'Alsatians and caviare have this in common: one either likes them or does not,' Country Life stated in 1928. Before anything Teutonic had become widely unpalatable, the breed had been known as a German shepherd dog, but 'on examination of the case in the critical spirit aroused by the war, British and French alike agreed that the true home of the dog was Alsace' and some went so far as to trace the breed’s roots to Scotland. Consequently, the breed would for a time be renamed the Alsatian wolf dog.

However, the breed had been developed by German cavalry officer Max von Stephanitz as a herding dog in the 1880s. The first German shepherd dogs came to England about 1911, but, as with so many other imported breeds that have ultimately become popular, they aroused very little public interest.

After soldiers returning from the First World War made the breed popular, impressed by the intelligence and sagacity of the dogs used by the Germans as messengers, guard dogs, and carriers of medical supplies (the Germans had been responsible for producing the first 'mercy dogs', trained to seek out the wounded and comfort the dying).

Rin Tin Tin, an Alsatian who had been rescued from the trenches, became the star of 27 Hollywood films, firing the imagination of millions of people by giving visual evidence of what a dog could be trained to do. Displaying 'intelligence and beauty, trainability and intense devotion,' the dogs were suddenly in great demand.

In 1921, Major C. E. W. Beddoes (who was stationed in Munich at the time) wrote two articles for Country Life championing the 'Alsatian wolf-dog, or, as he is called in Germany, the Schäferhund.' As well as detailing the breed’s 'remarkable'powers of scent, Beddoes would also recall an incident in which his wife was 'spoken to in a very unpleasant manner' and one of his dogs came vigorously to the rescue, “tearing the man’s coat” so his wife could tell him 'exactly what she thought of him in her very best German.'

Back on British soil, Country Life would reflect later that the breed’s sudden rise in popularity was probably 'England’s first experience of a boom in any breed, the dangers of which were not perceived until it was too late.' Poor breeding practices exacerbated undesirable temperament traits and by the end of the 1920s, the breed’s popularity was in sharp decline.

The magazine would reflect in 1928 that 'perhaps the Germans have taught us one thing, or they have talked more about it than we have — that is, the importance of temperament and the desirability of cultivating the intelligence by means of training.'

During the 1940s the breed managed to claw itself back into public esteem, despite being used in Nazi propaganda (Hitler’s own bitch, Blondi, was touted as proof that he was an 'animal lover'). The main factors that salvaged and restored the public image of the German shepherd were twofold: its use as a guide dog for the blind (the world’s and the UK’s first formally trained guide dogs were German shepherds), and secondly, the work the dogs did during the Second World War for the army, the RAF, and the police.

No longer considered 'a descendant of wolves, a dog ready and willing to attack man or beast with or without command, the Alsatian has steadily climbed back by virtue of his beauty, brains, intelligence and integrity,' and in 1977, campaigners succeeded in having their dogs registered under the original breed name as German shepherds once again.

This is an extract from 'The Country Life Book of Dogs' (Rizzoli, £50) by Agnes Stamp.

Pity the dogs of the Middle Ages, for their collars could be distinctly uncomfortable. Although some hunting images show hounds wearing leather bands, in others, says Ciara Farrell of the Royal Kennel Club (RKC), they sported formidable, broad, iron collars fitted with spikes, which were intended to protect their necks from wolves and bears and would later be echoed in the models with sharp protruding teeth at the top and bottom rim used for animal baiting.

Rather more stylish, although probably not terribly comfortable either, was the pearl-encrusted collar, complete with coat of arms, that was recorded in the inventory of Philip II of Spain in 1558. Before making his way to the neck of Spain’s royal pooches, it had belonged to the Duke of Burgundy.

The oldest specimen in the RKC collection dates from 1692: made of brass, it belonged to a dog of Somerset merchant George Balch, who would later become MP for Bridgwater. ‘We don’t know the breed of dog that wore the collar, but its value to its owner is clearly signified by the manufacture and wearing of this item,’ says Farrell.

Brass collars, bearing the dog’s name and the owner’s address, became increasingly popular over time: the band was usually adjustable and featured rolled edges to avoid chafing; some models were even articulated. Auctioneer Cheffins is offering two dating from the 18th century at the Fine Sale on September 16: both belonged to the dogs of a William Turbutt Esq of Ogston, Derbyshire and one is articulated.

By the 19th century, brass collars had become so commonplace that Henry Mayhew, in his book London Labour and the London Poor, recorded street traders selling them in the city: prices, explains Farrell, ranged from sixpence for small ones to three shillings for larger examples, with matching padlocks available.

Much rarer, but also popular for pugs in the late 19th and early 20th centuries were medal collars, such as the one now preserved at the RKC. It was worn by Ch Little Geisha, the dog of a Mrs Benson, who Farrell describes as ‘a well-known pug fancier of the time.

The silver medals all date from 1900–02 and were won at shows as far apart as London and Liverpool, with an Edward VII coronation medal in the centre’.

The RKC also has the carte de visite of Ch Little Geisha: it shows her wearing her collar, with Benson sporting an equally eye-catching hat.

One a track on a farm somewhere in Ireland, Florence leans against the steering wheel. Soft breezes from the car’s open windows ruffle her ears. It’s summer and the sun is shining. Florence, I learn, ‘loves to drive’.

A self-possessed, well-muscled, prepossessing little six year old, she is the smooth-haired miniature dachshund belonging to Lady Ana Johnson, only daughter of the late last Earl of Dunraven, and once in a while, away from public roads — and to her considerable delight — she sits on her owner’s lap as they crisscross the fields by car.

In Britain, miniature dachshunds — both long- and, like Florence, smooth-haired — are currently one of the nation’s favourite dog breeds: between 2014 and 2024, puppy registrations for long-haired miniature dachshunds quadrupled. In Ireland, too, their popularity is growing. For Lady Ana, the decision had nothing to do with trends: ‘As a child, growing up in a classic Jack-Russell-sheep-dog family, I always wanted to have a sausage dog.’

Florence, who was born during the pandemic, is Lady Ana’s second, but certainly won’t be her last. ‘I hope I’ll always have miniature dachshunds,’ she reflects. ‘I see myself at 85 surrounded by a little pack of them. They’re incredibly loyal: I’ve never had such loyal dogs as these.’

Dapple patterned in colouring, Florence’s tiger stripes, her fond owner suggests, ‘are not terribly obvious, although perhaps more obvious the more rosé you consume.’ She is named after a character in children’s television programme The Magic Roundabout, as was her predecessor, Zebedee, and is stoutly adored both by Lady Ana and her 11- and nine-year-old daughters.

Florence is not alone in inspiring passionate attachment in her human. Across the country, dachshund owners feel the same overwhelming enthusiasm for the German origin breed popularised two centuries ago by Queen Victoria, who once claimed of the short-legged, big-bark dogs that ‘nothing will turn a man’s home into a castle more quickly and effectively than a dachshund’.

‘They’re good, plucky little dogs, very brave, very sporting, very friendl y —and they’re huge characters,’ observes Jonathan Reeves, who, in his late eighties, recently acquired a black-and-tan, smooth-haired miniature dachshund puppy called Polly. Reeves ought to know. A great-nephew of Maj Claude Jarvis— t he former Governor of Sinai, who wrote a long-running Country Life column, ‘A Countryman’s Notes’, Reeves had his first dachshund as a small boy during the Second World War and, alongside working cocker spaniels and springers, has owned a succession of others over the following eight decades.

He admires their loyalty, their ‘great endurance’ and intelligence; he enjoys their love of country life and their concern for their own comfort: ‘They love Agas.’

The dachshund may well be the most instantly recognisable dog breed in the world, with its distinctive, elongated silhouette — which accounts for its soubriquet of ‘sausage dog’ — and distinguished, fine-featured head with almond-shaped eyes, black nose and long, silky ears. Typically, they have pretty faces, gleaming coats, a long stride and a determined sense of purpose.

In the early 1890s, novelist Henry James commended the ‘beautiful countenance’ of his dachshund Tosca (he was also rumoured to have claimed that she was ‘intelligent enough to be shocked’ by the suggestion that American women possessed less sex appeal than their European counterparts).

The dogs’ long bodies made them suited to their earliest working purpose: dachshund means ‘badger dog’ and these fearless, strongbodied little creatures were once used by German foresters to hunt badgers in their setts.

Unsurprisingly, this fearsome heritage made for a breed characterised by bravery and tenacity. Even today, dachshunds tend to appoint themselves guard dogs in any home they inhabit. Few well-cared-for, properly trained modern examples, however, inspire the reaction of Wadl and Hexl, who belonged to Wilhelm II early in the last century: the Kaiser’s dogs were described as ‘biting, snarling little brutes with jaws measuring half the length of their smooth bodies’.

By contrast, in August 1904, James described Tosca’s successor Max as ‘the best and gentlest and most reasonable… small animal of his kind’ and allowed the dog to sleep in his own favourite armchair at Lamb House, his home in Rye, East Sussex.

A century on, charm remains a byword for the dachshund. A smooth-haired miniature called Mouse, belonging to Clare Durdin Robertson, chatelaine of Huntington Castle in Co Carlow, Ireland, numbered the actor Rupert Everett among her conquests.

Queen Victoria’s first dachshund arrived at Windsor Castle in about 1841, but it was Deckel, brought over from Coburg by Prince Albert four years later, who really converted the redoubtable monarch; her attachment was only eclipsed half a century later, by another German breed, the Pomeranian.

Television producer Olivia McPartland-Brooke describes her wire-haired miniature dachshund Dot, a four year old with melting dark eyes and a characteristic grey-and-tansplashed rough coat, simply as ‘miraculous’: ‘I love the energy, I love the attitude.’ Like Florence and the many dachshunds owned by Reeves, Dot is at the centre of her mistress’s life. Lady Ana describes Florence as ‘by my side the entire time’. Dot went a step further and was one of McPartland- Brooke’s bridesmaids, accompanying her down the aisle on a pristine white lead terminating in a ribbon rosette.

In Britain and North America, dachshunds are recognised in two sizes — standard and miniature — and three coat types: smooth-, long- and wire-haired. Distinct in aspects of their appearance, all share the same extended, muscular body, short, powerful legs, long tail and large front paws, as well as their long, engaging, invariably animated faces.

Dachshunds share character traits, too: their curiosity, cheerful busyness and, in many instances, a streak of stubbornness. McPartland-Brooke is unsure if ‘curious’ adequately summarises Dot who, on Clapham Common, ‘needs to say hello to everyone as if she’s in her own garden’ and is impossible to take for a quick walk because ‘she’s too chatty, she wants to talk to everyone she meets’ — ‘nosy’ is perhaps more apt.

In towns and cities, in villages and on farms, the behaviour of the dachshund continues to suggest its working origins, even where there are no badgers to be seen. ‘They’re definitely little hounds rather than terriers,’ Reeves believes. ‘They use their noses a lot to track scents for a very long way.’ The Kennel Club labels the dachshund a ‘persevering hunter and tracker’ and paintings of the breed by canine artists such as Maud Earl, Frances Mabel Hollams and Friedrick Wilhelm Keyl frequently emphasise the dogs’ musculature, their broad shoulders and alert gaze.

Unlike other short-legged dogs, a dachshund’s body is clear of the ground, suggesting its practical backstory. Often, only water stops them in their tracks, although many owners have been surprised by an unexpected willingness to ford shallow pools or streams.

Loyal themselves, this is a breed that inspires loyalty. Dot followed an earlier dachshund called Daisy, owned by McPartland- Brooke’s parents, whom she loved as a child; Reeves has remained dedicated to the breed his parents first acquired in the 1930s, despite his need, in adult life, for a larger working dog; and Lady Ana can imagine both her daughters owning dachshunds as adults. Why? ‘Dot is perfection!’ exclaims McPartland-Brooke. ‘She’s a lot of fun, she has no anxiety whatsoever, she’s very positive, she loves a cuddle and, really, she’s a bit of a joy.’ As for Florence, adds Lada Ana: ‘When she’s really, really happy, she howls.’

As with any pet, potential owners should exercise vigilance. Their long backs make dachshunds vulnerable to problems, including intervertebral disc disease (IVDD), which can be costly (and very difficult) to treat. Responsible breeders do their best to minimise the likelihood of IVDD by screening and active dogs that remain fit and well muscled often suffer fewer problems than their sedentary cousins or those that jump unnecessarily.

Is this a reason to look elsewhere, at other breeds? None of the owners to whom I spoke believe so. In 80 years, Reeves has had a single dachshund with IVDD and Lady Ana suggests that exercise keeps the back muscles taut and helps to prevent problems. ‘They’re really jolly, good little dogs,’ Reeves assures me. Can we doubt him?

This feature originally appeared in the August 26, 2026, issue of Country Life. Click here for more information on how to subscribe.

Charlie the smooth black-and-tan dachshund

Charlie — aka King Charles or HRH — is an extra-large dachshund with an extra-large personality and appetite. He is most likely to be found stretched out in a patch of sunshine or occupying the exact chair you vacated three seconds earlier, preferably while it’s still warm.

His greatest talent is interior design: using his remarkably strong snout to rearrange chairs into strategic positions from which otherwise inaccessible food can be reached. This ingenuity once resulted in the consumption of an entire packet of Marks and Spencer's Outrageously Chocolatey Dark Chocolate Rounds and a frantic Friday night trip to the emergency vet. He has taught me many things, but vigilance is chief among them.

Despite being permanently starved — according to Charlie, not his vet — he is outrageously cuddly. His most prized possession is Stanley, our tiny, blind and deaf 14-year-old dachshund, whom he absolutely adores. Life, according to Charlie, would be perfect if I were more generous with snacks and stopped mentioning the word ‘diet’.

Florence Allen

Zippy the Australian kelpie

Despite her breed’s reputation as Australia’s most dependable sheepdog, my 13-year-old kelpie is inexplicably terrified of sheep and cows. She will swim across fast-flowing rivers or commando-crawl through hedges to avoid crossing paths with them.

Her favourite game involves stealing golf balls in play from the course near the beach in Devon and racing off towards the water with them in her mouth. She's always utterly baffled when the golfers don’t cry out with delight and join in.

Her most impressive talent is her ability to escape. She once jumped a five-foot fence in order to embark on an adventure aboard a longboat down the River Thames. What has my dog taught me? That not all dogs calm down with age.

Even when we're nowhere near a beach, Zippy will somehow find one. Despite her escape artist antics, she is utterly irresistible (except, perhaps, her breath). She only wishes I took sticks as seriously as she does.

Bella Fulford

Dominic the cocker pug

When Dominic was a (long-legged) puppy, and to some extent even now, he totally destroyed anything he could get his teeth and paws on.

We previously had a homely, ie untidy, farmhouse kitchen, but today it is minimalist due to Dom. Some of his 'activities' have included eating everything in the fruit bowl, including bananas in their skins, ripping the blinds (now there are none), chewing a hand off the clock despite it being hung high on the wall, pulling the air fryer off the surface and completely separating the electric plug from the wire once it was on the floor, plus grabbing milk bottles in his mouth (the ones that were soaking in the sink to be washed later) and jumping down and smashing them on the floor.

He's more recently taken to jumping off the (high) garden wall and out into the road. He'll then do a 'circuit' around the road and jump the five-bar gate back into the yard where he is 'secure' again — until the next time. His favourite day to do this is Monday because this is recycling day.

His most prized possession is his bed (he can't, of course, have a lovely fluffy bed or he would eat it). He sleeps in his crate with a blanket and because he's so frenetic during the day by 10.30pm he's so ready for bed he can't wait to get there. He sleeps like the living dead.

In the last few months he's become slightly less naughty and extremely appealing. He has the most gorgeous face, and he's soft and squishy and wouldn't hurt a fly (although he loves chasing my six cats). He's also highly intelligent and knows instantly when he's done something naughty. We don't even need to tell him.

Julie Harding

Chequers the Jack Russell

Chequers can do plant recognition. If he sees nettles or thistles or gorse from several paces ahead, there is no way he will proceed without being picked up. He can also detect a hedgehog through 18-inch-thick walls and shut windows.

He once killed an enormous rat. I was worried he would let it go and was rushing around after him, swearing and wielding a shovel, but he despatched it and then did a victory lap of honour around the garden. Because of him, I've learned to run ever faster.

He's most likely to be found watching the BBC News at Ten. He takes it very seriously and likes the racing and tennis as well.

I love his long nose (like Beatrix Potter's Pickles) and short legs, his markings (especially the spot by his tail) and his way of snuggling up under your arm. He can pay a visitor no greater compliment than to fall sound asleep on them.

Kate Green

Dolly Parton the (suspected) kokoni

I knew Dolly was mine the moment I saw her little clown face peeking out at me from the social media account of a respected animal-rescue charity in Romania, after I had been considering dog ownership for some months.

I had always said that my first dog would be called Dolly Parton; this one was already christened Dolly. It was meant to be. 'That dog is far too ugly to be named after Dolly Parton,' offered a friend, clearly unaware that one must never say this about someone's baby (to their face).

The dog who had lived off Romanian street rubbish and arrived so hungry she once swallowed a rat whole soon settled in beneath my desk at the Country Life offices and learnt that she was now too good for dry dog biscuit. A saint with children, but a devil on the lead, I will never have another dog as devoted to me as this one.

Victoria Marston

Nimrod and Rocky the black and yellow labradors

My partners in canine crime are Nimrod, an eight-year-old black labrador, and Rocky, a four-year-old yellow labrador. Although they’re both (allegedly) working dogs, who excel (ahem, are you listening, Nim?) in the shooting field — in truth, they are pets, sofa slugs and my most treasured companions.

They follow in the pawprints of fellow black labs, Boot, Dinky and Sock, and I’d be utterly lost without them. Nimmy specialises in stealing the toys belonging to our neighbours’ obliging sprocker, Wilson — his favourite is a fluffy capybara, which he will only retrieve to hand in return for a spoonful of Greek yoghurt. Rocky, meanwhile, has 37 field-trial champions in his pedigree and will actually give you the game bird you asked him to fetch without demanding a snack tax.

Despite being rather too officious about border patrol around my cottage — the postman gets shouted at every time he approaches — both are first-class cuddlers and emotional-support operatives. If they could, they’d abolish my job so that, at 4pm, they would not have to stare so intently, willing me to step away from the laptop to feed them. As I constantly remind them, however, one of us has to work if we’re to afford their twice-daily equivalent of Cheerios.

Paula Minchin

Daisy the working cocker spaniel

Daisy is an expert thief and often works as a tag team with Ernie the cat who will bat items off the kitchen table with his paw and then jump down before Daisy has golloped up all the spilt milk/ham/toast etc.

When young there was nothing Daisy could not consume with no repercussions other than human rage — an entire pat of French butter; an almost full packet of chocolate bourbons, a dish of lasagne from the cafe opposite and, over the years, numerous slices of Colin the Caterpillar birthday cake.

She got her comeuppance though when she swallowed a packet of rat poison. The vet nobly left off watching the Rugby World Cup final to administer an emetic and when we picked up her from the surgery declared her to be the most stupid dog he had ever treated because she wagged her tail throughout the procedure. But then she did win a red rosette in the village fête Waggiest Tailed Dog competition.

Tiffany Daneff

Patzy the Patterjack

Patzy didn't have the best start in life. She was abused (the vet thinks she's blind in one eye because she was kicked in the head) and abandoned, went on the run for three weeks, and is fearful of most men, especially if they're wearing big boots.

Despite being dealt a very bad hand, her most endearing quality is her determination to try and make the most of every day. She's now 14 (probably), but still gets the daily zoomies and likes to help with most activities (at the moment it's putting out buckets of water for wild animals; she's also partial to a yoga class). In recent years she's even warmed to strangers and, as long as things progress on her terms, will use their legs as a scratching post.

Her favourite thing in the entire world is my parent's bed (she's evicted my dad from it — he has to sleep in the guest bedroom) and running water. She will happily wreck a perfectly good hose and turn it into a sieve, or stand in a stream for hours and hours and bite at the water in a vain attempt to stop it — sort of like King Canute and his waves. How she hasn't waterboarded herself is beyond me.

Rosie Paterson

‘Ugh! What hideous brutes!’ was the remark overheard by Country Life’s correspondent attending the Bulldog Club show in 1904. However, as the magazine reported only five years earlier, only the ‘uninitiated’ call a bulldog ugly, and ‘those who are admitted to the privilege of a bulldog’s friendship know that no other cast of features is so expressive of all the kindly and good emotions’.

It may be that the bulldog’s rugged appearance is a ‘cultivated taste’, stated the magazine in 1939, ‘but at second glance we understand that he is not half so bad as he looks. He is reliable partly because he has a quiet confidence in his own powers, and, like most strong men, he is not going to presume on his own strength.’

Of all Britain’s native breeds of dog, the bulldog is the one most associated with our desirable national characteristics. Staunch and stoic, whether at home or abroad, matter-of-fact John Bull is not correctly depicted unless there is a bulldog at his side. Indeed, synonymous with ‘tenacity, courage, and determination’, the bulldog is the very symbol of Britain and, as Country Life noted in 1995, ‘in times of national peril, the bulldog appears in cartoons, festooned in the Union Jack, jaw thrust forward with determination, eyes indicating that not an inch of ground will be yielded’.

As their name suggests, they were originally bred to bait bulls, a brutal pastime that would be enjoyed by many in Britain, including Henry VIII, both his daughters, and James I. The earliest recorded bull-baiting took place at Stamford in Lincolnshire in 1205. William, Earl Warren, of Stamford in Lincolnshire, is said to have enjoyed watching a recalcitrant bull being chased and chivvied through the marketplace by a butcher’s dogs. He granted the town a piece of land so the tussle could take place annually.

Derived from the same line as mastiffs, bulldogs were referred to in The Mayster of Game (1413) as the ‘alaunt of the boucherie’ and described as being large, short-headed, pugnacious, and inclined to hold on when attacking. The bulldog is first mentioned in literature under various names in about 1500 — Bondedogge, Banddogge and Boldogge — and by 1630 it is quite clear from letters of the period that bulldogs and mastiffs were certainly different breeds.

The gladiatorial heavyweight may have had a disreputable past by modern standards, but it certainly did not put off would-be owners. Lord Byron liked powerful dogs — perhaps a reaction to his own physical shortcomings, having been born with a club foot — and in 1807 he acquired two bulldogs at Cambridge. The first was Savage, and then Smut, an animal bred for bullbaiting and considerably nimbler and more ferocious than his modern counterpart.

During Lord Byron’s time in Italy, it is said that he pestered continually for English-bred bulldogs to be sent to him, claiming that the Italian variety lacked ‘the tenacity of tooth and stoicism of his canine fellow citizens’.

The 19th century sounded the death knell for the old bull-baiting type of bulldog when, after much controversy and discussion, Parliament passed the Cruelty to Animals Act in 1835, abolishing the ‘sport’. In Dogs: Their History and Development of 1927, Edward Ash wrote: ‘When bull-baiting ended, the dog was bred for “fancy”, and characteristics desired at an earlier time for fighting and baiting purposes were exaggerated.’

The increasing popularity of dog showing would give the breed a second chance. However, the pages of Country Life would record the debate about the ‘modifications’ to the bulldog’s appearance.

In 1931, Arthur Croxton Smith would note that: ‘In some respects they improved the appearance, replacing the repellant-looking head with one that is distinctive and rather fascinating with its ruggedness. Since the War, however, in many instances we have lost the old body properties, especially the tapering hindquarters and tucked up belly, and here breeders have ample scope for their abilities. Most emphatically, bulldogs ought not to be shown in a condition in which hard muscle is replaced by fat.’

However, Stonehenge pleaded for the perpetuation of the pure breed: ‘If it is allowed to drop, the best means of infusing fresh courage into degenerate strains will be finally lost, except with the addition of extraneous blood, which may not suit them; for I believe that every kind of dog possessed of very high courage owes it to a cross with the bulldog.’

The modern breed was accepted by The Kennel Club in 1873 — the Bulldog Club is the oldest single breed club in the world — and the bulldog remains a Churchillian symbol that has captivated Lewis Hamilton, David Beckham, Ozzy Osbourne and Brad Pitt.

The title of a 1960 comedy starring Norman Wisdom remains one of the most resonant bits of alliteration in our language — The Bulldog Breed.

This is an extract from 'The Country Life Book of Dogs' (Rizzoli, £50) by Agnes Stamp.

‘My dog Sirrah,’ once wrote the ‘Ettrick Shepherd’, James Hogg, ‘was beyond all comparison, the best dog I ever saw. He had a somewhat surly and unsocial temper, disdaining all flattery, and refusing to be caressed; but his attention to my commands and interest will never again be matched by any of the canine race.’

The breed has been valued for its strength and hardiness in the field since its arrival in Britain, most likely with the Celts during the invasions of the third and fourth centuries BC. The sheepdog Hogg describes is said to have been a bearded collie, a breed once highly prized in Scotland on account of its ‘sagacity and indifference to the demands of the climate’, Country Life reported in 1914.

Geographic conditions have undoubtedly had a considerable effect on types of working dogs and, in the Scottish Highlands, a profuse and weather-resistant coat was required to give the dogs protection when they stood guard over their flocks at night.

Gainsborough’s portrait of Henry, 3rd Duke of Buccleuch and 5th Duke of Queensberry (1770), depicts an early example of the large, shaggy dog, which can also be seen in Philip Reinagle’s well-known painting, an engraving of which appeared in The Sportsman’s Cabinet.

The rugged charm of the breed was captured by Country Life in 1898, when the magazine visited the kennels of Panmure Gordon. The first breed standard was drawn up in 1912, but the bearded-collie population was in rapid decline and, by the 1940s, it was very scarce indeed.

In 1954, Country Life reported that ‘a great loss would have been that very charming old Scottish gentleman, the bearded collie — a breed which has had a very close shave in the battle for survival’.

The Kennel Club gave recognition to the breed in 1959 and, today, bearded collies sit on the vulnerable native breed list.

‘A keen, intelligent dog, still physically and mentally capable of doing a good day’s work with the minimum of training,’ Country Life said of beardies in 1960.

This is an extract from 'The Country Life Book of Dogs' (Rizzoli, £50) by Agnes Stamp.

It might sound mad — barkingly so to some — but, according to current estimations, the UK’s luxury dog market is valued at nearly £10 billion. Like an eager beagle on a fully extended lead, our penchant for premium pampering for our pooches reaches far and wide, from buying them designer items and bespoke toys to hi-tech lifestyle gadgets and gourmet food. The wag treatment doesn’t stop there, either; owners are increasingly subscribing to services such as holistically centred wellness clubs, tailored veterinary care and private-jet travel for their canine companions to enjoy. Sit, stay and come… to meet some of the top dogs who have successfully unleashed their luxury pet brands.

Amy Williams, Woofwolds Wellness Club

‘My own dogs, Beethoven and Bernard, inspired the philosophy behind Woofwolds. They’ve taught me that dogs thrive when they’re properly understood — not only exercised, but mentally stimulated, emotionally secure and included in everyday life,’ explains Amy Williams, founder of Woofwolds Wellness Club in the Cotswolds. ‘Lots of the decisions we make at Woofwolds come back to one question: “Would we want this for our own dogs?” If the answer isn’t yes, we don’t do it.’

Williams founded her business driven by her belief that dog care needed to evolve from a fragmented, functional industry. ‘We felt there was an opportunity to create something far more holistic and could see a huge cultural shift happening globally. Luxury dog care was becoming part of modern hospitality and wellness culture. Dogs are increasingly recognised as full family members, not an afterthought.’

She has created a ‘trusted, accredited wellness ecosystem’ for dogs that more resembles a members’ club than conventional pet care. It offers structured socialisation, enrichment, training, wellbeing and professional care all under one philosophy. ‘We’ve built Woofwolds to operate at a very high standard, partnering with exceptional trainers, wellness professionals and brands, so that every part of the experience feels best in class. Clients really value the level of detail and thoughtfulness behind the experience, from our Pawgress reports and carefully curated social groups to wellness-led experiences and professional handling.

‘One of the things clients consistently tell us is that they can genuinely see the “Woofwolds difference” — their dogs aren’t only coming home exercised, they’re calmer, more settled, more confident and better behaved because there’s consistency in everything we do.’

George Garrod and Pizza The Queen

‘I fell in love with Pizza the first time we met in 2018,’ George Garrod says of his dachshund, known as Pizza The Queen or Boo to their 440,000 followers on Instagram and similar number on TikTok. ‘She was bold among her siblings and, when the breeder said “that one’s a right little madam”, I knew she was the one. She’s got so much aura it’s palpable. With both dogs and humans, she owns the room and knows it.’

Garrod decided to find an audience ‘that appreciated Pizza’s regal ways’ via a social-media presence. What was initially a hobby quickly gathered momentum as well as followers and, after wrestling with feelings regarding being part of the influencer world, he decided to commit to it. One motivation was his diagnosis of bipolar disorder in 2025, finding that getting out of the house helped his mental health and benefited Pizza, too, by keeping her fit and stimulated.

‘It’s a self-care thing. If I don’t look after myself, I can’t look after or be there for Pizza. I get overwhelmed with tasks and events especially. I thrive in a routine and when we’re busy and travelling around, it’s hard to maintain it. Sometimes, I just don’t feel up to talking to people and I get anxious about that. However, Pizza is an amazing com-panion and, when we film outside, my phone never leaves my pocket. It’s a time when I’m really present and I love that.’

In Garrod’s opinion, the dachshund ‘is the best and worst breed in one. They are ridiculous, needy and devious one second, then loving, loyal and adorable the next. Pizza has even learnt to unlock the council’s food-waste bin. I think she regrets eating seven olives to this day. She’s an absolute rascal, but she’s given me everything’.

Christine Chau, Charley Chau

‘A dog that sleeps well feels well physically and in temperament, too. At their core, our beds are designed to deliver sublime comfort and that’s at the heart of what we do,’ enthuses Christine Chau, creative director and chief product designer at Charley Chau.

Co-founding the brand with her sister, Jenny, was a complete accident. In 2010, she decided to make a dog bed because she couldn’t find one ‘that was truly comfortable, looked beautiful and survived the first wash’. The pair sat down and hand sewed a couple of Snuggle Beds for Christine’s Italian greyhounds, Charley and Anna. After posting a photograph on social media, they were flooded with messages from friends asking whether they’d create beds for their dogs, too. ‘I found some brilliant soft-furnishings sewing teams to make my designs exactly to my specifications and that was the beginning of Charley Chau.’

What started as a hobby soon prompted the sisters to walk away from corporate careers. Now, with customers in more than 60 countries, it was a step worth taking. What matters most to Christine, however, is the community it has garnered. ‘When Charley passed away suddenly, the hundreds of personal messages I received from customers meant more than I can say. It’s those connections that have had the biggest impact above everything else.’

There was no question that Christine would own anything other than an Italian greyhound: ‘Elegant, quirky and far too clever for their own good, I love their giddy, nutty personalities. What I didn’t anticipate was that they would turn me into a certified crazy dog lady to the point where I’m now a Kennel Club-approved judge. I’m so grateful that these little dogs led me to trade my 4-inch heels and City career for wellies and waterproofs. I couldn’t imagine life without an Italian greyhound keeping me on my toes.’

Jenny Matthews, Love My Human

When Jenny Matthews, director and founder of lifestyle empire Love My Human, first became a dog owner to her Tibetan terriers Alfie and Belle in 2013, she found it difficult to find any services, accessories, grooming products or food that she felt were anything more than satisfactory. ‘I knew there had to be many like-minded dog parents who wanted something better for their pets, too, and Love My Human was born from knowing I could create that.’ By then, Matthews had worked in the design, retail and hospitality industry for more than 25 years, so felt well placed to create a place ‘where dogs were treated with the same care, consideration and love that we give to any member of the family’.

‘Our groomers are incredibly empathetic and we spend as much time comforting nervous dogs as we do grooming them,’ Matthews explains. ‘People love that we genuinely care. The wellbeing of the animals in our care always comes before profit or convenience. If we need extra time with a dog, we take it. If a second groomer is needed simply to comfort and reassure a dog during a groom, we do that. We never want an animal to feel frightened or rushed. I have never compromised on quality, whether that’s care, products or experience.’

She must be getting it right as her clients vote with their feet — or rather, paws. ‘One of the loveliest compliments we receive is when customers tell us their dogs stop outside our shop [No 308, King’s Road, London SW3] and refuse to walk past,’ Matthews reveals. ‘It happens with our daycare dogs, our grooming clients and even dogs who simply like popping in to say hello.’

Adam Golder, K9 Jets

After witnessing first hand how stressful it could be for dog owners to relocate internationally when their four-legged friend had to travel in the cargo hold, Adam Golder launched K9 Jets in 2023 as the original pay-by-seat private-jet service for pet owners. Instead of chartering an entire aircraft, customers can book individual seats and have their dogs by their side.

To date, the company has flown more than 8,000 pets and their owners. ‘Pets are family members and the idea of being separated from them for a long-haul flight can be very upsetting,’ says Golder, now client director of K9 Jets. Several clients have told us they wouldn’t have been able to move abroad without K9 Jets. Helping people start a new chapter with their pets is incredibly rewarding.’

Onboard, each animal’s safety and comfort is prioritised by ensuring a calm environment and thoughtful seating arrangements — clients often comment on the relief they feel when they see their dog stretched out asleep at their feet during the flight.

Golder and his team go to great lengths to problem solve where they can. ‘On our first flight, a client who was travelling with a 150lb Great Dane had forgotten to pre-book a pet-friendly taxi from the airport. I insisted on driving them myself, but only had a small rental car. I imagine seeing a Great Dane in the back of a compact car on the M1 was quite a sight.’ This set the tone for the hands-on approach Golder has taken ever since, which may go some way to making up for the fact that currently he doesn’t have his own dog. ‘My wife and daughters are campaigning for one, so I suspect it’s only a matter of time,’ he adds with a smile.

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

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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.