A Geordie In Girona

Greater than a Russian empress

Catherine II, most commonly known as Catherine the Great (Catalina La Grande in Spanish), was the 18^th Century Russian Empress who came to power after overthrowing her husband Peter III. Under her long reign, inspired by the ideas of the Enlightenment, Russia experienced a renaissance of culture and sciences, which led to the founding of many new cities, universities, and theatres, along with large-scale immigration from the rest of Europe and the recognition of Russia as one of the great powers of Europe. Assisted by highly successful generals, she governed at a time when the Russian Empire was expanding rapidly by conquest and diplomacy. She was obviously a very spirited character who wasn’t afraid to get what she wanted. It seems very apt, therefore, that my Yorkshire terrier was named after her because, quite frankly, she will not take shit from anyone and has never been scared to tell you when she is pissed off about something. And when one takes into account the double meaning of ‘grande’, as with its English equivalent ‘great’, it makes her name even more befitting – not only does it mean brilliant, outstanding and/or distinguished, but it can also be used to describe something that is very large, so it is a wonderful antiphrasis given her diminutive stature.

First encounters

When I moved to Spain in the summer of 2021 to live with my girlfriend, it wasn’t just Vanesa I was shacking up with – there was her zestful and extremely cute little Yorkie as well. I still recall when I first clapped eyes on Catalina. It was back in 2015 when I was visiting Vanesa in Girona for the first time. She came bounding over to me and I instantly fell in love with this delightful little furball who, just like her mother, was undeniably beautiful. Now this level of beauty is absolutely marvellous from a purely aesthetic perspective, but if there’s one thing I’ve learnt in life, it is that many attractive females tend to have a fair share of their marbles out of place – just look at Marilyn Monroe, Elizabeth Taylor, Britney Spears and … well, my girlfriend. And the more I got to know little Catalina, the more I came to realise that this paradigm was just as much the case with dogs as it was with humans. Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure I would have loved to spend a bit of time with Marilyn in her prime, or indeed Lizzie T in her ‘Cleopatra’ days, or Britney in her ‘Hit Me Baby One More Time’ days – or even in her ‘life’s gone a bit tits-up so I’ve shaved my hair off’ days, I’m really not that fussy – but when it comes to living with them, it’s a completely different kettle of fish. And so it has proven with Catalina: it was always lovely spending a few days with this adorable little canine when I had popped over for a visit, but when it became a 24/7 living arrangement, the goalposts – just like Britney’s hair – had completely vanished.

All by herself

Before I came on the scene full-time, Catalina used to spend a lot of time alone. Her mother was and still is a lawyer so during the week she will generally be in her office or in the courts defending people who have gotten themselves into spots of bother. Then at the weekend, she has always been quite partial to activities that involve being out all day, such as going on absolutely massive walks up mountains. And not really understanding the concept of the word ‘no’, she will more often than not be out in the evenings as well, meeting friends, going for nights on the town and eating in restaurants. Meanwhile, my life is the polar opposite. I work from home so during the week I am mainly in the apartment, whilst at weekends I tend to stay in a lot more – I’m not in the slightest bit arsed about climbing mountains so will try to avoid them like the plague. As for weekend socialising, I don’t have two brass farthings to rub together so find it hard to justify spending absolute fortunes in restaurants – thus I try to avoid them like the plague as well. Although I don’t get out so much at the weekend, it means I can stay in and watch Newcastle United on the TV instead – generally accompanied by lashings of beer and a few tasty little nibbles – so it isn’t an entirely disastrous situation. Anyway, back to the original point I wanted to make which is that when I came on the scene, Catalina’s life changed completely – she went from being stuck in her basket twiddling her tiny paws by herself all day, to suddenly having this big bald bloke around to keep her entertained all the time.

Me and my shadow

And when I say all the time, I mean all the time. She has taken quite a shine to me and wherever I go she follows. If I’m sat on the sofa in the living room, she wants to be up there sat right beside me. If I go outside on the balcony, she follows me out there. If I go through to the bedroom for a lie down, she comes through and I have to lift her on the bed so she can lie with me. When it’s time to go to bed at night, she follows me through and I make her little bed up for her to go to sleep in. If I go to the toilet, she even follows me through there. Many a time I’ve been sat on the throne – midway through a particularly challenging session – when I hear a little scratching sound as the door is gently pushed ajar and in walks Catalina as casual as you like. She then sits down opposite me and looks up, staring directly at me from her front row seat. This can be very off-putting sometimes, especially when I’m struggling to satisfactorily conclude the task I’ve embarked on – I believe it was Magnus Magnusson who used to say “I’ve started so I’ll finish”, but when it comes down to it, it’s not always that easy. I often think that Catalina only comes to watch in order to give me a taste of my own medicine because when we’re out walking, I’m always present to witness her having a dump. The poor little thing will look back at me with this vulnerable and somewhat shameful expression on her face as if to say “Can I not even have a shit in peace?” It is this very same level of humiliation I believe she is trying to recreate when she defiantly plonks herself in front of me to observe me struggling to push one out.

Food, glorious food

She’s actually turned into a bit of Weeble since I became a permanent fixture. Previously, she mainly lived off dry food she always had in her bowl but she only ate this out of necessity when she was really hungry. Now, by contrast, she gets wet, tinned food most days. The problem is that when we are eating she wants to eat our food so she starts barking during the meal. It turns out that this is a very effective form of blackmail as the incessant sound of barking gets right on your tits and effectively ruins meal-times. Her favourite food is beef or chicken so if we are eating either of these, she becomes an even bigger mentalist and it’s even harder to get rid of her. I should give her a slap and shout at her to go away but I’m too soft and I always end up giving her a few little bits of mine. In a bid to eradicate the overanimated nature of our unwanted dinner guest, she is now given half a tin of Cesar when we are having dinner. The hope is that it will fill her up sufficiently enough that she will just take a nap instead of barking or whining, or doing this annoying thing where she scratches my leg with her paws which is alright in winter when I’ve got long jeans on but not in summer when I’m only wearing shorts and she’s taken layers of my bare skin away. Sometimes the tinned food trick works, sometimes it doesn’t, but at least it means if she does still come begging for our food, she’ll be doing it in a less rabid and maniacal way. Anyway, the upshot of all this is that she’s turned into a bit of a Billy Bunter. My girlfriend and I will often fight over her eating habits. Personally, I think she’s got quite a healthy looking appearance but Vanesa thinks she looks fat. I’m not all that bothered really, I just want to be able to eat in peace – if it means putting an extra couple of morsels into Fatty Bumbum’s mouth to shut her up then so be it.

Going for walks

When Catalina goes out she receives a huge amount of attention from people and is very well-known throughout the neighbourhood. With an appearance that captivates, she is popular not only with children, but also old people and anyone else inbetween. Naturally I’m biased, but she is extremely cute and endearing. She has an adorable little face with beautiful brown eyes. When Vanesa puts a bow in her hair, her level of attractiveness only intensifies. And in winter, to stop her getting chilly, she often dons her little pink tunic which cranks her sweetness levels up even further. It’s a sight that would probably even make Cruella De Vil’s heart melt. She is also one of those rare dogs who doesn’t need to be on a lead when you’re walking her. She never runs off and she knows not to stray onto the busy roads. She just follows behind at her own pace, stopping to investigate trifling items that have piqued her interest, urinating on plastic bags, or getting her arse sniffed by other dogs, especially Bichu the Shih Tzu and Audi the Poodle. Her behaviour is always impeccable which I think, together with those stunning good looks of hers, have made her such a popular personality in the neighbourhood. She has provided me with so many ‘proud dad’ moments over the years. Every time I take her out, someone will stop to admire her and pay her a compliment. It causes my heart to swell and all I can do is agree with them and say, “Yes, she is a very special dog”.

Barking like a bellend

Sometimes she barks but I have no idea why so I have to try and guess. She might want to go out or she might want food. I can’t be sure so I take her out to see if she wants to walk. If she just stands there on the pavement, I know she’s probably just hungry so I bring her back in and feed her instead. This isn’t as easy as it sounds because we live on the 5^th floor of an apartment block so we have to clart on waiting for lifts every time. And if she doesn’t even want to go for a walk all you can do is bring her back in and take her up in the lift to the 5^th floor again so it’s a bit of a mission, not to mention quite annoying. When there is a match on the TV I try to take her out about half an hour before kick-off so I can watch the match in peace. I’ll try and get her to do ‘peepee’ or ‘poopoo’ but quite often the plan doesn’t work and she just wants to come straight back in. At this point, I warn her that she won’t be going out again until later because Daddy is watching the match now. What she will then do is wait until it’s about midway through the second half and then start barking because she wants to go out. Trying to remain as patient as possible – but obviously seething inside – I explain to her that we went out just before to avoid this very scenario from occurring so she will simply have to wait because I’m watching the match now and there’s no way I’m missing it for her. Then I tell her it is a total waste of time explaining all this to her because she is a dog and she doesn’t understand a word of what I’m saying. Then I’ll pause and think for a moment, before inexplicably speaking to her in Spanish instead just in case she understands me better as she is more accustomed to it. Finally, I tell her she’s a dog and it doesn’t bloody well matter which language I speak to her in – she still won’t be able to grasp the essence of my grievance. During this one-way exchange of bilingual conversation, she just looks at me as if I’m a complete idiot.

Adopted child

I suppose I see Catalina as more than a dog. I have never had children and, even though she may appear to be a daft and ageing Yorkshire terrier to many, to me she is like my adopted daughter. And since she is my only child she tends to get a bit spoilt. When I say a bit spoilt what I mean is completely ruined. She is the apple of my eye and she knows it. When she looks at me my heart instantly melts. I surrender to her every whim and spoil her rotten. Her needs are perpetual from the moment she wakes up in the morning, right through to when she follows me through to the bedroom at night – there are the little treats she pesters me for, taking her for walks, preparing her food and putting her water out, cleaning up after her if she’s just been sick or had an emergency dose of the shits, lifting her on or off the sofa all day when she either wants to be down to get some water or food, or back up again to lie beside me. Then there are the countless belly rubs she demands, the occasional shag of my arm which she enjoys far more than me, or just the general lying on my lap which means I have to put my laptop to the side and stop working for a while. It’s an inconvenience that seems to phase Catalina not one jot – as long as she’s getting stroked she couldn’t give a monkey’s chuff if Daddy misses his deadlines.

No fun getting old

Last year she got really sick. Vanesa was away in Argentina and I was in sole charge of her. Every day she was getting weaker. She couldn’t walk very well and she stopped eating. Then she began to shiver uncontrollably. I put her coat on her because I thought she must be cold but she was still shaking. I ended up taking her to the vet who told me she was very ill. She had a bacterial infection and would need an urgent operation to remove the uterus and possibly the ovaries. She also told me that it was an operation with an element of risk and due to her age – she was 12 at the time – there was a chance she may not survive. I was devastated to hear this and the whole thing was even worse because her biological – figuratively speaking – mother was abroad. I had to video call Vanesa to break it to her that Catalina needed an urgent operation. It was a fairly upsetting conversation especially when I told her she might not survive. Anyway I took her to the vet for her operation and gave her a big kiss and hug before I left. She looked so sad and weak and it was heartbreaking to leave her there. Hours later I received a call to say all had gone very well and Catalina was going to be fine. It was such a relief to hear this and I jumped for joy. She is 13 now and I know there won’t be a vast amount of time left to enjoy her company before she goes up to that big doggy heaven in the sky. She is slower and doesn’t always want to walk far. Plus she’s got a bit of arthritis in one of her paws so isn’t as agile as before. She’s a bit chubbier – my fault – which doesn’t help either. But it isn’t uncommon for Yorkshire terriers to live until they are 15 years, or even 18 in some cases, so who knows what the future holds. Overall, her health is very good and she receives a lot of love and care so I’m sure she has a few years left in her yet.

My best friend

I’ve struggled with a lot of things since I moved to Spain: it hasn’t been easy – far from it. Many times I have found myself alone, just as Catalina has during periods of her life. She is great company for me and I’m great company for her. She likes me being around and I like her being around me. I love her and I think she loves me as well. We watch the football together. Even though she is part Yorkshire and part Spanish, I have instilled in her my strong Geordie values which I think she identifies with and, as a consequence, she is now a firm Newcastle United fan just like me. I really couldn’t think of a more apt name for her – nobody could better encapsulate the Catherine the Great spirit – and just like her namesake she is not afraid to bust balls whenever she wants something. She might be constantly vying for my attention but at the end of the day all she really wants is some love. I’d like to think she’s a happier dog now – she gets to humiliate me every day when I’m sat on the bog so I think she is. She just enjoys having someone around who can keep her company. Catalina is a lot of things to me. She is a dog. She is a pet. She is a pest. She is a daughter. She is a companion. She is also a bit of a twat – there’s no getting away from it – but she is my best friend and I don’t know what I would do without her.