My new mum used to be a military and emergency nurse, which is rather fortunate for an old girl like me who needs some extra TLC. You see, I have some mammary tumours that the vet says cannot be removed surgically because they’re too widespread. I also have the beginnings of heart disease, which is apparently common for Yorkshire of my distinguished age.

Speaking of my name, there’s a story there too. My original name is Choupinette, quite elegant if I do say so myself. But my new family took one look at my rather electrified fur and decided to call me “Sparkplug”—Sparkie for short. It suits my occasionally frazzled appearance perfectly! Though I must confess, I don’t always reply when they call me Sparkie. Sometimes a lady likes to maintain an air of mystery about which name she prefers to answer to.

Oh, how I love my walks! Mum and Dad bundle us all in the car with their two young children, and off we go on magnificent adventures in the Pyrenees in the Ossau valley. The mountain air fills my lungs, and despite my age, I feel positively sprightly as I trot along the scenic paths.

Every morning and evening I walk around the fields with my humans, watching with bemusement as they kick mole hills and make futile attempts to control the undergrowth of their small farm. There’s something quite entertaining about seeing humans wage their never-ending battle against nature—they seem so determined, yet the moles and the wild plants always return!

When it comes to my palliative care, my humans are absolutely dedicated. They understand that I’ll need frequent visits to the vet, where the kind doctors promise to control any pain and minimise suffering. I admit that vet visits aren’t my favourite thing, but I put my complete trust in my humans. Somehow I know they’ll always make the best decisions for me, even when those decisions might be difficult. There’s a look in their eyes when they hold me—a mixture of love and responsibility that tells me I’m in the safest hands possible.

I’m ever so grateful to Les Amis des Animaux, who love all their senior animals so dearly. They’re even covering my veterinary bills, which I understand can be quite substantial for an old lady with my list of ailments. Their generosity means my humans can focus entirely on giving me the best quality of life without financial worry.

But don’t feel sorry for me! I’m living my best life here. My favourite thing is dinner time—not just for the delicious morsels that occasionally fall my way, but for the after-dinner ritual. I waddle over to my humans, gently rub my chin against their shoes, and make little whimpering sounds that they’ve come to recognise as my way of saying, “This is perfect.”

Even though I have wonky teeth, bad breath, crazy fur, and a lumpy bumpy tummy, I feel so loved. Every day in this home is a gift, and I plan to enjoy each one to the fullest—napping in sunbeams, accepting gentle strokes, and giving endless amounts of love to the humans who chose me when no one else would.