Since she was a puppy, Maud has accompanied us to work at the TV station. What began as a quiet office companion quickly turned into an accidental on-air presence, her head popping up behind the news desk like a rogue sock puppet during a live broadcast. And from there, she became a fixture of CHCO-TV programming.
It’s hard to explain how a dog becomes a local television personality. One moment you’re delivering the evening news; the next, your sidekick is ambling across the set mid-interview, blinking at the guest with sleepy eyes before coming in for an ear scratch. Most stations would edit this out, and sometimes we do. But for the most part, Maud’s slow, unbothered wanderings have become so notorious and beloved that they’ve become part of our small town signature.
Maud receives more fan mail than any human associated with the station, a fact confirmed daily by people stopping me on the sidewalk to request a photograph, not with me, the news director, but with her, the true face of the TV station. I now take photos like I’m her personal assistant: cheerfully, efficiently, fully aware that I am merely the handler to the real star.
Every holiday season, Maud is a celebrated part of our annual Santa’s Helpers telethon. The average canine would be rattled by the chaos – five hours of bright lights and dozens of volunteers answering phones and reading pledges – but Maud is in her element on live television. She curls up on the circular couch as the opening music plays and remains there, blissfully unfazed, until the final total is announced. Occasionally she extends a paw to a nervous volunteer, a gentle gesture that is powerfully calming.
Unofficially, she is CHCO’s Chief Emotional Support Officer, a title bestowed upon her by my coworkers who have witnessed the near-clerical efficiency with which she dispenses comfort. Being on television can turn even the most articulate person into a jumble of nerves. I’ve watched guests dissolve into panic, only to be steadied by Maud placing her chin on their knee. She has soothed cameramen, producers, visiting politicians, and even one very tense Santa Claus.
The telethon itself is a love letter to our county. Weeks beforehand, our team travels from school to school filming elementary
students singing Christmas songs. During the broadcast, we switch between the live studio and the choirs, creating a five-hour tapestry of small-town goodwill. Parents, grandparents, neighbours—everyone tunes in. Donations come by phone: $5 from a child who emptied his piggy bank, $20 from someone’s aunt, $100 from a high school sports team, $500 from a local business, $1,000 from someone who simply says, “Put it where it’s needed most.”
The names are all familiar. That’s the benefit, and burden, of a small community. In a big city, the less fortunate are often theoretical, or worse, invisible. Here they are the people we grew up with. Here, when someone struggles, we all know it, and we all know that no anonymous system will sweep in to save the day. So we become the system, flawed but earnest, funded by bake sales, bingo nights, and people who still believe five dollars can make a difference. Because we know it can.
New Brunswick is often referred to as a “have-not” province, a term that overlooks the alternative reality many of us live: when you’re overlooked long enough, you learn to take care of each other. The need is steep every year, and the math rarely adds up on paper. Yet somehow, when the cameras turn on, the community pours its heart out with a generosity that eclipses the very term “have-not.”
Maud plays her part by doing what she does best: staying put, available, steady as a lighthouse in a storm of pledge forms and tangled headset cords.
At the end of the night, we gather for a group photo. Maud is always in it, nestled among the volunteers, blinking into the camera like she’s signing off the broadcast herself. But the photo never captures the full story. Missing are the thousands of unseen contributors: the boy with the $5 donation, the restaurant that sent over trays of food unasked, the nonprofit that gave from its limited funds to support another charity, the neighbour who walked across town to hand us a cheque because “this year seemed tougher than most.”
Small communities like ours like to say it “takes a village,” and we mean it literally. Sometimes it takes the whole county. And sometimes, more often than you might expect, it even takes the four-legged ones.
The 2025 edition of the Santa’s Helpers telethon on CHCO-TV will be broadcast on Sunday, Nov. 30, 2025, from 1pm – 6 pm. Call 506-529-8826 to make a donation during the telethon, or reach out in advance. 100% of the proceeds go towards making sure all children in Charlotte County are remembered at Christmastime. Charity receipts are available. Find CHCO-TV in all New Brunswick communities on Bell FibeTV Channel 26 [HD]; BellTV Satellite Channel 539; Shaw DirectTV Channel 113 [HD] and Rogers Xfinity 133 [HD] and Digital Cable 57 [HD] across the province. Exceptions: Moncton 59, Campbellton 40, Charlotte County 126, Grand Manan 27, Saint Andrews 9.
This ongoing column by CHCO-TV news director Vicki Hogarth explores life with her beloved dog, Maud, from her playful puppy days to her current role as a four-legged TV personality. Through humourous and heartfelt anecdotes, Vicki shares the joys, lessons, and special moments that come with having Maud as both a companion and a constant source of inspiration. Chapter 1 of the series was published in June 2025 when CHCO-TV relaunched the print edition of The Courier.
