Today was supposed to be a quiet “in-between” day.

You know the one — that weird time between Christmas and New Year when time loses all meaning, everyone’s wearing pyjamas with absolutely no structural integrity, and the fridge contains fourteen types of leftovers, three of which nobody remembers making.

Andy and I were still clinging to “short break from work” mode — a.k.a.

Not being dragged through fields by Labradors and not digging frozen trenches for someone’s new patio.

Instead, we were at home.

Relaxing.

Again… in theory.

The dogs had other ideas.

Morning Chaos (Featuring: The Usual Idiots)

Alice had fully embraced her new identity as a “Leftover Opportunist.”

She patrolled the kitchen like she was doing a full security sweep for gravy-based contraband.

Nicolas had entered his annual Post‑Christmas Vigilance Mode — meaning he barked at:

• the back door

• the front door

• a leaf

• Andy making coffee

• and at one point, quite passionately… a cushion

To be fair, the cushion was looking at him funny.

Shiva positioned herself in the middle of the kitchen like a giant living rug that occasionally lifts its head to judge your entire existence. A proper Yorkshire mum energy.

Meanwhile, The Cats…

Blossom wafted gently around the house looking all innocent and angelic, which is impressive considering she had already knocked two items off a shelf before 9am.

Mortimer decided Andy was the weak link in the chain and followed him everywhere, radiating “feed me, servant” energy.

Ursie, sitting on the windowsill, looked like a lynx guarding her territory and preparing to file formal complaints.

The Chocolate Incident

Ben wandered into the living room holding a leftover chocolate selection box and innocently asked:

“Can the dogs have any of this?”

Every dog in the house rotated their head at the exact same time like synchronised swimmers who’d just heard the starter pistol.

Alice: Alert mode activated

Nicolas: bark paused mid‑bark

Shiva: rose slowly, like a wolf fulfilling an ancient prophecy

Answer: Absolutely not.

Outcome: three dogs tailing Ben like he was the President’s biscuit detail.

A “Nice Relaxing Walk” (Ha.)

Around midday Andy, bless him, suggested:

“Let’s go for a nice relaxing walk.”

This is adorable, to a professional dog walker.

A “relaxing walk” with your own dogs is basically:

A chef trying to enjoy a quiet meal

while three other chefs shout,

“THAT’S NOT HOW YOU DO IT!”

Within seven minutes:

• Alice found something unspeakably disgusting to roll in

• Nicolas barked at two pigeons, one distant dog, and possibly… the wind

• Shiva walked beside me with the calm resignation of someone who’s read the script and knows the ending is chaos

We returned home cold, muddy, and no more relaxed than when we left — which is impressive considering we technically weren’t working.

Home Again, Same Nonsense

The cats were in the exact same positions as when we left.

For all I know, they hadn’t blinked.

Blossom — asleep

Mortimer — supervising the kitchen like a grumpy middle manager

Ursie — perched like a judgemental furry gargoyle

Andy made another coffee, I sat down with my diary and Alice wandered past carrying something from the kitchen she absolutely should not have had.  I did not ask what it was.  I no longer have the emotional bandwidth.

After 35 years working with dogs, you learn an important truth:

Sometimes… it’s better not to know.

Meanwhile, in the background of all the Christmas chaos, there has been something else on my mind for the last few months.

For the past three months, I have been religiously posting and sharing offers to give an XL Bully a home. Since the ban is now so close, and from New Year's Eve XL Bullies will no longer be able to be legally rehomed, I haven't been able to stop thinking about the dogs who might still be sitting in kennels or temporary homes waiting for somewhere safe to go.  I had a chat with Andy, he is a huge bull breed fan, and he agreed, we don’t want another dog in the house, but have space for an innocent victim!

I've contacted rescues, sent messages and made repeated offers. I know our home isn't exactly peaceful, and anybody looking at the current collection of dogs, cats, children and general household nonsense might reasonably question whether adding another large dog is a sensible life choice. But we know dogs. We've lived with big dogs, difficult dogs, rescue dogs and dogs carrying more emotional baggage than a family checking in for a two-week holiday.

And I keep thinking that somewhere there might be an XL Bully who needs exactly that.

A home that understands them.

A home where being big isn't automatically a problem.

A home where nobody is expecting them to be perfect the moment they walk through the door.

The frustrating part is that, despite all the posts and messages I've sent over the last three months, I haven't had a single reply from a rescue. Not even a polite “thank you, but we're sorted.” Just complete silence.

So, naturally, I keep checking my phone.

Emails.

Nothing.

Facebook messages.

Nothing useful.

At this point, I am beginning to wonder whether all the rescues have somehow seen photographs of our household and quietly agreed that we have reached the maximum legal capacity for chaos.

Perhaps they've heard about Nicolas barking at cushions and thought, absolutely not, that woman has enough problems.

Perhaps Shiva has secretly contacted them herself and requested that no further idiots be added to the household.

I wouldn't put it past her.

But underneath the jokes, I can't stop thinking about the deadline creeping closer and the dogs who have absolutely no idea what is happening around them. They don't understand bans, legislation or why suddenly their future might depend on dates written on a calendar. They only know whether they have somewhere warm to sleep, somebody who feeds them and a person they can trust.

So I keep posting.

I keep offering.

And I keep hoping that somewhere, before the deadline arrives, someone will look at our offer and think that perhaps we could give one of those dogs a chance.

Because apparently, despite already living in a house containing Alice, Nicolas, Shiva, three cats, two children and Andy, I have looked around at the complete and utter madness of my life and thought:

You know what this place really needs? Another enormous dog.

Honestly, I may need professional help.

But I mean it.

And if one of those rescues finally replies, I have a feeling 2024 could be about to become considerably louder.