new purpose sniffing out truffles — a job it still excels at today. This was their first Crufts win and they remain rare in Britain today.

2022: Almanza Backseat Driver, flat-coated retriever

Often described as the ‘Peter Pan’ of dogs, the flat-coated retriever is famed for its refusal to grow up. Developed in Britain in the 19th century as a shooting dog, they combine elegance, irrepressible joy and a natural instinct to, well… retrieve — be prepared to receive many gifts from around the house.

Their numbers declined sharply after the First World War, eclipsed by labradors and golden retrievers, and they remain comparatively uncommon today. They have now won Crufts twice, and those who live with one — me included — tend to insist they are the happiest dogs on earth.

2020: Silvae Trademark, wire-haired dachshund

This week, we announced the launch of our naughtiest dog competition and to help we enlisted a pack of unruly dachshunds. (Few breeds have such a strong sense of self.) Developed in Germany more than 300 years ago to hunt badgers — their name literally means ‘badger dog’ — they are courageous, stubborn and far less aware of their size than they should be. The wire-haired variety, with its expressive eyebrows and beard, has a particularly devoted following.

Dachshunds have won Crufts twice and Westminster three times. They are enormously popular in Britain, for obvious reasons, as anyone who has ever been owned by one (yes you read that right) will attest.

2019: Planet Waves Forever Young Daydream Believers, papillon

Named for the French word for butterfly, thanks to its wing-like ears, the papillon has been a companion to European royalty for centuries — appearing frequently in paintings from the 16th century. Beneath the prettiness lies a sharp mind and surprising athleticism. Papillons have won Crufts once and Westminster twice and remain relatively uncommon in Britain.

2018: Collooney Tartan Tease, whippet

Another victory for the whippet — proof, not that it’s needed, that this most English of breeds continues to embody the Crufts ideal. Everything that makes the breed so beloved — gentleness, elegance, calm, silky beyond belief — on full display. Their success at both Crufts and Westminster reflects their extraordinary balance of beauty and temperament.

2017: Afterglow Miami Ink, American cocker spaniel

Developed in the USA from English cocker spaniels in the late 19th century, the American cocker is smaller, more profusely coated and bred primarily as a companion. Sweet-natured and affectionate, they are dogs who thrive on attention. This remains the breed’s only Crufts win, although they have been hugely successful across the pond at Westminster, with four Best in Show titles.

2016: Burneze Geordie Girl, West Highland white terrier

The West Highland white terrier — or Westie — was developed in Scotland in the 19th century as a hardy hunting dog, its white coat ensuring it could be distinguished from quarry. Westies have long punched above their weight in the show ring. They have won Crufts four times and Westminster once. Their popularity has declined slightly in recent decades, but their charm remains undimmed and adorable as ever.

2015: McVan’s To Russia With Love, Scottish terrier

From Queen Victoria and Franklin D. Roosevelt to Rudyard Kipling and Humphrey Bogart — the Scottish terrier has been winning admirers — and dog shows — for well over a century. Originating in Scotland at least 200 years ago, Scotties were bred to hunt vermin and quickly acquired a reputation for independence and determination. Reserved with strangers, but deeply loyal to their people, they have won Crufts eight times. At Westminster, they are legends — the most successful breed in the show’s history, with eight Best in Show victories. They are quite simply, iconic.

We’ll be reporting live from Crufts on March 6. You can follow along on the Country Life website and on Instagram.

Sometimes, just sometimes, a thoroughly good dog is, well, just a little bit boring. Of course, we thoroughly applaud those angelic members of the canine race who are immaculately trained — the ones that sit perfectly on the peg, stay in their beds at meal times and always walk to heel, but sometimes, just sometimes, we long for a tumultuous tale, perhaps one that features an impulsive labrador with selective hearing (Fenton, Fenton, Fenton, Fenton!) or a tiny terrier that terrorises the postal service.

We revel in stories of cringe-making disobedience and destruction — from counter-surfers and coffee-table chewers to knicker shredders and puddle makers — and want to hear all about the dogs that enjoy a secret life of crime or know the power of a well-placed poo.

To date, only two dogs have been awarded the accolade of ‘Britain’s naughtiest dog’. In 2015, we met Rabbit, a Heinz 57 terrier with a propensity for chewing, but it was an unscheduled trip inside an Amazon delivery van that really took the (dog) biscuit. In 2019, we were introduced to Pici, an innocent-looking Jack Russell who operated as a master thief, stealing everything from Easter eggs and biscuits to her owners’ passports. Pici’s pièce de résistance, however, was accidentally summoning the armed police. Bravo, Pici, bravo.

The time has come once again to celebrate our love of cheeky canines and we are searching for Britain’s Naughtiest Dog, in association with Honey’s Real Dog Food. The winner will take part in a photoshoot (stills and film), a quickfire video Q&A and feature in the July 22 issue of the magazine this year, as well as receiving a hamper of goodies from Honey’s Real Dog Food and a copy of Country Life’s Book of Dogs. Three mischievous runners-up will also receive a hamper from Honey’s Real Dog Food.

How to enter your dog

To enter Britain’s Naughtiest Dog in association with Honey’s Real Dog Food email us at countrylifedogs@futurenet.com with:

• The name, breed and age of your dog
• A good-quality photograph of your dog
• Up to 150 words outlining your dog’s naughtiest moments
• Your name, address and telephone number

Terms & conditions

Under 18s must obtain parental consent to enter this competition and must be able to evidence this on request. Employees of Future Publishing Ltd. (‘FUTURE’), their agents, Employees of Honey’s Real Dog Food Ltd (‘HONEYS’), their agents or anyone else professionally associated with the competition are not eligible to enter. Open to UK residents only, and the dog must reside in the UK.

Entries must be received by 23.59 GMT on April 28, 2026. One entry per household.

Only one entry per person may be submitted. All entries will become the property of FUTURE and will not be returned. FUTURE accept no responsibility for entries unsuccessfully submitted

There will be one (1) winner of this competition. The winner will win the following prize: the winner will take part in a photoshoot (video and stills) and be the subject of a feature in the July 22, 2026, issue of COUNTRY LIFE magazine, as well as receive a hamper from Honey’s and a copy of Country Life’s Book of Dogs. Three (3) runners-up will also receive a hamper from Honey’s. If the prize offered cannot be awarded, then a reasonable equivalent of equal value will be awarded instead.

The winner will be notified on or before May 27, 2026, and must be available for the photoshoot during the month of June (exact date to be mutually agreed between winner and COUNTRY LIFE).

The runners-up will be notified on or before May 27, 2026.

The prize stated is not transferable, nor for re-sale, and there is no cash alternative. It will be provided free of charge.

Use of automated devices or methods of submission are not valid forms of entry.

Photographs and nomination copy will be judged by our editorial team and an independent judge, Katy Birchall.

The photograph must not feature more than one dog, other animals or people, and the dog must not be wearing any clothing. Photographs featuring inappropriate, unethical, cruel or stressful situations will be rejected and the entry disqualified.

The photograph submitted must be the work of the individual submitting them and must not have been published elsewhere or have won a prize in any other competition. It is the responsibility of each entrant to ensure that their entry does not infringe the copyright of any third party or any laws.

By entering you consent that all material sent to COUNTRY LIFE can be published in the magazine and online.

For full terms and conditions, click here.

These terms and conditions shall be governed by the laws of England and Wales, and any dispute shall be subject to the exclusive jurisdiction of the English courts.

By taking part in the competition you agree to the collection of personal data in accordance with FUTURE’s privacy policy.

Michael Collins, the revolutionary leader, politician and proud owner of a Kerry blue named Convict 224, reportedly sponsored an Act of Parliament to name the Kerry blue terrier Ireland’s national dog. Collins was killed in 1922, and no record of the bill being heard survives — but the terrier remains a proud symbol among Ireland’s nine native breeds.

Born black, Kerry blue puppies transition to blue or black-and-blue coats at about 18 months of age. Early black-and-tan examples were said to have been ‘disposed of’ to preserve the colour standard. Their precise ancestry remains murky — possibly a mix of Bedlington terrier, soft-coated wheaten terrier and even Irish wolfhound (although size would suggest otherwise). What is clear is that the Kerry blue became an all-round working dog: a pest controller, gundog, herder and farm companion.

In the early 20th century, they had a reputation for being scrappy, fiery and fearless — ‘quarrel-picking rapscallions’, as Country Life once put it in 1956. By the 1950s, however, breeders had successfully refined both their looks and temperaments. The same article adds:

‘As a watchdog, a friend, and companion… he is par excellence. He can be trusted with the smallest child; indeed, he seems to have a peculiar love for the latter, and his faithfulness to his master is unsurpassed.’

They have also made an impression in the show ring — reaching the final at Crufts nine times, taking Reserve Best in Show in 1932, 1977 and 2003, and Best in Show in 1979 and 2000. One even made headlines by wandering onto the pitch during the 1977 Ashes — bowler John Lever gamely tucked it under his arm and removed it from play.

Although often mistaken for a poodle because of its closely clipped coat, the distinctive head trim is rooted in its working origins, designed for efficiency, visibility and protection in the field.

With just 77 Kennel Club puppy registrations in 2024, the Kerry blue terrier remains a relatively rare sight in Britain. Medium-sized and highly adaptable, they are equally at home in town or country — provided they receive plenty of exercise, stimulation and companionship. Bold, intelligent and deeply devoted, they suit owners who appreciate the terrier spirit wrapped in an unmistakably elegant, blue-grey coat.

A compact dog with courage, character and charm in equal measure — and a legacy almost worthy of national honours.

Though Britain trails behind the Continent when it comes to the number of dog-friendly hotels (surprising, really, given how pro-dog we are), things have, in recent years, been changing for the better — driven by the staycation’s enduring popularity.

So, in honour of the furry friends I don’t want you to have to leave behind, here are a few of my — and my dachshund Geoffrey’s — favourite places to stay that welcome dogs with open arms, water bowls and plenty of treats.

The Gallivant, East Sussex

You’ll find The Gallivant, a single storey property, a pebble’s throw from the beaches of Camber Sands (literally, if you have a good arm). It has cosy rooms and charming service for you and your dog and is perfectly positioned for anyone who wants to visit the ever-popular town of Rye, as well as the beach.

One of its main attractions is the food — which is homely and delicious. At tea time, feast on complimentary cake, including homemade Victoria sponge and banana blondies in the Christopher Farr-covered snug.

Afterwards, I would suggest moving to the sun-drenched (one can hope) patio for a glass of local wine or Kent’s finest sparkling rosé (if you go at 5pm, it’s also on the house).

If you want to bring your four-legged friend to supper you’ll be seated in the bar area — which, to be honest, feels exactly like the restaurant that’s housed in the orangery, the other side of a pane of glass, and serves the same menu. Though the hotel is dog friendly all year round, not all of the beaches are, so it’s worth checking online you head out on your morning walk.

Rooms from £165 a night.

11 Cadogan Gardens, London

The King’s Road in Chelsea is arguably one of London’s most dog-friendly shopping streets (Peter Jones could double as a Crufts arena on a Saturday afternoon), so if you’re looking for somewhere to stay in the capital, this converted townhouse, tucked behind Sloane Square, is a great option.

Your plush room comes with a plush toy for your canine friend, plus venison bites (again, for the dog). And they’re allowed in all areas of the property, including TK restaurant which backs onto bustling Pavilion Road and serves a punchy strawberry martini.

There is a doggie weight cap, so if yours is creeping past the 15kg limit maybe lay off the treats pre-visit.

Petite double rooms from £422 a night.

Hotel Tresanton, Cornwall

It feels wrong to holiday on the shores of Cornwall without a dog with its expanses of beaches for them to zoom around on. So thank god for places such as Tresanton that make the situation easier — and more luxurious — for all parties.

The original part of the hotel dates back to 1760, when it was a sailing club, but things have grown exponentially since then with the owners buying up and renovating the homes surrounding it. Throughout, old charm is balanced with contemporary design to help create a sense of necessary cohesion and timelessness.

True to its location you can enjoy an excellent Cornish clotted cream-loaded afternoon tea on the harbour-view terrace, served by dutiful and smiley young staff in buttoned up white jackets — who will also bring a plate of cheesy biscuits from the local bakery for your dog if they ask nicely.

When the sun shines, hop over the road to the Beach Club, a French Riviera-style, sun lounger-filled al fresco restaurant serving local beer, cocktails, burgers and crab salads. If rain stops play — as it is sometimes want to do — there’s the hotel’s Dog’s Bar, a snug little canine-themed pub at the foot of the building.

The only place reserved entirely for humans is the main dining room, but after all the excitement of beach zoomies and snazzy sunset drinks your dog will probably be grateful for a little in-room alone time.

Rooms from £330 a night on a bed and breakfast basis.

Hotel Endsleigh, Devon

Once the home of Georgiana, Duchess of Bedford (1781-1853), Endsleigh opened as a hotel and garden in 2004 — and quickly gained a reputation as one of the finest hotels in Devon.

The grounds alone are worthy of a visit; lush and incredibly well maintained with grottos, waterfalls and an arboretum studded with towering Sequoia trees. Dogs are welcome, too.

The property is also famed for its trout and salmon fishing because a stretch of the Tamar runs right through it (and demarks the Devon-Cornwall border). However, if fishing isn’t your thing, you can watch the anglers — cocktail in hand — while playing badminton or croquet on the lawn which boasts outstanding views of the valley and beyond.

In your room you’ll find a sweet set up for your dog: treats, a towel to mop up muddy underbellies and a cosy bed for them to curl up in while you enjoy a supper of local venison haunch and intricate puddings in the hotel’s lauded fine-dining restaurant.

Rooms from £280 a night on a bed and breakfast basis.

Four Seasons Hampshire

This Hampshire hotel is famously child friendly and family, in my books and theirs, includes dogs. As such, they’re allowed in all of the bedrooms and will get to sleep on a bouncy Four Seasons-branded bed of their own. Packs of Lily’s Kitchen food and bottled water (only the best for your fur-child) are also included.

There are 300 acres of beautiful grounds to explore, from walled gardens to shooting grounds (best to avoid those on your dog walks, mind), but not all of the dining areas are dog-friendly. However, there is a large bar area adjoining Wild Carrot, their fine dining restaurant, that you can bring them into, so you don’t feel shunned into a corner due to your canine companion’s presence (if anything you may even prefer the cosy and casual setting). There you can order from the restaurant’s menu or the bar one, and don’t skip breakfast. It’s a true highlight: think local sausages, golden honeycomb sourced from the garden’s hives and, if you’re celebrating/on holiday/living a little, unlimited English sparkling wine from Hattingley.

Garden Rooms from £595 a night.

Do you remember the first time you saw a Dalmatian? Chances are it was on screen — and even more likely in animated form. Last week marked the anniversary of Disney’s 101 Dalmatians, first released in 1961, and for many of us it remains the gateway Dalmatian: elegant, intelligent and devoted.

Adapted from Dodie Smith’s 1956 novel The Hundred and One Dalmatians, the film follows Pongo and Perdita, two London-based dogs whose domestic bliss is interrupted by the arrival of a litter — and one of the greatest villains of all time: Cruella de Vil. Smith based the story closely on her own life. She lived in a London flat and owned a Dalmatian called Pongo, and one of her real-life puppies was born apparently lifeless, only to be revived by her husband — real life hero behaviour.

The film was a turning point for Disney. It became the studio’s first animated feature to earn more than $10 million on its initial release and, thanks to the introduction of Xerox technology — which allowed animators to reproduce drawings directly onto cels — it quite literally saved the animation department after the costly production of Sleeping Beauty (1959). The spots, it turns out, were revolutionary.

What followed was a franchise that sprawled in all directions: a live-action remake in 1996, starring Glenn Close as a magnificently unhinged Cruella — whose laugh I’m sure many of us remember to this day — a sequel in 2000, an animated follow-up (101 Dalmatians II: Patch’s London Adventure) in 2003, two television series and, in 2021, the punkish reboot Cruella, starring Emma Stone and Emma Thompson. Clear your calendars and get watching.

The 1996 live-action film used real dogs — more than 230 puppies and around 20 adult dalmatians — all sourced from reputable breeders and returned to their homes after filming. Some puppies had their spots enhanced using safe, water-based dye to maintain continuity, and many were trained in home environments before arriving on set. Jeff Daniels reportedly had raw hot dogs rubbed on his face to encourage canine enthusiasm — very 1990s and very unfair.

The breed has had a long working life long before Hollywood. Often referred to as carriage dogs, coach dogs and — less flatteringly, though quite endearing — ‘plum-pudding dogs’, Dalmatians were bred to run alongside horse-drawn vehicles, guarding both carriage and occupants. Their affinity with horses — and extraordinary stamina — made them ideally suited to the role. George Washington owned a Dalmatian, Madame Moose (immediately adds to the dog name list) who served as a coach dog at Mount Vernon.

However, their origins are disputed. Despite the name, there is no definitive evidence that the breed originated in Dalmatia (modern-day Croatia). Spotted dogs appear in Egyptian bas-reliefs and Greek friezes, and a similar animal — sometimes referred to as the Bengal pointer — was recorded in England in the 18th century. As with many old breeds, the Dalmatian's past is a little smudged.

Dalmatian puppies are born pure white, developing their spots several weeks later. While spots most commonly appear in black or liver (brown), they can also form in lemon, orange or blue. These are rare, however, and only black and liver are recognised under breed standards for showing. Tricolour patterns do exist, but are not officially accepted.

They have always been one of the most distinguished-looking breeds. Last year, when we matched dog breeds to fashion houses — illustrated by Tug Rice — the Dalmatian was paired with Dior, sharing the finish of a tailored suit: perfectly presented, with sharp silhouettes and an air of elegance. An elegance evident in the pair photographed modelling statement Barrow sets, looking entirely at home aboard a Venetian water taxi.

As well as George Washington, other notable admirers include Paul and Linda McCartney, whose Dalmatian Lucky was frequently photographed in the 1970s. Pablo Picasso’s dalmatian, Perro — literally ‘dog’ in Spanish (not making the name list) — was a constant presence at Villa La Californie in Cannes. Queen Beatrix of the Netherlands has also owned several Dalmatians over the years, with photographs documenting them from her youth through her reign.

Glamour aside, this is not an easy breed — and it’s important to say so plainly. ‘A lot of children who persuade their parents to get them a dalmatian soon discover that they’re lovely as pups, but hard work at six months,’ says Anne Gurnsey of British Dalmatian Welfare. The charity rehomes between 100 and 120 dogs each year and saw a noticeable rise in numbers after the 1996 101 Dalmatians remake.

Dalmatians are intelligent, energetic and highly responsive — but they are also wilful. ‘Some dogs love to perform the same task repeatedly,’ Anne adds. ‘A dalmatian is more likely to say: ‘I know this trick — and I’m not doing it again.’’ They need a lot of exercise and mental stimulation to stay content.

David Robson of the Kennel Club agrees. ‘They’re such energetic dogs and require so much exercise that they’re more suited to a rural lifestyle,’ he says. Anne Dickens, founder of the British Carriage Dog Society, points to their working heritage. ‘They’ve always had a strong affinity with horses and have amazing endurance capabilities.’ She is quick to dismiss the idea that dalmatians are unpredictable. ‘Like most breeds, they only become neurotic if they’re bored and underoccupied.’

This feels entirely fair. Dalmatians are not decorative dogs — even if they look like they might be. They are clever, athletic and strong-willed. Commit to the training and the exercise, and you’ll be rewarded with a companion — and a dog — who will never, ever be mistaken for anything else.

Today is Burns Night, a celebration of the life and poetry of Robert Burns, and naturally I wanted to know whether Scotland’s national bard was a dog person. He was — emphatically — and he wrote about dogs with a tear-inducing tenderness.

I should also admit that I have a soft spot for border collies. My first fully formed dog memories are of Holly, my aunt and uncle’s border collie — though her loyalty, frankly, belonged to my Aunt Juliet and Juliet alone. They lived in Alnwick, Northumberland — famous for its castle, wide beaches and big skies, and not too far from the Border country where the breed takes its name.

Even now, Holly stands out as one of the smartest, most impressive and best-behaved dogs I have ever known. When I asked my family for their memories, they echoed mine: clever, loyal and endlessly energetic. My dad recalls the most memorable story — impressive or traumatic, I’m still not sure — involving Holly being hunted down by a black Labrador from a farm seven miles away and… well, you can guess the rest. That is how we ended up with our first dog: a chocolate lab–collie cross puppy called Shankly. The deal was that we could take a puppy home, but my dad — a vehement Liverpool fan — got naming rights. The poor girl was misgendered her entire life.

Robert Burns’s beloved dog was Luath — ‘swift’ in Gaelic — and Burns’s brother, Gilbert, recorded that Luath was killed by ‘wanton cruelty’ the night before their father died. Devastated, Burns gave his dog the only immortality he could: he wrote ‘The Twa Dogs’, a brilliant poem in which Luath (a working collie) and Caesar (a pampered pet) chat their way through the absurdities of class, comfort and hardship. It is funny, political and deeply kind — and captures that feeling that dogs are not just animals, but companions, and sometimes strangely human ones.

Queen Victoria first encountered border collies at Balmoral and swiftly fell for them. She kept several during her reign, including Sharp, a smooth-coated collie who became her constant companion, and later Noble, a striking tricolour.

The breed’s story begins on the Anglo–Scottish border, shaped by shepherds who needed a dog with stamina, judgement and that famous ‘eye’ — the silent, laser-focused stare that moves sheep as effectively as any shout. By the late 1800s, one dog in particular changed everything: Old Hemp, born in Northumberland in 1893, worked so calmly and efficiently that he became the blueprint for generations to come.

Not all border collies are built quite the same, either. During the 20th century, four distinct ‘types’ emerged: the Old Hemp type — the original — medium-sized, lightly marked and intensely capable; the Wiston Cap dogs, bigger, bolder and more generously white-trimmed; the Nap type — smooth-coated, fast and powerful — which found a natural home on vast American ranches; and the Herdman’s Tommy line, strong, good-natured and quietly formidable.

If you need more proof that border collies are operating on a slightly different setting to the rest of us, the roll call is absurd. Chaser became famous for learning more than 1,000 words; Rico was studied for recognising hundreds of objects; and Harvey was dubbed Britain’s ‘brightest dog’ for identifying more than 200 toys and even understanding Dutch. It is fair to say they may be the most intelligent of all breeds — and would most likely put my dachshunds to shame.

Crazy about collies? Read Matthew Dennison’s round-up of the devotees who share their lives with these wonderful working dogs.

I’ve met a few Scottish terriers in my time, but sadly I’ve never had the chance to truly get to know one. After spending some time immersed in Scottie lore, history and owner testimony, I can confirm two things. First, I would now like at least two; second, they are sweet, short-legged little characters with a strong sense of self — just like me.

There’s a story that the earliest image of the breed appears carved into a Scottish Highlands farm wall. Dating from around 200AD, it depicts a short-legged, prick-eared dog barking at a wheelbarrow. It’s tiny, indistinct, open to interpretation and highly disputed — much like, I would come to find, most of Scottish terrier history.

What we do know is that for centuries Scotland needed small, fearless dogs capable of dealing with foxes, rats and other vermin in unforgiving weather and terrain. The result was a lovely muddle of terriers. As late as the 19th century, people were still arguing over what exactly constituted a ‘Scottish’ terrier, and whether such a thing even existed.

Out of the chaos emerged the low-to-the-ground, solidly built dog we know today. The Scottish terrier is purpose-built — sturdy rather than dainty, strong rather than speedy, with a head designed for scenting and a coat tough enough to withstand weather and wildlife. Judges place as much importance on the famous double coat as they do on the body itself, and for good reason. The outer coat is wiry, with a dense, soft underlayer — so dense, in fact, that dog show judges say you should be able to part it and still not see skin.

Today, black Scotties are by far the most familiar, but this wasn’t always the case. Once, wheaten Scotties (with a sandy coloured coat) were more common, until darker dogs gradually became the preference — simply because they were easier to tell apart from a fox when hunting. Practical, yes. Slightly bleak? Also yes.

Someone firmly under their spell is artist Josephine Trotter. ‘I was always a collie sheepdog person,’ she tells me, until her children suggested something entirely different. Enter Peebles, Josephine’s first Scottie, who has ‘selective hearing’ and a punchy, protective nature, while Presley — who joined the fray after Peebles survived a near-fatal rat-poison incident — is ‘scatty and a bit mad’. They are, she says, very strong-minded, creatures of habit and entirely guided by food and routine — and so the similarities between us continue.

Josephine tells me they are independent and thoughtful, that ‘they don’t fling themselves at you — they choose you’. Pioneer breeder William McCandlish, who ran one of the leading Scottie kennels before the First World War, once described them as ‘almost human’ in character — and, Josephine agrees, you need to earn their love. ‘They are not lap dogs,’ she says, ‘but they are deeply loyal and rather enchanting.’

Unlike her former collies, who were devoted and glued to her side, Josephine's Scotties are independent souls. They love walking, have formidable noses, enjoy car journeys and attending church. Presley is particularly fond of music — specifically, and most charmingly of all, the singing of the church choir.

Scotties have long appealed to royals, politicians and the famous. Queen Victoria kept them. James VI was said to be devoted to them, though this is also disputed. Franklin D. Roosevelt’s Scottie, Fala, became so famous he was the subject of political speeches. Writers, artists and actors have fallen for them for generations. Rudyard Kipling’s Scottish terrier, Boots, even wrote poetry — or at least, Kipling did on his behalf — imagining elaborate ways to regain his owner’s approval after a day of mischief.

Scottish terriers won’t worship you blindly. But if you want to earn their devotion — and a dog who will walk beside you rather than behind you — the Scottie might just be your breed.

Last week we turned the spotlight on the Siberian husky — read all about these remarkable dogs built to survive some of the coldest temperatures on earth.

This week has been cold. Really cold. The sort of cold that makes you question your life (and outfit) choices every time you step outside — a sentiment I’m sure was shared by the dog I saw wearing little booties on my way to work. It was an Italian greyhound, and I’m not sure it should have been outside at all in these temperatures, but it did make me think of the parts of the world where this weather isn’t an inconvenience but a way of life, and the dogs that don’t just endure it, but thrive. Enter the Siberian husky.

Every time I travel by tube, I hope it’s the day I finally meet Viola Snow — the husky whose almost other-worldly calm has earned her millions of followers online. She’s instantly recognisable, and friendly to fans and strangers alike — a rare quality for a breed better known for energy and volume.

The Siberian husky is one of the world’s oldest working dog breeds, bred more than 3,000 years ago by the Chukchi people of northeastern Siberia. In one of the most unforgiving climates on earth, these dogs were selectively bred for endurance, efficiency and resilience — capable of pulling light loads over vast distances while requiring remarkably little food. Survival, rather than speed or strength, was the priority.

Their physique is perfectly adapted to extreme cold. A thick double coat acts as insulation against temperatures as low as –60°C, and their compact build conserves heat and energy. They can travel up to 160km in a day, remaining agile and alert.

Although many people associate huskies with Alaska or Lapland, their roots lie firmly in Siberia. They became internationally known in the early 20th century after being brought to Alaska for sled racing, where their stamina and hardiness quickly made them popular.

Sled dogs were essential across Alaska well into the 20th century, used for transport, mail delivery and rescue missions. Their most famous moment came in 1925, when a diphtheria outbreak threatened the town of Nome, Alaska. A relay of sled dogs carried life-saving serum across 674 miles of frozen terrain in just five days — a journey that captured the hearts and minds of the nation at the time.

So what is it actually like to live with one? Huskies are not an ‘easy’ dog per se. They have limitless energy and highly intelligent, with a need for plenty of daily exercise and mental stimulation. Without it, boredom sets in fast, often expressed through digging, escaping or redecorating your home with their teeth. Space matters, routine matters, and with it comes commitment. Huskies shed — a lot — and their coats require regular grooming, particularly during seasonal moults. They are happiest in cooler climates, ideally with owners who understand that independence doesn’t mean disobedience, but simply a different way of being.

They are also very social and generally excellent with families. Huskies tend to be friendly rather than protective, enthusiastic rather than obedient, and expressive — expect howling, ‘talking back’ and a lot of personality.

So while I love that iggy in its little booties, it’s hard not to admire a dog that would look at our icy pavements and flutterings of snow and scoff — child’s play.

Originating on the coast of Newfoundland and Labrador, Canada, these dogs were bred to work alongside fishermen — hauling nets, pulling carts and plunging into icy waters without hesitation. There is no shortage of strength, stamina or instinct to save here; it is all hard-wired.

Newfoundlands are among the largest dog breeds in the world. Adult males can weigh more than 70kg, with females only slightly smaller, and all of that bulk is softened by a famously gentle temperament. Living with one is to accept a life of slow walks, large sofas, constant grooming and a healthy tolerance for drool. In return, owners get a dog that is patient, affectionate and devoted. Their double coat needs regular brushing, their joints careful management, and access to water is less a luxury than a calling.

They have also left enormous pawprints on history and culture. Nana, the patient nursemaid of the Darling children in Peter Pan, was described by J. M. Barrie as a ‘prim Newfoundland’, inspired by his own Landseer Newfoundland, Luath — despite decades of stage and screen miscasting as a Saint Bernard. Seaman accompanied Meriwether Lewis on the epic Lewis and Clark expedition of 1804–06, navigating the American wilderness alongside the explorers. Boatswain, beloved by Lord Byron, was immortalised in Epitaph to a Dog. Carlo was the sole canine companion of Emily Dickinson, whose company she famously preferred to that of most humans — a sentiment I relate to strongly. And Rigel, owned by Titanic first officer William Murdoch, reportedly saved a lifeboat of survivors by barking through the fog as the rescue ship Carpathia approached.

Their heroism is not confined to legend. A Newfoundland known as Hairy Man helped rescue 163 people from a shipwreck off the coast of Newfoundland, inspiring the novel A Star in the Storm. Gander — ‘Sergeant Gander’ — served as the wartime mascot of the Royal Rifles of Canada and was killed in action in Hong Kong during the Second World War after carrying a live grenade away from wounded soldiers.

In 2007, Rebecca Pearson volunteered as the human casualty for the East Anglian Working Newfoundlands, writing for Country Life and discovering first-hand what these dogs were bred to do. Hauled to shore by dogs weighing more than ten stone, towed behind boats and ‘rescued’ repeatedly, she found them immensely powerful yet unfailingly careful — webbed feet, water-resistant coats and an almost eerie instinct for keeping humans safe. Exhausted, damp and smelling faintly of wet dog, she left convinced that Newfoundlands do not merely rescue people from water — they convert them for life.

Not perfect, not long-lived, and certainly not small, the Newfoundland is a breed that improves the year — and life — of anyone lucky enough to know one.

The cultural stories attached to the turtle dove are so complicated, so varied, that you could well imagine them framing one of those riddles you find inside a Christmas cracker. ‘Which bird, named after a marine reptile, has a song considered the very essence of summer, but has somehow become a symbol for our Yuletide celebrations?’

We’ll come to those stories shortly, but one turtle dove fact on which most agree is its status as the most beautiful of our five native pigeons. The bird’s breast is a soft vinous pink and the belly linen white, but the most arresting features are the finely barred black-and-white neck patch, the bright rufous-orange mantle and wings liberally spotted with black. Vivid colours are only part of the aesthetic appeal, because turtle doves are also exquisitely shaped — elfin-sized with a sweetly rounded head and long attenuated wings and tail that come to a perfect point at the rear.

Equally unequivocal is the bird’s status as our most calamitously declined species. As recently as the 1970s there were an estimated 125,000 pairs in Britain. Then came a rapid reduction in range and numbers, until the species diminished to only a patchy presence in southern and eastern England, where the final few thousands are still slowly dwindling. The key factors in this collapse are thought to be habitat loss and agricultural intensification — particularly the disappearance of seed-bearing ‘weeds’ in arable areas — but also the wearisome tradition of hunting turtle doves throughout the Mediterranean.

Those practices may be centuries old, yet they now bear down on the bird at a time of crisis. Mercifully in 2021, there was an EU-wide moratorium on the legal shooting of turtle doves, which almost immediately demonstrated the birds’ powers of recuperation — they increased by 400,000 pairs — together with the baleful consequences of the shooting in the first place. Despite the proven value of staying the hunter’s hand, the EU Commission backtracked this year and sanctioned the resumption of legal hunting, albeit with a quota.

Nightingale and spotted flycatcher may closely match the turtle dove’s overall 99% losses in Britain, but not its wider story as a red-listed species threatened with extinction from north-west China to Iberia. This may make it a suitable mascot for our age of environmental anxiety, although that couldn’t be further from the original notions we once assembled around this creature for thousands of years.

Turtle doves are unique in being the only family member to perform a long-distance migration out of Africa. Their sudden and, at one time, inexplicable reappearance was a dramatic indicator to people of seasonal change. ‘Yea, the stork in the heaven know-eth her appointed times, and the turtle and the crane and the swallow,’ announces the narrator in the Book of Jeremiah in the Old Testament. However, the dove’s spring arrival also signified something equally elemental in our affairs: that here was a renewed moment for courtship and for love.

Turtle doves were almost tailormade for these associations because they seem especially bonded as pairs, males and females sharing equally the tasks of incubation and feeding of their young. I can well remember the birds in my childhood — you almost always saw them in pairs or you would hear a male singing to his mate — and it is with the song that we touch on something at the heart of the bird’s special status.

With most celebrated birdsongs — that of nightingale or song thrush, for instance — the sounds arrest our attention. We stop to listen and they captivate us. Yet, with turtle doves, there is little of that conscious process, because it is a soft, almost background purring noise. Singing turtle doves don’t announce their presence, they insinuate themselves into our unconscious minds, laying down a mood within us like a layer of gentle colour. I want to say beige, but that suggests something bland, when it is both soothing and temperate, yet enormously vital. I liken it to the colour of ripening wheat made audible. Those who know the sound name it as the very essence of summer.

The thrill of it plainly moved our ancestors and they incorporated this gentle music into the turtle dove’s status as a symbol of romantic love and marital fidelity. In The Parliament of Fowls, Chaucer wrote of ‘the wedded turtle with her heart true’. As in so much of life, Shakespeare perhaps put it best when he wrote in Troilus and Cressida:

'As true as steel; as plantage to the moon

As sun to day, as turtle to her mate'

Even in the US, where no turtle dove has ever graced the summer fields, the associations live on. A very striking example is in Buddy Holly’s hit That’ll Be The Day, where he turned the bird into a verb (‘give me all your lovin’ and your turtle-dovin’). It is, of course, the species’ own song that gave rise to its rather strange name. There are no links whatsoever with a hard-shelled reptile; ‘turtle’ is an anglicised version of the French word for the species — tourterelle, which is itself a transliterated echo of the sound.

Now, we can finally turn to the third part of our Christmas cracker riddle. How on earth did this quintessence of summer find itself entangled in our solstice celebrations? The answer is the beloved carol, which may well have originated in northern England in the 18th century, but also seems to have strong French connections and which we all know as The Twelve Days of Christmas. Among the bizarre miscellany of items presented by ‘my true love’ to his beloved, there is one that stands out as deeply appropriate. On Boxing Day, he gives her a pair of turtle doves.

From this single reference, those birds have spread their symbolic wings until they too have become a synonym for the season. On the morning of the 25th, I suggest you scan your chimneypiece of cards or the wrapping-paper designs beneath the tree to see if you can spot a turtle dove nestled among all the other customary iconography. Yet, if Christmas is a moment for family affection, then perhaps we should agree: what better motif could you wish for than this beautiful, soft-voiced, endearing dove?

However, if Christmas is also the time for our wishes to come true, then mine would be to restore the real dove to its rightful place in our countryside and for this to unfold Europe-wide.

Disappearing doves

There are now many English projects to give desperately needed help to turtle doves. The best of these focus on creating the right habitats for the birds, which require us to rethink one of the most badly named and misunderstood land forms — ‘scrub’. Turtle doves love ‘edge’ places where tall shrubs mingle with more open ground. The whole supplies both the nesting places the birds prefer and the weedy plants, such as fumitory and bird’s-foot trefoil, that form their seed diet.

One of the most important of these initiatives is in the North York Moors National Park and called the North Yorkshire Turtle Dove Project. It occurs across a 100,000-hectare (247,105-acre) swathe of country between Scarborough and Thirsk and centres on the last population of the species at the very northern edge of its range. Against the odds, the area has somehow managed to hold onto 50–100 turtle doves. Run by volunteers and dependent on small-scale grants, the project focuses on some of the habitat details that turtle doves need. As well as planting the requisite seed-bearing plants, the group’s members have dug about 10 ponds. Turtle doves feed their young a liquified seed mix known as ‘crop-milk’ and for this they need ready access to water. This habitat creation has benefited the turtle doves, but also a spectrum of other beleaguered animals, including woodcock, crossbills, frogs, toads and dragonflies.

Ecologist Richard Baines, spokesman and lead volunteer for the group, says that: ‘We know from historical records that this was always a great place for this species. Our efforts have kept an outlying colony stable in the past decades, but there are very few other successfully breeding turtle doves within 100 miles of us. If we’re going to keep this fabulous creature in these islands, then we need more work like ours, but we need it everywhere, and especially in southern Europe. The turtle dove is a symbol of good partnership and it’s telling us all that we need to play our part.’

This feature originally appeared in the December 3, 2025 issue of Country Life. Click here for more information on how to subscribe.

Once upon a time, the dachshund was ferocious. Bred in Germany centuries ago — likely from basset hound and pinscher crosses — these low-to-the-ground dogs were designed to hunt badgers and other burrowing animals, disappearing underground with a bravery wildly disproportionate to their size. Bold, tough and utterly unbothered by danger.

Fast forward to today and that same dog is whimpering at a puddle, deeply suspicious of strangers unless they are holding snacks, and burrowing not after prey but into blankets. So how did this once fearsome hunter become not only one of the most popular dogs in our homes, but also a fixture of Christmas décor, luxury fashion and popular homeware?

Part of the appeal is sheer variety. Few breeds offer quite so many versions of the same unmistakable silhouette. Dachshunds come in smooth, long-haired and wire-haired coats; in standard and miniature sizes (with an unofficial middle ground consisting of the ‘tweenie’) and in a kaleidoscope of colours and patterns — red, black and tan, cream, chocolate, dapple, brindle, sable, piebald. One shape, a lot of looks.

The smooths are thought to be the original dogs, with long-haired dachshunds emerging later through selective breeding, and wire-hairs appearing in the 1800s thanks to the addition of rough-coated terrier blood — perhaps explaining both their slightly softer expressions. Size, too, evolved with purpose: the miniature dachshund was developed in the 19th century when Germany’s rabbit population boomed, creating a need for a smaller hunter.

Yet no matter the coat or colour, there is no mistaking a dachshund. They are immediately recognisable — an iconic form.

In the mid-20th century, Country Life published two articles written by a ‘much-travelled dachshund’ named Suzette, chronicling her diplomatic adventures alongside her mistress, Lady Coleman, wife of Sir Adrian Holman, then British ambassador to Cuba. Even then, the dachshund was more than a pet — it was a character. You can read all about her in Country Life’s Book of Dogs by fellow dog enthusiast Agnes Stamp.

Today, they are everywhere. From Harrod's tree ornaments and Liberty’s salt-and-pepper shakers to door knockers, draught excluders and cushions, the dachshund has pride of place in all manner of shops.

Luxury fashion has embraced them too. Mulberry has keyrings; Loewe has jewellery and SS Daley has jumpers — the list goes on. But the star in my eye is the pebble-grain Baby Hector bag, inspired by Hector Browne-Bolton the dachshund — Thom Browne’s canine muse. Recently celebrated in the brand’s holiday campaign, he was impeccably turned out in a grey cashmere sweater with the signature four-bar stripe.

I began petitioning my parents for a dachshund in 2007. They were convinced it was a phase. Two years, a great deal of nagging, and several visits later, Milo — a smooth miniature red dachshund — entered our lives.

Sixteen years on, we are three dachshunds strong. Milo has since gone to canine heaven, but our hearts were made whole by Stanley (a miniature dapple), Rodney (a medium dapple) and our newest addition, Charlie (an large black-and-tan smooth). We’ve never looked back.

In our house, they are known as ‘the time wasters’. Sit down for a second to tie a shoelace and suddenly there’s a dog on your lap, asleep, gently snoring and immovable. Time it well and you can avoid doing the washing up altogether — although the faintest sound of a dishwasher opening will summon them instantly, often with attempts (and success) at getting inside.

Prone to separation anxiety, they follow like shadows, leading to the occasional collision and yelps from both dog and human. True to their roots, they still love to burrow — ideally between two people, another dachshund or, failing that, a heap of blankets.

Often labelled ‘small dog syndrome’, that feisty personality is no accident. Trapped underground in tight tunnels, relying on their own wits, dachshunds were bred to be independent, bold and ready to stand their ground. The breed standard describes them as ‘courageous to the point of rashness’.

That fearlessness didn’t disappear when they returned to the surface. Kaiser Wilhelm II owned two dachshunds, Wadl and Hexl, described by one contemporary writer as ‘biting, snarling little brutes with jaws measuring half the length of their smooth bodies’ — a description that might feel uncomfortably familiar to many modern owners (me).

Of course, living with dachshunds also comes with responsibility. Their distinctive long backs and short legs mean they require careful management. Owners quickly become fluent in the art of lifting, ramp-building and discouraging sofa-leaping, all in the name of protecting their spines.

With sensible exercise, a watchful eye on weight and regular veterinary care, most dachshunds live long, joyful lives — albeit ones conducted largely from beds, laps and sofas.

Dachshund owners are a community. You spot each other on the street — the silent plea of ‘please don’t approach, they are terrified of everything’. Say you understand, admit you have three of your own, and something flickers in their expression. Recognition. You’re one of us.

That sense of belonging was on full display at last weekend’s Hyde Park Sausage Walk, which returned for its ninth year. Hundreds of long bodies and little legs paraded through London in Christmas jumpers and fancy dress, with prizes for cutest, best dressed and best group costume — the latter won, quite rightly, by a troupe dressed as pigs in blankets. What a way to celebrate the season.

1. Max: ‘How the Grinch Stole Christmas’

There is no dog more patient than Max. The world’s most forgiving hound, forever trotting behind his green master’s moods. Max remains the picture of loyalty — even when being forced into that questionable one-antler ensemble (I may or may not have the same for my dachshunds). He is the moral compass of Whoville and proof that dogs put up with just as much, if not more, festive nonsense than we do.

2. Fang: ‘Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone’

The most Christmassy Harry Potter film (I won't hear another word about it) gives us Fang — Hagrid’s slobbering companion. A boarhound/great Dane in the books but played by a Neapolitan mastiff on screen, Fang looks as though he ought to guard a fortress but is, in reality, a gentle, slightly cowardly softie.

3. Zero: ‘The Nightmare Before Christmas’

A ghost dog with the long body of a dachshund and the floppy ears of a basset hound, Zero floats through Halloween Town with a Rudolph-esque glowing pumpkin nose that guides Jack Skellington through fog and folly. He plays fetch with gravestones and naps in a coffin — a supernatural sweetheart if ever there was one.

4. Snoopy: ‘A Charlie Brown Christmas’

Ah, the world’s most imaginative beagle. Snoopy transforms his kennel into a tinsel-covered wonderland for a neighbourhood lights competition, then proceeds to outshine every human in style, seasonal enthusiasm and charisma.

5. Lady (and Tramp): ‘Lady and the Tramp’

Nothing says love like sharing a single strand of spaghetti with someone you adore. It may not be a Christmas film entirely, but Lady, the refined cocker spaniel, and Tramp, the street-smart mutt, remind us that romance — like Christmas — is magical, a little messy and best served alongside good food.

6. Charlie: ‘The Holiday’

Often forgotten yet absolutely pivotal is Charlie: Iris’s (Kate Winslet) adorable terrier. When Amanda (Cameron Diaz) arrives in Surrey on her house-swap, it’s Charlie who first nudges her to set down her oversized suitcases, step outside and… try. He curls at the foot of the armchair in that impossibly cosy cottage — keeping her there just long enough to meet Graham, otherwise known as Mr Napkinface.

7. Gromit: ‘Wallace & Gromit’

Whether steering Wallace away from villains (Feathers McGraw) or silently judging his owner’s new and questionable relationship with technology, Gromit embodies loyalty with a hint of existential dread. A true Brit — intelligent, resourceful and a bit fed up.

8. Every dog in ‘Best in Show’

It is time to revisit the greatest canine comedy of our time — the mockumentary in which the chaos belongs entirely to the humans, leaving the dogs, from Hubert the majestic bloodhound to Winky the Norwich terrier, as grounded and dignified stars. Moral of the story: dog shows are less about the dogs and more about the eccentric (and slightly unhinged) people who adore them.

9. Frank the Pug: ‘Men in Black’

Yes, Frank is technically an alien — a Remoolian — and yes, he is chaos incarnate, causing almost as much destruction as he prevents. But he is also opinionated, entertaining and, if that weren’t enough, he wears a little suit. Played by a real pug named Mushu, by the second film he’s even promoted to Agent J’s partner.

10. Pongo, Perdita & the Puppies: ‘101 Dalmatians’

From newspaper-fetching to outwitting super-villains, Pongo and Perdita are model parents — elegant and devoted. Their 99 pups turn London into a spotted wonderland, a reminder that Dalmatians are dazzling whether there’s one, two or 101 of them. The live-action remake was the best Christmas gift of November 1996.

11. Fly: ‘Babe: Pig in the City’

Calm, capable and maternal, Fly — voiced by Miriam Margolyes — adopts Babe (the cutest thing to ever happen in cinema history), teaches him the art of herding, encourages him when he falters and carries the entire farm’s emotional stability on her shoulders. If I were handing out awards for Best Dog Mum, the trophy would be hers — no contest.

12. Uggie: ‘The Artist’

A Parson Russell terrier who out-acted an entire silent-film cast, Uggie became Hollywood royalty in 2011. He won Cannes’s Palm Dog, earned international acclaim and even inspired a campaign for an Oscar nomination. Once written off as ‘too wild’ and re-homed twice, he proved everyone wrong and became a global star — a Christmas miracle of the canine variety.

Humans have long been concerned with vetting the company they keep. It is woven into our nature by well-worn, oft-cautionary adages: a rotten apple can spoil the barrel, the Devil you know is better than the one you do not and someone who chooses to lie down with dogs can expect to wake up with fleas. Indulgence and curiosity compel us to bend these rules and, in the case of dogs and sleeping arrangements, in a very literal sense.

For Devonshire author Callie Coles, no line is drawn between the dog house and the family home. With a trio of whippets, a brace of terriers, a dachshund and a labradoodle among their eight-strong pack, nowhere is off limits to anyone with four legs — including the children’s ponies, who wander freely in the house.

‘At the moment, the whippets and dachshund sleep in the kitchen, the others in the boot room,’ says Callie. ‘But I love dogs in the bed — when it is cold, they are a hot-water bottle. Another heartbeat is always helpful for sleep, especially when Toby, my husband, is away.’ When asked who would be ejected from the bed first, Callie is unequivocal. ‘The children! There is no peace with that noisy rabble about.’

Historic dog-sleep data is scarce, but more recent surveys suggest that anywhere between half and three-quarters of owners share a bed with their dog. In fact, one research paper touts canine bed-sharing as equally worthy of study as co-sleeping with children. The subject of dogs in beds fascinates us — and is by no means an underground phenomenon.

‘For nearly 20 years, I had a no-bed rule,’ says Caroline Munby, a Dorset dog enthusiast. ‘Then I rehomed Mina, a rottweiler, in 2013. She immediately clambered onto the bed and buried herself under the covers.’ Soon, Pudding, a teckel, joined the throng and, given her diminutive size, she needs a boost: ‘When it is time for bed, Pudding runs to her side of it and asks to be lifted up.’

For gundog trainer Susie Stewart, a horror film broke the habit of a lifetime. ‘A friend took me to see The Silence of the Lambs and I freaked myself out,’ she explains. Her black labrador, another Pudding, ended up in the bed — and that was it. ‘Once a labrador has been in a bed, there is no going back!’ she laughs.

Some owners, of course, are reluctant adopters of the trend, with even the most stoical of couples giving in to the proliferation of yapping and scratching at the bedroom door. These dogged souls eventually roll over and accept the inevitable — some even buying new beds to accommodate a canine occupant.

Others, however, will not be moved. British event rider Bubby Upton, who owns a miniature bull terrier, Simba, is one such owner. ‘I spend my life training horses with the utmost precision and control, but I have the most feral dog you can imagine,’ she says with a wry smile. Fiercely loving, yet impossibly wilful, Simba can often be found atop the kitchen table ‘making the most awful noise’. ‘I call his name and he looks the other way,’ she shrugs, ‘but we do have the best cuddles.’

As an athlete, Bubby's relationship with sleep is committed and serious. ‘I am very particular,’ she explains. ‘I must have at least eight hours uninterrupted and I like clean sheets. I will cuddle Simba on the sofa all day long, but my bed is my bed.’

Have dogs always had a paw in bed-sharing? Records are patchy, but we know that various toy dogs — or ‘comforters’ — were constant companions and fellow inmates of Mary, Queen of Scots when she was Elizabeth I’s prisoner for 18 years. It is believed that one intrepid creature was even found among her skirts, whimpering and covered in blood, after she was beheaded in 1587.

Dash, a tricolour King Charles spaniel, was the closest companion of a young Queen Victoria. The Queen doted on him, even leaving the celebrations for her coronation at Buckingham Palace to bathe her beloved pet. Nothing explicitly tells us Dash made it into the royal bedchamber, but it is said that Victoria’s first act as Queen was to have her bed removed from her mother’s room. One cannot help but wonder if the young monarch made space instead for her favourite pooch.

Winston Churchill had a particular fondness for poodles; his constant companion throughout the Second World War was a chocolate-brown miniature called Rufus. The little dog went almost everywhere with him — even, writes Piers Brendon in his book Churchill’s Bestiary, occasionally cosying up to him in the ministerial bed. Boundaries were set, however, when the presumptuous poodle trotted into the Cabinet Room at 10, Downing Street. ‘No, Rufus,’ Churchill reportedly said. ‘I have not found it necessary to ask you to join the Wartime Cabinet.’

If a dog’s life can be mapped ever further onto his master’s by day, his sleeping arrangements must follow. Andrew Wyeth’s Master Bedroom (1965) tenderly depicts such a shift — the family dog fast asleep with his head resting assuredly on the master’s pillow. ‘There is something comforting about waking up and hearing a little dog snore,’ says Susie, whose current sleeping companions are Bedlam and Riot, a working chocolate-labrador mother-daughter duo. ‘You get to a point where you do not fancy sleeping alone and dogs have far better manners than men.’

Bed-sharing sometimes comes to a natural conclusion. Marketing and PR manager Hollie Bladen’s yellow labrador, Moose, would sneak upstairs and wriggle between her and her husband, Will, in the middle of the night. ‘She would use her bodyweight to force Will out of bed,’ Hollie says, adding that Moose now sleeps in the kitchen of their Hampshire home.

As well as teasing on the shooting field, Susie has faced not-so-subtle interventions — her mother hoped to buck the bed-sharing trend with a gift of exquisite white linen. ‘I simply put a quilt on top for the dogs — the sheets are pristine to this day.’

With comforts manifold and joys bountiful, it is worth daring to lie down with the dogs, albeit not on a hearth, rug or kitchen floor with a lowly hound. Instead, provision is made upstairs for a pooch-shaped bedmate. It is not a case of lying down with dogs at all. Rather, the dogs are invited to lie with us.

Farmers could soon be growing prawns in their fields in a bid to diversify income streams, according to a pioneering research project. The UK Sustainable King Prawn Project (UKSKPP), conducted by the University of Exeter, showed that king-prawn aquaculture could have benefits not only for the UK seafood industry, but for farmers and landowners.

King prawns (Penaeus vannamei) are one of the ‘big five’ seafoods eaten in the UK, alongside cod, haddock, salmon and tuna, but the majority — an astonishing 28,000 tons — is imported annually, typically from South East Asian producers, some of which have questionable ecological credentials. King prawns produced in Britain, by contrast, could potentially be grown in recirculating aquaculture systems (RAS), co-located with sustainable heat sources, such as anaerobic digesters, and offer a low carbon footprint, alongside exceptional freshness for the consumer, as well as new employment opportunities.

The University of Exeter’s Prof Rod Wilson, UKSKPP lead, believes that to keep the UK population fed, at the same time as reversing biodiversity loss, ‘sustainable aquaculture has to be a major part of food production’, but he states that expert assistance will be needed for start-ups or franchises brought in to run prawn enterprises on farmland.

His Exeter colleague, Prof Ian Bateman, states that struggling farms could diversify profitably into both king-prawn and fish production via RAS. ‘The challenge is the substantial initial setup (capital) costs,’ but there is a potential win for the Government, which, he adds, could reduce its funding of public goods schemes that ‘are not particularly effective’, such as biodiversity restoration, and instead ‘could approach farmers who would really benefit from diversification and its financial stability as it offers to fund start-up costs. RAS also needs very little land to produce huge amounts of food. A one-hectare RAS facility would immediately be one of the largest in the country — and yet it would produce the same amount of food as 50 hectares of prime livestock land’.

The UKSKPP (also run with the University of Reading and Rothamsted Research) was set up in 2022 and will run until March 2026. It has established a demonstrator farm site near St Andrews in Fife, Scotland, with production sold through Eden Valley Prawns, currently the UK’s only commercial land-based king-prawn farm. The team is liaising with government and industry to address barriers, such as the reliance on imported larvae and the lack of a skilled workforce.

Here's a look at some of what you'll find inside.

A fate worse than demolition?

A century on from Sir Herbert Baker’s enlargement of the Bank of England in London, Clive Aslet reappraises the controversial work

Still caring for the fields and the beasts

Kate Green charts the 180-year history of the Royal Agricultural University and Mary Skipwith talks to students past and present

Let sleeping dogs lie

Do you cuddle up to your canine companions or are they banned from the bedroom? Bethany Stone investigates

Season’s tweetings

Matthew Dennison explores the fowl and game forever linked with the festive period

London Life

Rosie Paterson reveals why London always reigns in the rain, Will Hosie shares his tips on beating the capital’s Christmas crowds and our writers round up all you need to know this month

Let there be light

Carla Passino reflects on Dutch painter Johannes Vermeer’s intriguing works focusing on the illumination of female subjects

A matter of faith

Andrew Graham-Dixon tells Carla Passino his theory on the identity of Vermeer’s enigmatic Girl with a Pearl Earring

Giorgio Locatelli’s favourite painting

The chef and restaurateur picks a work of incredible imagination

Country-house treasures

John Goodall unfurls John Bell’s huge pro-education banner at Thirsk Hall in North Yorkshire

The legacy

Emma Hughes celebrates George Orwell’s dystopian classic Nineteen Eighty-Four

The Editor’s choice

Country Life Editor-in-Chief Mark Hedges reveals the gifts that have given him most joy in 2025

Interiors

Amelia Thorpe seeks out feel-good accessories and Giles Kime sinks into soft furnishings

Flowers in the frame

Photographer Kate Friend’s latest still-life project captures transient wildflowers at the height of their beauty, discovers Tiffany Daneff

Travel

Emma Love reveals the latest from the Caribbean, Rosie Paterson unravels the mysteries of Mustique and Pamela Goodman acts on a gut feeling

That’s my boy-bishop

Matthew Dennison investigates the centuries-old tradition of young choristers standing in for senior clerics at Christmas time

Arts & antiques

Sherree Valentine-Daines tells Carla Passino how forays into the sporting sphere helped to transform her artistic career

Ahhh the Golden Retriever — the sweet, sincere, butter-would-not-melt angel of a dog. They are, without question, one of the most well known dog breeds in the world. They’ve even carved out a place in modern dating lore via the ‘golden retriever boyfriend’ — the (almost overly) affectionate, subdued, loves-you-so-much type who also manages to be impossibly steady and reliable.

Their portrayal in mainstream media (endlessly wholesome, occasionally verging on a little dim) has only cemented the image. Think of Dug from Up, bounding in with his opener, ‘I have just met you, and I love you,’ mixed with the wise-beyond-his-years, rock-steady Shadow from Homeward Bound.

They are, it must be said, some of the warmest and most affectionate dogs I’ve ever met. I met the lovely Elmo at a Christmas party at Claridge’s this week, who was gorgeous, utterly charming, incredibly well-behaved and fully camera-trained — see below, outshining everyone in the room, including the very shiny silver Burberry Knight.

The story of the Golden Retriever is really the story of a dog who shouldn’t have existed at all — thanks to a man who rejected the fashionable breeds of his day. Rewind to 19th-century Britain, and you’ll find Dudley Marjoribanks, later the 1st Baron Tweedmouth: wealthy, ambitious and obsessed with dogs. My kind of man. He kept a meticulous leather-bound breeding record for more than 50 years, which still survives today and is on display at the newly relaunched Royal Kennel Club (formerly the Kennel Club) in London.

Marjoribanks’ star discovery was Nous, a golden puppy born to black sporting dogs, which were the preferred colour at the time. Golden pups were considered undesirable back then, and were frankly lucky to survive. Marjoribanks paired Nous with Belle, a Tweed Water Spaniel, resulting in the miraculous 1868 litter that produced the first true Golden Retrievers: Cowslip, Crocus and Primrose.

From there, the breed travelled far and wide — from his family home to Dorset’s Melbury Hall, then onwards to Texas cattle ranches and Canadian official residences — quietly securing its future. Meanwhile, their ancestral home, Guisachan in the Highlands, slipped into ruin; today, only trees and stonework remain.

The same cannot be said for Goldens themselves, which flourished dramatically and are now one of the world’s most adored breeds. Highly intelligent, gentle and devoted, they’re just as suited to family life as they are to working roles. Their steadiness, eagerness to please and trainability make them exceptional guide dogs, therapy companions and search-and-rescue heroes.

A perfect example of this is Polly, a Golden Retriever from Ballinamallard in Co Fermanagh. Last year, Polly’s bark jolted Hannah Cooke awake in the middle of the night. She turned to find her husband, Adam, breathing strangely — and then not breathing at all. Thanks to Polly’s warning, Hannah was able to start CPR until the ambulance arrived, ultimately saving his life. After weeks in hospital, Adam and Polly were reunited. He later nominated both his wife and his dog for the British Heart Foundation’s annual Heart Hero Awards, where Polly was celebrated as a ‘CPR hero’ in London on Tuesday evening. Adam says he owes his life to them both.

As always, there are a few need-to-knows if you’re considering bringing one into the fold. They have significant social needs, thriving on human companionship, and they do not cope well when left alone for long periods, as they can be prone to separation anxiety. And beware the shedding! Their dense, water-repellent double coat sheds heavily year-round — especially seasonally — and requires regular brushing to keep it under control.

On Wednesday, snow fell across the UK — even over London. And even though it didn’t settle in the capital (when does it ever?), snowploughs were out further north and my mind drifted to snow dogs — naturally landing on the magnificent St Bernard. A dog born for the mountains, yet familiar to us through nursemaid Nana in Peter Pan and, of course, the mighty, family-friendly Beethoven, star of eight feature-length films.

The St Bernard hails from the Western Alps, along the Italy/Switzerland border, and was originally bred by monks at the Hospice of the Great St Bernard Pass. The hospice began acquiring dogs in the late 1600s and by the early 1700s they were already rescuing travellers lost in snow and mist. These were dogs who could trudge through deep drifts, sense a buried wanderer and guide them back to safety — or lie across them to share warmth until help arrived. For context, the Great St Bernard Pass sits at roughly 2,469 metres above sea level, so it’s fair to say the winters can be savage.

The image of a St Bernard trotting through the Alps with a tiny barrel of brandy around its neck comes from 19th-century engravings. Romantic, yes — but almost certainly myth; the monks at the hospice have long denied it was ever standard practice.

According to the Kennel Club, the breed remains relatively rare in the UK compared with many companion breeds, meaning prospective owners often encounter waiting lists. Thinking of welcoming a St Bernard into your life? There are a few things you should know. This is a breed best suited to owners with experience of large or giant-breed dogs — expect big commitments: big beds, big meals, big vet bills and yes, big globs of drool. Their thick coats and heavy frames mean they cope brilliantly with cold and snow, but poorly with prolonged heat or humidity. Shade, cool indoor spaces and limited exertion during warm spells are essential.

Although the St Bernard is no longer used for traditional mountain rescue, their legacy hasn’t dimmed. Modern Alpine search teams have drones, GPS and avalanche transceivers, but the image of a stranded hiker discovered by a colossal, warm-hearted dog has captured imaginations for generations. And with Britain turning snowy (however briefly), it feels the perfect moment to appreciate a breed shaped by centuries of harsh winters, high altitude and a vocation for helping humans.

What makes Country Life? Country houses, gardens, nature, fine art — and dogs. Right from the first issue of the print magazine in 1897, Man's Best Friend has been right at the heart of Country Life — with that original edition featuring an article on Princess Alexandra and her Borzois.

• Subscribe to the Country Life podcast on Apple Podcasts

• Subcribe to the Country Life podcast on Spotify

• Subscribe to the Country Life podcast on Audible

Almost 130 years later, dogs are just as important as ever, and September 2025 saw the publication of Country Life's Book of Dogs, written by our deputy features editor Agnes Stamp. We're delighted that Agnes — who has worked for Country Life for over a decade —was able to join James Fisher on the Country Life Podcast to talk about some of the dogs featured in the pages of this handsome tome, from labradors and bull terriers to Great Danes and Dalmatians.

Country Life's Book of Dogs is out now (Rizzoli, £50) — and you can read more of Country Life's stories about dogs on the website.

Episode credits

Host: James Fisher

Guest: Agnes Stamp

Editor and producer: Toby Keel

Music: JuliusH via Pixabay

'To fly a bird of prey is to enter her world. You move through the landscape using her eyes — or a dim version — thinking with her mind, seeing the world differently,’ marvels Candida Meyrick, artist, falconer and author of Be More Bird: Life Lessons from a Harris Hawk (to be published in January 2026 by William Collins). ‘Her flights reveal invisible patterns in the sky: thermals and updrafts, eddies and gusts. It’s exhilarating because of this combination of physical thrill and profound empathetic connection.’ Although the British Falconers’ Club defines falconry as ‘the traditional art of hunting quarry in its natural state and habitat by means of trained hawks’, to many, the ancient sport also seems to possess an unquantifiable magic that enraptures as powerfully as when it was first practised centuries ago.

‘The falconer witnesses an exhilarating sequence of natural events,’ says Dr Nick Fox, a renowned falconry expert and author of Hunting Ethics. ‘A rabbit is flushed, the hawk reacts and the rabbit instinctively knows a predator is after it, so it bolts. Had you shot the rabbit: “Bang!” It’s dead. The rabbit doesn’t understand the noise of the gun. Falconry offers the immense privilege of observing a battle between predator and prey matched by evolution.’

Originally a method of obtaining food, falconry has forever been a fieldsport accessible to all — think ‘an eagle for an emperor, a kestrel for a knave’. It is thought that falconry was practised in the UK as early as 670AD (‘a bit before my time,’ Nick admits) and it grew in popularity rapidly. In medieval times, the office of Royal Falconer was created and was regarded as one of the most highly ranked titles. Birds of prey became prized assets, given as gifts and used to pay fines and rent. However, with land enclosures, the development of guns and a fall from fashion, falconry saw a decline in popularity over the centuries.

It was only in the 1980s that a resurgence began, influenced by authorities on the subject such as the late Roger Upton. ‘My father was a famous falconer who wrote many books and made a film on grouse hawking, which encouraged many into the sport,’ declares his son, Mark, who has taken up the gauntlet of championing falconry through his roles in various organisations, as well as his art. ‘Not only do I aim to produce an accurate representation of a falcon, I wish it to be recognisable to the falconers who know the individual bird. Many wildlife artists have an ability to produce photorealistic paintings, but I feel that often the subject’s spirit and character is lost in the exactness.’

He is well placed to make such observations: ‘I was given my first falcon when I was 10 and my first peregrine in my early twenties. I have flown peregrines at grouse ever since. Grouse hawking takes you to some of the wildest landscapes, where you feel a closeness to Nature and understanding of the environment and quarry that few experience in a modern world. It is hard to beat the excitement of watching a peregrine you have trained stoop from 1,000ft, going more than 100mph at a grouse in its natural environment.’

The sport’s appeal is wide ranging. ‘Not everyone has a grouse moor in their backyard, so you cut your coat according to your cloth,’ Nick observes. ‘Some simply enjoy their birds in an aviary or flying their birds in displays, others race them; it is many things to many people.’

His preferred form is hunting crows in Northumberland: ‘I fly the falcon out of a hood, slipping it like an avian greyhound at the crow, which will fly to cover perhaps two miles away. We are on horseback, so we have to ride hard to get there in time. I am a whipper-snapper at 75 years old, I’ve been a master of the Northumberland Crow Falcons for 33 years and have done it since I was a boy. Many people say it’s in the blood and sometimes we have three generations out with us. With only 12 horses at each hunt, it isn’t too intimidating, which is a draw.’ One suspects another lure is the mid-afternoon stop the riders make for a cup of tea and homemade cake.

Training is a fundamental part of falconry, but requires a singular approach. ‘You can’t growl at hawks if they do something wrong, they don’t understand punishment,’ Nick says. ‘They aren’t pack animals, they don’t follow by example or dominance. The only way to train them is with positive reinforcement, which is challenging when they aren’t doing what you want. They teach humility.’ Candida concurs: ‘Falconry is a form of partnership where it is understood that your bird holds all the cards. At any moment, your bird is free to fly away and not return, so the fact that she does not do this is extremely moving.’

Before selecting a bird of prey, one must consider its purpose. Hawks have short wings and a long, broad tail and can be flown around wooded areas at a range of prey. Nick advises: ‘The average British falconer is likely to fly a Harris hawk, as it is user-friendly.’ Mark suggests the same about peregrines being the most popular in the falcon family ‘due to their temperament and ability’. With their longer wings and shorter tail, falcons require open spaces and height to stoop, and they tend to be flown at crows, rooks and gulls or used for game-hawking.

The fact the landscape is left unscathed by something so natural and low impact helps the sport’s profile. ‘Hawks don’t wound — they either catch or they don’t — and they go for anything sick or lame first. You come back proud if your bird actually gets something. Plus, you don’t leave a trace,’ Nick asserts.

However, there are still some who oppose falconry. ‘Some object to the fact that we keep falcons, but if welfare was poor the birds wouldn’t have the fitness to catch quarry,’ Mark argues. ‘Falconry techniques are also used in training raptors for vital jobs such as bird clearance at airfields and sensitive sites.’ He explains, too, that: ‘Falconers pioneered raptor breeding, which enabled reintroduction of some species, and, when the peregrine nearly became extinct in the 1950s, it was falconers who did the most to save it. It is now one of the greatest conservation successes. What we all need to be facing up to is our own impact. Our biggest problem is the damage to the environment, which means quarry species are in decline and country is disappearing.’

Protection is required elsewhere, too. Calvin Crossman may have survived a childhood of climbing trees to retrieve nesting birds for his father to perform his job as a licensed bird ringer, but he is now working in a dying trade making falconry gloves. ‘There are only two commercial glovers left in the UK and less than a handful of people that make falconry gloves. It’s on the critical list of endangered crafts, as is bell-making. I am the only commercial falconry bell-maker left in the UK, yet there is no government funding or anyone to hand these skills down to.’

However, there is much to be heartened by. In the UK, there are about 25,000 people practising falconry, a number that could soar with the current appetite for ‘a closer and deeper connection with Nature,’ Candida observes. ‘Flying a bird of prey resets your life in tune with the seasons, the weather, the climate. It reminds me of what C. S. Lewis called “the deeper magic”, the numinous connection between all living things.’

She, alongside everyone else lured by the spellbinding qualities of these birds, is certain of one thing. ‘Once you’ve fallen in love with falconry, it’s for life.’