More than just a dog and the rise of Doggy Danders - FiFi G meets Jim Deeds

FiFi G Meets Jim Deeds: The Man Behind Doggy Danders, Poetry, Books and Heartfelt Healing

It was a lovely sunny morning when I set out from my home towards Belfast; West Belfast to be exact. I took the scenic route, winding down the Upper Springfield Road with the best views across the city. From that height the skyline stretched out below me, and the iconic yellow cranes of Harland & Wolff stood tall, proud and unmissable against the blue sky. There is something grounding about that stretch, the way the city reveals itself, the way the noise fades. By the time I arrived I already felt lighter.

I found Jim outside his home, in the sunshine, playing guitar and just vibing. Not putting on a show, just being. Instantly, the whole atmosphere shifted. He and his wife welcomed me in with such ease, I felt like I had known them for years. Inside, I was greeted by four beautiful dogs: Charley, Max, George, and Ozzy. They ranged in size from small to huge, with plenty of floofs in between. Tails wagging, energy everywhere, it was like walking into a joyful, furry symphony.

Jim introduced them like family, because that’s exactly what they are.

• Charley (spelled with an ey the way Jim’s daughter insisted) is the old boy at ten years old — a pugliere, three-quarters pug and one-quarter King Charles Cavalier. Small but mighty, weighing in at 16–17 kilos, he’s feisty, fearless, and still the leader of the pack despite his age and epilepsy. None of the younger dogs dare mess with him; they only approach to gently groom him, licking his ears or paws before backing off with respect.

• Max, just turned two, is a St. Bernese — half St. Bernard, half Bernese Mountain Dog. Born on a farm in Donegal, he’s a big soft-hearted “love bug.” He leans into you, gazes up for pets, and soaks up affection like sunshine. He has a touch of elbow dysplasia in his right leg, so his exercise is carefully managed, but otherwise he’s thriving, and utterly devoted.

• Ozzy, at a year and a half, is a Bernese Mountain Dog from County Limerick. Locals call him the “Disney dog” because he looks like a cartoon come to life — with a goofy, lovable personality to match. He’s not always the first to come seeking attention, but when he does, especially late at night, it’s with such sincerity that you feel the depth of his love.

• And then there’s George, the baby of the bunch at just 25 weeks. A purebred St. Bernard from County Waterford, he was born at Baylock Farm, kennel name “Baylock Bobby.” Jim had already chosen the name George, though, and it fits him perfectly. Already over 30 kilos and growing fast, he’s calm, confident, and unflappable — nothing seems to bother him. Recently, when another dog nipped him on the nose, George yelped but didn’t retaliate, bark, or cower. He just shook it off. Solid, steady, and utterly himself, George is destined to be a giant with a heart to match.

“That’s the four,” Jim said with a smile. “Four is the perfect number.”

“GYM for the Soul”: Where It All Began

Before the dogs, there was a book. Then ten more. GYM for the Soul, Surfing Life’s Waves, and a steady stream of co-authored works exploring spirituality, connection, and reflection. The name “GYM for the Soul” came from a student who said reading his writing felt like going to the gym, but for your soul. That stuck, and it has followed him ever since.

Jim grew up in West Belfast, through the Troubles, into a close-knit family that still calls the Glen Road home. A social worker for over 20 years, Jim dedicated his life to helping others, children, those in mental health crisis, those who had caused harm and those who had suffered it. It was intense, heavy, human work.

Then, slowly, life pivoted. He followed a new path into spiritual facilitation, retreat work, writing, and what he calls “accidental purpose.” It was never part of the plan, but somehow it all began to fit.

The Grief That Shaped Everything: Cody

When we talked, Jim’s voice softened. He was telling me about Cody.

Cody was one of his dogs. More than a pet, he was a companion, a presence, a teacher. And like many of us who have shared our lives with animals, the loss hit hard.

I understood exactly what he meant. I lost my own dog Buzz, Woody’s brother, to Lymphoma. Watching him fade and knowing there was nothing more I could do was devastating. He wasn’t “just a dog”; he was family, woven into my days in ways that only those who’ve loved and lost a pet will ever understand. The grief felt sharp and unrelenting, and it still sits with me now. Part of the reason I wanted to speak to Jim was because I know I want to write more about this—about the real impact of pet grief, and how it reshapes us long after the pawprints have faded.

After those losses Jim wrote a poem that has stayed with many:

IT’S JUST A DOG

by Jim Deeds

Sure, it’s just a dog

I hear you say

Yes, it’s just a dog...

He’s loyal to a fault

When others leave

He’ll stay

But sure, it’s just a dog...

He’d give up his life

To save my own

Courage incarnate

But sure, it’s just a dog

He stays close

When my heart aches

Joins me in my pain

But sure, it’s just a dog

He’s glad to see me

At my worst as well as best

He never judges

But sure, it’s just a dog

My family are his family

He loves us all

And keeps us safe

But sure, it’s just a dog

He goofs about

Brings us tears of joy

Brightens dark days

But sure, it’s just a dog

He keeps me company

On alone days

Sits quietly by

But sure, it’s just a dog

He teaches my kids

About caring for another

And about growing old

But sure, it’s just a dog

And when he goes

Across rainbow bridge

We’ll cry real tears

Because it’s not just a dog

When Cody died, something inside Jim shifted. The ache was deep, but so was the love. And somehow, through that grief, came words. Not just poems, but prayers. Not just sadness, but the quiet reassurance that love, in all its forms, does not just vanish. It transforms us.

I could feel the heartbreak in his voice, even as he smiled remembering Cody. That is what I want you to understand: this is not a man who casually walks his dogs. This is a man who builds a life with them, around them. And when one goes, it does not leave a gap. It leaves a crater.

Jim did not run from that pain. He wrote it, he shared it, he honoured it. And in doing so, he helped others process their own losses too.

Doggy Danders: A Revolution on Four Paws

What started as a casual walk after Christmas lunch turned into a full-blown movement.

Five people, eight dogs, cold air, wet grass, big laughs.

“We’ll do it again Sunday,” Jim said. Then 15 people showed up. Then 40. Then 80.

Today, Doggy Danders meets every Sunday in the Falls Park. You don’t need to sign up. You don’t need fancy gear. You just need a dog, or a love of dogs, and a heart open enough to walk beside others.

There is something radical in how uncomplicated it is. No egos. No politics. Just paws on paths, coffee after, and connections that run deeper than small talk. It is about movement, yes, but more than that, it is about belonging.

Recently, Doggy Danders was even featured as part of Féile an Phobail, attracting an incredible 151 humans and 89 dogs. What started with a handful of friends and a few pups has now grown into a celebration of community, joy, and togetherness that keeps expanding every week.

That growth has been supported by building partnerships with local organisations including Feed Well Dog Food Company, Guide Dogs NI, and Almost Home Animal Rescue. These relationships have helped strengthen the sense of purpose and shared values that shine through every Sunday.

Behind the scenes there are now 10 or 11 regular volunteers who give their time freely. Each week they guide people along the route, carry water for the dogs, and make sure everyone feels safe and welcome. They are easy to spot in their bright yellow Doggy Danders T-shirts, each printed with a beautiful logo of Cody on the front — a tribute to the dog who inspired so much of this.

Doggy Danders is also supporting local businesses, with Drip Coffee and Seven Coffee being the perfect after-walk spots for those tired paws and feet. A hot cup in hand, dogs snoozing under tables, laughter rising from every corner — it’s as much a part of the ritual now as the walk itself.

One week, a man arrived on a small scooter. He couldn’t manage the hills, but he wanted to be part of the walk. He joined in and had the time of his life, and it made Jim realise something important: the route wasn’t as inclusive as it could be. “We weren’t looking with the right eyes,” he said. That man gave the group a gift — the chance to see differently. From that day the route was changed, and now it is fully accessible to everyone, no matter their ability.

And that is what Doggy Danders is all about. Inclusivity is not just a word, it is the heart of every Sunday walk. It’s there in the way routes are adapted, in the way volunteers step up, and in the way dogs themselves create space where no one feels left out. That same spirit carries into something even bigger: breaking down the barriers that still divide Belfast.

“A Happier, Healthier World—One Paw at a Time”

Jim’s motto for Doggy Danders is simple: “We want to build a happier, healthier world, one paw at a time.”

And that is not just lip service. It is visible in every detail. The group re-routed their walking path to make sure it was fully accessible after that scooter moment. They stop for breaks, not just for the dogs but for the humans too. Parents come with prams. Older folks show up with walking sticks. Teenagers arrive in packs, cool as can be, proudly walking dogs.

It is truly inclusive. No matter your age, your background, your politics, your pace, if you love dogs, you are in. It is not about being fit or flashy. It is about being present.

Jim told me about one man who came up to him quietly one Sunday. “I would never have come to this part of Belfast,” he said, “but I’ve had a really good day.”

That is the power of dogs. They break down barriers we don’t even know we’ve built.

They don’t care about your religion, your past, your politics. They care that you show up, that you are kind, that you carry a treat in your pocket.

The Sacred in the Ordinary

Jim does not hide his faith, but he does not use it to push people away either. His kind of spirituality is roomy; it has space for doubt, for poetry, for grief, for silence, for dogs.

He once told me, “Dogs are often my spiritual teachers.” And I get that. They live in the moment. They love without conditions. They are brave, goofy, loyal, and unapologetically themselves. If that is not spiritual wisdom, I don’t know what is.

Whether he is writing poems, leading retreats, or just posting photos of his dogs on X, Jim offers something we need more of: honest presence.

He is not here to impress. He is here to connect.

Final Thought: What If It’s This Simple?

When I asked Jim if he believed in a higher plan, he said something I will never forget:

“It’s easy to believe when things are going well. But when my dad died last year, or when someone’s child dies, that’s when it’s hard. Still, I try to live right, and trust that it’ll all come right in the end.”

He is not pretending to have all the answers. But he shows up, week after week, dog lead in hand, ready to walk with whoever needs company.

And maybe that is enough.

Maybe it does not always have to be grand gestures or perfect prayers.

Maybe it is just a man, his dog, and a trail shared with strangers who feel like friends by the time the coffee is poured.

Come Walk With Us

If you are in Belfast and find yourself a little lonely, a little lost, or just in need of a decent cuppa with some wagging tails, Doggy Danders is waiting.

You don’t need to talk. You don’t even need to own a dog.

Just show up.

Bring your grief. Bring your joy. Bring your stories.

Or don’t.

Just walk.

https://www.instagram.com/the.doggy.danders/?hl=en

I headed home with a generous amount of plums in a bag and a jar of homemade plum jam, all fresh from Jim’s tree. I didn’t just feel I had completed a great interview; I felt like I had made a new friend — and definitely found a new tea stop whenever I am in West Belfast.

Before I left, I asked him: What sort of words do you replay in your head when it’s a time where you need guidance?

Jim paused, then smiled softly:

“This is from Saint Julian of Norwich — ‘All will be well, and all will be well, and all manner of things will be well."

Remembering Cody 

Love FiFi G xoxo