Physical Description: Even with the gradual wear of the passing decades bowing her stature, Dottie still stands tall at an impressive 175cm. If it weren't for the laugh lines framing lively hazel eyes and the wrinkles etching memories across her softening skin, few would likely gauge her age. Her profession and hobbies have kept her in good fitness. Muscles are toned; proper posture is maintained; and calluses couple with short nails to speak of a life of active labour. Still, there is a gentleness to her demeanor, and her movements are made with slow deliberation. In defiance of her progressing age, she maintains her naturally graying hair a dark chocolate brown. Nor can she be seen without having modestly applied makeup.

Mental Description: Raised on a wizarding ranch, Dorothy grew up fairly rapidly despite a lack of any significant early childhood turbulence. Caring for their animals required responsible dependability and resilience for hard work. Her natural affinity towards towards magical creatures cultivated empathy and a calm approach that she maintained in social situations as she matured. She has an appreciation for the finer things insofar as quality and passion of craft is concerned; she is not frivolous. And while she enjoys visiting with others, she's just as content in her own company with a book and tea. In fact, she's quite adept at most things homesteading: cooking, baking, various forms of needlework, gardening, and even beekeeping. She is also quite the proficient potioneer, enjoying the challenging of procuring her ingredients from her own labors. This homebody tendency shouldn't be confused with a lack of adventurous spirit, however. She has embarked on many an expedition, and and jumps at the opportunity for a new experience.

Biography: Dottie is from a long line of farmers established from humble beginnings with the breeding of Ryeland sheep which are well known for having incredibly high quality wool. Through the centuries they have gradually transitioned to ranching other magical creatures for the humane harvesting of wand cores and potion ingredients. Nevertheless, the family maintains their sheep herd on the outskirt perimeter of their lands as a sort of buffer to ward off curious muggles who might otherwise wonder what they were up to and why such a large parcel of land wasn't otherwise being put to good use.

After inheriting the family estate and business from her late father, Dottie reigned as the head of her family for many years, enjoying the company of her dutiful husband and rearing a handful of children. In age and with the understanding that commitment to the family estate must be fostered early, responsibilities were gradually delegated to her offspring, and then their offspring.

With her husband's recent passing, Dottie struggled to maintain the same level of investment and interest in her affairs. He had contributed so much, not only to her life, but also to the running of the farm. She struggled at times to continue without him and experienced a period of low mood and motivation. In that time, her eldest grand-daughter showed great tenacity, taking the initiative to keep the cogs running smoothly. Even as Dottie regained her former spark and recovered her energy, she never could quite bring herself to reclaim her former control. Now seemed as good as any other time to pass the torch.

As capable as her grand-daughter demonstrated herself to be, however, the transition was not without its difficulties. The world is ever changing, but Dottie had always trended towards the maintenance of tradition and its more archaic approaches. Her progeny, on the other hand, was keen to embrace transformation. And change could be...challenging. More than once, Dottie found herself butting heads on matters of estate management, trying to put a stop to some alteration or another. Call it pride. Call it fear. Whatever it was, however, it was beginning to create friction in the fabrics of the family. Dottie, despite her misgivings, at least had the sense to recognize that.

Rather than allow drama to fester, she began to seek opportunities to embark on a new adventure in her life—something that would give her grand-daughter the space for independence. So when a post opened at Hogwarts that would allow her to be able to share her experience and knowledge of animal and magical creature husbandry with the next generation of youth, she hesitated only long enough to pack her finest tea ware.

First Instance of Magic: Dorothy's first instance of magic is a secret she will likely take with her to the grave. It was known to her from a very young age that she, as the eldest daughter of the Dunlot family, would one day inherit. This had inspired a sense of both responsibility and awe from early on. For as long as she could remember, Dottie aspired to be involved in all aspects of the family business. She would feed and water the animals, turn them out, keep them clean, muck their pens and stalls, chase away gnomes and chizpurfles and other pests, and whatever else was required of her. Naturally, these tendencies were enthusiastically encouraged by her parents.

So when the Spring of her 8th birthday arrived and her favourite mare foaled for the first time, Dottie was loathe to leave their sides. Not even the threat of confiscation of her broom would deter her. Late one night when the family was asleep, Dottie snuck out to the barn, candle in hand, and settled in one corner of the stall. For hours, she sat caressing the filly as she slept, fighting off sleep. She didn't want to miss a moment! Unfortunately, sleep—as it was wont to do—would eventually overcome the young witch; and when it did, an erant movement would knock the candle from its holder.

Flames broke out almost immediately, the dry hay regrettably serving as an efficient fire starter. It wouldn't be long before the heat, flickering light and anxious whinnying of the mare woke Dorothy from her shallow sleep. Even still, she roused to see that fire had already taken hold of one of the stall walls. Fearing not only for the safety of the horses, but also herself, panic naturally erupted. They were blocked in. She tried to reach the water pail, but it was too near to the fire. Every time she reached for it, the heat drove her back. Moreover, the mare, in her own rising panic, accidentally kicked it over, steam hissing where it soaked shavings and hay.

With no idea what to do and feeling well in over her head, she was just about to scream for help when it happened. The filly, in her terror and lack of understanding, bolted at the gate. Straight for the fire. Reflexively, Dottie shouted, "NO!" The next thing she knew, the fire had been extinguished. Every last flame. Filly and mare ran from the stall into the free air of the adjoining paddock, free of burn or injury. Dorothy sat, stupified, uncertain what had just happened. If it weren't for the evidence of burned hay and scorched sidings, she might have thought it was just a bad dream. Naturally, she high-tailed it out of there and snuck herself straight into bed. Never again did she bring a candle anywhere near the barn.