About 11 years ago, after always considering myself a cat person, I was suddenly seized by the desire to have a dog in my life. I’m not sure why this struck me when it did, and to start with I told myself it was madness: think of the commitment, the loss of freedom, the poo to pick up…but the desire didn’t go away, and I started taking regular trips to the local dogs’ home in search of a new family member.
Considering how much I wanted a dog, it’s incredible that it took me about six months to finally choose one – but I had a young family and felt particularly protective of my toddler son; I didn’t want to bring an unfriendly, or even dangerous, animal into our home – and with rescue dogs, I felt there was an increased element of uncertainty.
Nevertheless, I was set on the idea of getting a rescue animal. If I’m perfectly honest, part of that was due to budgetary constraints: I’d couldn’t easily spare hundreds of pounds for a pedigree dog and saw no reason to do so when I could give a much-needed home to a rescue dog for a fraction of the price. I was also…
