Woof! (That’s dogspeak for ‘Help!’)

There is a dog-shaped hole in my next book. Can you help me fill it?

You see, I don’t know anything about dogs. I – whisper it – don’t even like them very much. I know, I know, all you dog-lovers are mentally throwing Pedigree Chum at my head now. But when I was small, my uncle and aunt’s Old English Sheepdog – which was as tall as I was – bounded across the garden, knocked me flat, and pinned my shoulders to the ground to lick my face.

I seem to recall the view being something like this.

Now, I don’t know about you, but I’m not a big fan of having my face licked without a proper introduction.

Then there was the Jack Russell that attached itself to my knee by its teeth on my way home from school one day.

And the ‘he’s only playing!’ Alsatian that tried to bite my thumb off.

Essentially, my dog interactions so far haven’t been all that lovely. But when I started writing my new series Pea’s Book… there was a dog. She ran around the sofa. She wagged her tail. She was instantly as much part of the family as all the humans were. Her name is Wuffly, she’s grey and hairy and bouncy and daft and… that’s where I get stuck. Now we’re working on the cover, someone is bound to ask me what kind of dog she is – and I have no idea.

Here's Cathy Cassidy, still smiling while that dog eats her hand. That's how awesome she is! (I'd have legged it over those trees in the background by now.)

Please help me rescue poor Wuffly from her identity crisis! Dog-lovers: what kind of dog do you think she might be? (And my fellow dog-cowards: share your tales of woe, so I don’t feel so daft?)