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 18th-century Russian Empress who came to power after overthrowing her husband, Peter III. During her long reign, inspired by the ideas of the Enlightenment, Russia experienced a renaissance in culture and science. Many new cities, universities and theatres were founded, large-scale immigration from the rest of Europe took place, and Russia was recognised as one of the great powers of the continent. Assisted by highly successful generals, she governed at a time when the Russian Empire was expanding rapidly through conquest and diplomacy. She was, by all accounts, a formidable character who was not afraid to get what she wanted.

It seems entirely fitting, therefore, that my Yorkshire terrier was named after her because, quite frankly, she will not take shit from anyone and has never been afraid to let you know when she’s pissed off about something. And when you consider the double meaning of ‘grande’, much like its English equivalent ‘great’, her name becomes even more appropriate – not only does it mean brilliant, outstanding or distinguished, but it can also describe something very large, making it a perfect 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 – her lively and outrageously cute little Yorkie came as part of the package.

I still remember the first time I clapped eyes on Catalina. It was back in 2015 when I visited Vanesa in Girona for the first time. Catalina 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, beauty is all well and good from a purely aesthetic perspective, but if there’s one thing I’ve learnt in life, it’s that many attractive females tend to have a few marbles missing – 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 realised this paradigm applies just as much to dogs as it does to humans.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure I would have enjoyed spending time with Marilyn in her prime, Liz Taylor in her Cleopatra days, or Britney during her ‘Hit Me Baby One More Time’ era – or even during her ‘life’s gone a bit tits-up so I’ve shaved my head’ phase; I’m really not that fussy. But living with them is a completely different kettle of fish. And so it has proved with Catalina. It was always lovely spending a few days with this adorable little canine when I was visiting, but once it became a 24/7 living arrangement, the goalposts – much like Britney’s hair – had been moved entirely.

All by herself

Before I entered the scene full-time, Catalina spent a great deal of time alone. Her mother was – and still is – a lawyer, so during the week she is generally in her office or at court defending people who have gotten themselves into spots of bother. At weekends she has always been partial to full-day excursions, such as massive mountain walks. And, not fully grasping the concept of the word ‘no’, she is often out in the evenings as well – meeting friends, going out on the town or eating in restaurants.

My life, by contrast, is the polar opposite. I work from home, so during the week I’m mainly in the apartment. At weekends I tend to stay in far more – I’m not in the slightest bit arsed about climbing mountains and avoid them like the plague. As for weekend socialising, I don’t have two brass farthings to rub together, so spending small fortunes in restaurants is difficult to justify – which means I avoid them like the plague too.

Although I don’t get out much at weekends, I can stay in and watch Newcastle United on television instead, usually accompanied by lashings of beer and a few tasty nibbles, so it’s not an entirely disastrous situation.

Anyway, back to the original point I wanted to make which is this: when I arrived full-time, Catalina’s life changed completely. She went from sitting in her basket twiddling her tiny paws alone all day to suddenly having this big bald bloke around to keep her entertained constantly.

Me and my shadow

And when I say constantly, I mean constantly. She has taken quite a shine to me and follows me everywhere.

If I’m on the sofa, she wants to be right beside me. If I step onto the balcony, she follows. If I go for a lie-down in the bedroom, she comes too and waits to be lifted onto the bed. At night, she trails after me so I can make up her little bed beside mine. If I go to the toilet, she follows me there as well.

Many a time I’ve been sitting on the throne – midway through a particularly challenging session – when I hear the faint scratching of the door easing open. In she strolls, casual as you like, sits opposite me and stares from her front-row seat. It can be deeply off-putting, especially when I’m struggling to conclude proceedings satisfactorily. Magnus Magnusson famously said, “I’ve started so I’ll finish”, but in practice it isn’t always that straightforward.

I often suspect she comes in purely to give me a taste of my own medicine because, when we’re out walking, I am invariably present for her toilet activities. The poor thing looks back at me with a vulnerable, vaguely ashamed expression, as if to say, “Can I not even have a shit in peace?” I suspect she’s simply recreating that same humiliation when she defiantly plonks herself in front of me while I attempt to push one out.

Food, glorious food

Since I became a permanent fixture, she has turned into something of a Weeble. Previously, she mainly lived off dry food and only ate it out of necessity. Now she gets wet tinned food most days.

The issue is that whenever we eat, she wants our food. She starts barking mid-meal, and it turns out this is an exceptionally effective form of blackmail. The incessant noise gets right on your tits and effectively ruins dinner.

Her favourites are beef and chicken, so if we’re eating either, she becomes even more unhinged. I should probably tell her off properly, but I’m too soft and invariably end up giving her a few bits.

To combat the chaos, she now gets half a tin of Cesar when we sit down to eat. The hope is that she’ll be full enough to nap rather than bark, whine or paw at my legs. Sometimes the strategy works, sometimes it doesn’t. But at least if she still begs, she does so in a slightly less rabid fashion.

The upshot is that she’s become a bit of a Billy Bunter. Vanesa and I often argue about her weight. I think she looks perfectly healthy; Vanesa thinks she’s fat. Personally, I’m not overly concerned – I just want to eat in peace. If slipping an extra morsel into Fatty Bumbum’s mouth achieves that, so be it.

Going for walks

When Catalina goes out, she receives enormous attention and is well known throughout the neighbourhood. With her captivating appearance, she’s popular with children, elderly people and everyone in between.

Naturally I’m biased, but she’s incredibly cute. She has a beautiful little face and deep brown eyes. When Vanesa ties a bow in her hair, her attractiveness increases exponentially. In winter she wears a little pink tunic to keep warm, which raises her sweetness levels even further. It’s enough to melt even Cruella de Vil’s heart.

She’s also one of those rare dogs who doesn’t need a lead. She never runs off and knows not to stray onto busy roads. She simply toddles along behind, stopping to inspect trifling objects that catch her eye, urinating on plastic bags or allowing herself to be sniffed by other dogs – particularly Bichu the Shih Tzu and Audi the Poodle.

Her behaviour is impeccable, and I think that, combined with her looks, has made her such a beloved local personality. She’s given me countless proud-dad moments. Every time I take her out, someone stops to admire her. My heart swells and all I can say is, “Yes, she is a very special dog.”

Barking like a bellend

Sometimes she barks and I have absolutely no idea why. I’m forced to guess. Does she want to go out? Is she hungry?

If I suspect she wants a walk, I take her outside. If she simply stands on the pavement looking at me, I know food was the real objective, so we go back in again. The difficulty is that we live on the fifth floor of an apartment block, so we have to clart on waiting for lifts each time. It can be quite a mission, not to mention quite annoying.

When there’s a match on television, I try to take her out half an hour before kick-off so I can watch in peace. I encourage a ‘peepee’ or ‘poopoo’, but often she just wants to come straight back in. I warn her that she won’t be going out again for quite a while because Daddy is watching the match.

But, sure enough, midway through the second half, she begins barking.

Trying to remain calm – though internally seething – I explain that we went out specifically to avoid this scenario and she will simply have to wait. Then I remind myself that she’s a dog and doesn’t understand English. So, inexplicably, I repeat the explanation in Spanish instead 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 grasp the essence of my grievance.

Throughout this one-sided bilingual debate, she just looks at me as though I’m a complete idiot.

Adopted child

I see Catalina as more than a dog. I’ve never had children and, although she may appear to be a daft, ageing Yorkshire terrier to others, to me she’s my adopted daughter. And since she is my only child she tends to get a bit spoilt.

When I say she’s a bit spoilt, what I really mean is completely ruined.

She is the apple of my eye and she knows it. One look from her and I melt. I give in to her constantly. From the moment she wakes until she follows me to bed at night, there are treats to distribute, walks to provide, food and water to prepare, accidents to clean up, lifting her on and off the sofa, endless belly rubs, the occasional enthusiastic shag of my arm, or simply having her on my lap – forcing me to set aside my laptop and stop working for a while.

None of this troubles Catalina in the slightest. As long as she’s being stroked, she couldn’t give a monkey’s chuff if Daddy misses his deadlines.

No fun getting old

Last year she became seriously ill while Vanesa was in Argentina and I was solely responsible for her. Each day she grew weaker. She struggled to walk and stopped eating. Then she began shivering uncontrollably. I put her coat on, assuming she was cold, but it made no difference.

The vet diagnosed a bacterial infection and said she required urgent surgery to remove her uterus and possibly her ovaries. There were risks, particularly given her age – she was 12 – and it was possible she might not survive.

I was devastated, and the whole thing was even worse having to break the news to Vanesa over a video call that there was a chance she may never see her dog again. It was an upsetting conversation. I kissed Catalina and hugged her before leaving her for surgery. She looked so frail and sad that it broke my heart.

Hours later, the call came: everything had gone well and she would be fine. The relief was overwhelming.

She’s 13 now. I know our time is limited. She’s slower, sometimes reluctant to walk far, and has mild arthritis in one paw. She’s a little chubbier – my fault – which doesn’t help. But Yorkshire terriers can live to 15, even 18, so who knows? Overall, she’s in good health and surrounded by love, and I’m hopeful we still have a few years together.

My best friend

I’ve struggled with many things since moving to Spain – it hasn’t been easy. At times I’ve felt alone, just as Catalina has at points in her life. We’re good company for each other. I love her and I think she loves me. We watch the football together. Despite being half Yorkshire and half Spanish, I’ve instilled strong Geordie values in her, and she’s now a committed Newcastle United supporter.

Her name could not be more fitting. Like Catherine the Great, she has spirit and isn’t afraid to bust balls when she wants something. She may constantly demand attention, but all she really wants is 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 many things to me. She is a dog. She is a daughter. She is a companion. She is a pet. She is a pest. She is a bit of a knobhead – there’s no getting away from it.

But above all, she is my best friend – and I don’t know what I would do without her.

Postscript

Catalina La Grande died peacefully in her sleep on the morning of Sunday 1 March 2026, aged 14, after a short illness. She will be sadly missed by Mammy Vanesa and Daddy Chris. Thank you, Catalina, for saving me and for the endless love you brought into my life.

Run free, beautiful girl.