For the Love of Dogs

This is Maggie. She’s a pure breed Staffordshire Bull Terrier (kennel club name: Drumeden Sweet Rose) and she’s 10 years old, this year. She likes oversized sticks and pretty much everybody she ever meets. She’s not too keen on men who shout or children who pull her ears- but then, who is?!

The photo was taken almost 3 years ago, on an early summer’s evening when I’d taken her for a stroll up Latrigg. She’s an absolute joy (apart from possibly, her breath) but when our family circumstances changed, two years ago, she went to live with my parents. People have often asked me how on earth I could give up my dog; it wasn’t an easy decision to make but certainly felt like the right thing to do at the time and it still does.

Now, Maggie lives with two doting owners and has an acre of garden to spread out in. She has a 3-5 mile walk with my Mum each morning and a potter around the village green with my Dad in the afternoon; she listens to Woman’s Hour on Radio 4; she has companionship in ‘Elsie’ (my Mum’s collie); she has a cosy bed by the radiator in the kitchen and is allowed to lie on the sofa ad infinitum; she has gravy bones as treats and gets to share a bag of quavers with Elsie at the weekend...the list could go on, but I’ll stop there.

I’d say, she’s never known life as good and the best bit is that I get to see her at least weekly (well, I do during ‘normal times’) so all is well.

Maggie is the absolute epitome of the old adage (it’s not at all, I just made it up...) ‘A dog’s life is a good life!’