Meet clownish, curious and charming Peggy, Britain's naughtiest dog

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.’

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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.’

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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.