THERE’S no need for a King Charles spaniel to growl, they simply give you a look,’ declares Caroline Bowles-Robinson, who lives with nine of them on her Leicestershire farm. ‘It reminds me of when I was at convent school—I was always doing something wrong and so was terribly frightened of the Mother Superior. She wouldn’t tell me off, she’d give me that exact same look—sheer disdain.’
The very name of this regal little dog, partnered with its distinctive domed head, short square muzzle and long low-set, feathered ears lends the King Charles spaniel—not to be confused with the Cavalier, a completely separate breed—a certain air of refinement. A quick glance at that inscrutable expression is enough to acknowledge that this is a spaniel of distinguished character and certainly not one to be trifled with—woe betide the owner who forgets exactly who is in charge here.
‘You feel as if you’re their staff, existing to do their bidding,’ laughs Mrs Bowles-Robinson. ‘You can train them as much as you like, but if you call them
