60 Years Young

Turning 60 feels a bit like waking up and realising you’ve accidentally wandered into the bonus round of life. For years people confidently predicted my “sex, drugs, and rock ’n’ roll” phase would take me out early, yet here I am — still upright, still dog‑sitting, and still making noises when I bend down that definitely weren’t part of the original factory settings.

April ended with Arlo in Freshford, a young Cocker Spaniel who behaves like he’s powered by the national grid. Off‑lead, he was a blur. At home, he was a cuddle‑seeking marshmallow. We fell in love instantly — mostly because he didn’t give us time to do anything else.

Then it was back to Gaddesby, home to Slinky Ken and The Wolfman. We still miss old Ted, but Slinky is very much his own brand of mayhem — small, zippy, and carrying the kind of mischievous glint that tells you he’s already halfway through a plan you definitely won’t approve of. The Wolfman remains stoic, mysterious, and slightly judgmental. I respect that.

Haslemere brought us Olive and Mabel, a Labrador double‑act who carried echoes of our own two dogs in everything they did. The way they leaned against us, the way they watched us, even the way they settled at our feet — it all stirred up old, familiar feelings. For a few moments at a time, it felt like pieces of our past had quietly wandered back to say hello.

A rare free day took us to Longleat. We admired the house and took the Safari bus because we value our car and the monkeys do not. We watched them dismantle someone else’s vehicle with the precision of a Formula 1 pit crew. Excellent entertainment. Zero personal risk.

Back to Nailsworth we went to see Nya, a very old sweetheart who still gets excited for walks — even if her trot now resembles a gentle wobble. She’s slower, but she’s still got heart. And opinions. Mostly about treats.

Then came Gunner, an English Pointer rescued from Italy. He is gentle, affectionate, and absolutely convinced he is a lap dog. He is not. My thighs may never recover.

With my birthday approaching, we escaped to a secluded cottage near Dolgellau, right at the entrance to the Mach Loop. We enjoyed peace, rain, wind, more rain, and the occasional RAF jet screaming past at 500 mph. Perfect relaxation.

But May wasn’t all joy. We lost Jester — Mr J. — the big, soppy brown Labrador from Oundle. He wasn’t our dog, but after caring for him over the years, he felt like part of our extended furry family. A gentle soul and a world‑class cuddler. We’ll be back next month to look after little Gemma, and it will be emotional walking in without him.