Secret Diary Entries List

For over 30 years I've walked, trained, rescued and refereed dogs of every shape, size and level of insanity. From escape artists and puddle enthusiasts to picnic thieves and self-appointed canine security guards, this diary reveals the muddy, messy and wonderfully ridiculous reality of life as a Yorkshire dog walker.

Christmas, chaos and canine betrayal. Between a festive family gathering, a Yorkshire Terrier who hates joy, dogs convinced they've been abandoned forever, and three cats judging everybody from a distance, it's just another perfectly normal Christmas in a six-animal household.

Boxing Day had one simple objective: do absolutely nothing. Unfortunately, the dogs and cats interpreted our day off as a staffing issue that needed immediate correction. Within minutes, Alice had stolen something mysterious, Nicolas was barking at reality itself, Shiva had eaten Andy's toast during a family dispute about the toast, and the cats were conducting what appeared to be a hostile takeover of the household. Then a missing cockerpoo puppy turned a lazy afternoon into a muddy search mission across the Yorkshire countryside, complete with false alarms, dramatic hedge-diving, and Shiva proudly locating a tennis ball that last saw active service sometime in the late 1990s.

A "quiet" day between Christmas and New Year quickly descended into chaos as Nicolas declared war on a cushion, Alice launched another food theft operation, and the cats continued their campaign of silent judgement. Meanwhile, a seemingly sensible conversation about rescuing an XL Bully left me wondering whether our wonderfully chaotic household might be about to get even louder.

A suspiciously quiet day quickly descended into the usual chaos as Alice adopted an emotional support sock, Nicolas declared war on a puddle, and the cats continued their silent campaign of judgement. By the time Alice had stolen a sandwich and Andy's peaceful coffee had become another casualty, it was clear that relaxation remains a fictional concept in a house containing six animals.

Friday's ambitious goal was a "gentle day." Within hours, Alice had redecorated the living room with wrapping paper, Nicolas had declared war on a broom, and the cats were holding judgemental board meetings from strategic positions around the house. After a muddy puppy search and the complete destruction of any remaining festive calm, we returned home exhausted, soaked and questioning our life choices... whilst secretly loving every minute of it.

What began as a calm Saturday walk quickly descended into puddle-based warfare when Alice discovered the Stick of Destiny, Nicolas declared a puddle an enemy of the state, and Andy accidentally became a casualty of canine chaos. By the time we stumbled home covered in mud and poor decisions, it was clear that "relaxing dog walk" is a phrase that should be banned.

As 2023 comes to an end, my thoughts aren't on resolutions or midnight celebrations. They're on the XL Bullies still waiting in kennels and temporary homes, unaware that today marks the last day they can legally be rehomed. While Nicolas prepares for what he believes is the end of civilisation courtesy of the fireworks, I'm left hoping that somehow, somewhere, every dog still waiting gets the chance they deserve.

New Year's Day begins quietly, but hope arrives in the form of a possible sighting of the missing cockerpoo puppy. Deep in the woods, Gabe encounters a small fluffy creature happily eating potatoes beside a giant pile of vegetables before it mysteriously vanishes into thin air. Meanwhile, thoughts turn to the XL Bullies still waiting in rescue, making this a day of equal parts hope, mystery and heartbreak.

The first working day of 2024 begins with administrative warfare, overexcited dogs, and the disappointing absence of a potato-powered cockerpoo. While Gabe attempts diplomacy with dogs who have no intention of listening, I spend the day untangling leads, managing canine chaos and wondering where all the XL Bullies have gone. Surprisingly, we make it through the day without a single disaster, which in professional dog walking is practically a miracle.

What started as a perfectly ordinary dog walk took an unexpected turn when I discovered a man lying in a hedge, firmly convinced he was dead. While Shiva conducted herself like a four-legged paramedic, Alice suggested chasing him, Nicolas blamed me personally, and the client dogs somehow remained the most sensible creatures present. By the end of the day, I'd concluded that dogs may be chaotic, but humans are infinitely more alarming.

For twenty glorious minutes, everything was going perfectly. The dogs were behaving, the mud was behaving, and I briefly believed I was in control. Then the heavens opened, turning a simple walk into a soggy disaster film starring muddy dogs, drenched humans and one very offended Nicolas barking directly at the weather. By the time we reached home, every trace of professionalism had washed away with the rain.

A routine dog walk descended into complete chaos when a bright orange ball sparked canine civil war. Within minutes, leads were tangled, dogs were arguing, a pigeon was silently judging everyone, and the ball had mysteriously vanished into a muddy puddle. As usual, Alice claimed victory, Nicolas lodged several complaints, and Shiva regretted ever getting involved.

What should have been an ordinary walk became something much more emotional when 19-year-old Alice reminded me just how much history we share. Eighteen years after rescuing her from a shelter where her time had run out, the scruffy little dog who replaced a holiday abroad still walks beside me. Slower now, quieter now, but still there. Still following. Still part of the chaos.

For once, nobody was barking, rolling in mud, chasing sticks or requiring emergency intervention. Alice claimed the sofa, Nicolas perfected the art of doing absolutely nothing, Shiva supervised from the rug, and even the cats approved of the rare peace and quiet. In a household normally powered by mud, mayhem and canine nonsense, this felt less like a Sunday and more like a minor miracle.

Just when everyone had started to believe the missing cockerpoo had founded his own woodland republic, a sighting near the local garage sent the entire village into action. Dog walkers, farmers and biscuit-wielding volunteers descended on the scene, only for the tiny escape artist to appear briefly, cause maximum excitement, and disappear into the hedges again. One thing is now certain: Teddy is alive, and an entire village is determined to bring him home.

What should have been a routine dog collection quickly became one of the most unexpected moments of my career when I walked into a kitchen overlooked by a glass balcony full of entirely unclothed rugby players. While I desperately tried to remain professional, the dogs remained blissfully unconcerned, proving once again that dog walking is less about managing dogs and more about surviving whatever bizarre situation humans create.

After sixteen days on the run, countless sightings, and what may have been an entirely potato-based survival strategy, the missing cockerpoo was finally found. As villagers armed with treats, blankets and determination gathered for one last rescue mission, the tiny escape artist was safely reunited with his family, proving that you should never underestimate a cockerpoo, a village, or a strategically placed pile of potatoes.

After sixteen days of worry, sightings, searches and potato-related theories, the missing cockerpoo is finally home. As the village celebrates the return of its favourite tiny fugitive, I find myself reflecting on just how remarkable his adventure really was. Surviving nearly three weeks in the middle of winter is impressive for any dog, but for a three-month-old puppy, it's nothing short of extraordinary.

Stan's birthday should have been simple. Unfortunately, birthdays don't stop dogs needing walks, clients needing help, or chaos arriving on schedule. Between explaining the mysteries of Yorkshire meal names, running a small canine empire, and attempting to make it to a family lunch looking vaguely respectable, the day became a careful balancing act between family life and dog-walking madness. Miraculously, the birthday was celebrated, the dogs survived, and no major disasters occurred. That's what we call a win.

Saturday's mission was simple: walk the dogs, survive the weather, and retain a shred of dignity. Instead, Alice launched a hedge-based wrestling tournament, an overexcited client dog attempted a prison break, Nicolas questioned every life decision leading to this moment, and Shiva quietly accepted that she was surrounded by idiots. By the end of the walk, the dogs were recovered, the hedge had claimed victory, and my dignity was last seen somewhere at the bottom of a very muddy field.