PIPPA (PIPS)

 

A "Hello" from Pippa (to be known by me as Pips). I have had 6 dogs over my adult life, but my last, Roxy, sadly had to be put down last July.

For some months I was just bereft, but after Christmas the urge came on me once more to get another companion. Never can such be called a "replacement" for a previous dog who can never be  "replaceable". After much searching of rescue centres, where suitable mature small dogs were gone before I could even apply for them, I decided to consult the private "dogs for sale" adverts. Again, most were gone before I could get to them.

At last, a week ago, an advert came up to sell a 6 year old Jack Russell, which was reluctantly for sale by a mature lady who was no longer mobile and was going into a one bedroom council flat where dogs were not allowed. I rang the number immediately and was told that she had had many enquiries (I should think so as many dogs are for sale at £2000/£3000 where this one was priced at £100) but no one had yet arranged to call to see her. I said I would be there by 4.00 pm - it was now 1.00 pm and snowing heavily at that time and accordingly I made the 70 mile round trip to Tunbridge Wells.

I was met by the lady carrying a towel-wrapped dog. "I have just bathed her to show her to you at her best" she said. The animal at once wriggled free of the towel and enthusiastically attached herself to me, tail going at 20 to the dozen. "Oh, she likes you. She has never done that to a stranger before" the surprised owner gasped.

I was sold! My daughter, a confirmed "dog person" has always said, "When the right dog wants you it will find you". Well this one obviously did and has.

She is a Jack Russell terrier in body, but her head is definitely Chihuahua, with her fine skull and pricked up ears. It is an excellent combination though and makes for a good looking dog. She settled in immediately, although would not eat for the first day. No problem, as she is overweight through overfeeding and lack of execise. "I just put a bowlfull of food down for her each morning and she eats it all day when she wants it", said the owner. That will change......

She goes to the vet tomorrow for a check over, vaccination and to get her over long claws clipped (lack of walks on road surfaces).

She is a quick learner and has become my little shadow, following me everywhere - but she can be a tart at times.

CANNOT KEEP AWAY FROM THEM!

 

A few posts ago I mentioned that , after nearly 65 years of  riding "proper" motorcycles I had joined the dark side and bought a new "twist 'n go" scooter .

However all those years have so much engraved themselves on my riding that I found the scooter bored me solid. Everything worked, nothing to fettle and the ride was about as involving as a kitchen chair on wheels! So I sold it and bought this "barn find" (6 years at the back of an old garage). A 1997 "classic" with a bit of a difference. Uncommon in the UK but very popular in the USA and OZ. A Suzuki TU250x with 20,000 miles on the clock. Just surface rust on chrome, paintwork good, sounds and goes like a MOTORBIKE. And something with which to get my hands dirty again.

So I fitted a couple of new tyres (old ones cracked with age) and while the wheels were off new chain and sprockets (adding an extra tooth to the front sprocket to drop the revs a bit) and new front brake disk and pads. 

It will chug along sweetly at my preferred 50 mph around the lanes and cruise easily at a legal maximum 60 mph on country main roads with enough in hand for brisk overtakes (it's top speed would be around 80 mph). Motorways I avoid as totally boring.

Yes, that left foot gear change gives me a challenge since my stroke left me with neuropathy in left leg and foot,  but at least it is a challenge and something to practice and smooth out. That scooter felt to me like one step away from an invalid buggy. 

It's wonderful to be back! As long as I can hold it up I'll ride it.

ROXY

Roxy came to us in 2016 as can be viewed in this link. I had been used to German Shepherds, but, following a stroke and wanting another dog, I did not feel I could manage another Shepherd. She was a perfect little bitch who quickly became my shadow, following me everywhere and sleeping outside my bedroom door.

Recently she stopped eating and lost 3 Kilograms - a lot for a little dog whose normal weight was only 14.5 Kilos.The vet checked her over and said they could do x-rays and body scans. It would cost £500 and they could do it in about 10 days time and to go away and think about it. A crafty move. For two evenings I watched her panting and refusing to take tit bits. Not bearing to see her like it any longer I decided to take her back again to be put down (the final act of love for a much loved dog).

In the past she has walked quite happily into the vets but this time she pulled back on her lead and refused to walk up the path. In the end I had to pick her up and carry her in. Somehow she knew - weird!

The same vet saw her and said he had detected swollen lymph glands on the last visit, but had given me the option of further tests. I said I thought we both knew that the trouble was probably tumours - he did not reply but gave me a "meaningful" look.

Her end was peaceful and remarkably quick. A simple injection and she "went to sleep" with me stroking her head and murmering "Good girl". Would that humans could have this option to a peaceful end to life.

I am bereft and the house seems empty. Should I get another rescue dog? I am 82, would it be fair to the animal if I died soon and left it without me? Maybe another mature dog (Roxy was about 7 years old when she came to us). We shall see....

I have done mostly what most men do,
And pushed it out of my mind;
But I can’t forget, if I wanted to,
Four-Feet trotting behind.

Day after day, the whole day through—
Wherever my road inclined—
Four-Feet said, ‘I am coming with you!’
And trotted along behind.

Now I must go by some other round,—
Which I shall never find—
Somewhere that does not carry the sound
Of Four-Feet trotting behind.

                                                               Rudyard Kipling. 

GREYHOUND TENDER FOOT

At the Cosy Kettle Cafe all human (and dog) life is there

On Sunday mornings I usually get a phone call from my cycling mate, Peter to see if we are meeting up for toast and coffee somewhere. In the past, when we were both less decrepit we would extend the day to take in a sandwich lunch at a pub somewhere, both on normal bicycles, and cover about 40 miles.

These days we are both on ebikes and the 20 mile ride is usually for a morning only. Health problems have meant that our "proper" club cycling days are over but the addition of an electric genie has meant that we can still enjoy a jaunt around the countryside. We vary our cafe stops among about three over Romney Marsh. This morning it was the Cosy Kettle (again).

It is a small cafe, part of its charm, and tends to attract the cycling and walking fraternity as well as locals. There is a small area outside where tables are set up on fine days and as these were already taken by the members of the Hythe Cycle Club  Peter and I sat just inside at a table by the open patio doors, a position where we could people watch as customers came and went.

A couple walking a greyhound arrived and sat adjacent. The dog was wearing a set of rather nifty bootees - which is not a usual sight. Dog people are always chatty about their animals so in a quiet moment I asked the lady owner, "Why does he need them?"

Turned out he suffered from corns and the only way he could still enjoy a walk was with protected feet. "He was never good enough to race, so we got him 10 years ago as a rescue dog, but we take them off when we get indoors. He will have to wear them outside for the rest of his life, but at least he can still enjoy a full life because of them".

As Peter and I rose (stiffly) and collected our e-bikes to ride off over The Marsh I felt an affinity with that old dog.......

GROUNDWORK (or owner trained by dog)

It is nearly 20 years since I had a female dog and had forgotten how bitches can ruin a lawn. It does not apply to the male of the species. Dog urine contains large concentrations of nitrates. In small doses these are, in fact, very good for the grass, but, as the Delphic inscription had it, "medan agan" (nothing in excess). A male dog tends to cock a leg and spray, thus dispersing the result. But a bitch likes to squat in one place and puts everything in a few square inches. Result, as can be seen below, large, dead yellow patches on the grass. (I hope you are not eating whilst reading this)

For my previous dogs I had a area of paving slabs where they could amble around. This was easy to keep clean and tidy. The current fastidious little lady does not like squatting on cold concrete and refuses to pee on same. As soon as she was let loose on the lawn she would perform (it may be that she enjoyed the sensation of grass tickling her fanny). This I needed to address.

Physical work which I used to do in about two days I now need about two weeks to complete. I have found since the stroke that I can work for about an hour, then need a sit down with a cup of coffee and a book for half an hour or so. This is rather pleasant in fact and lends grace and elegance to the day . Why did I never do this before - the work ethic dominated, now I have an excuse!

So, over the course of the last two weeks I have lifted ten 60cm square concrete slabs.

The compressed soil  beneath them (Kentish clay of the consistency of cheese) then needed to be dug over (the hardest part of the project). Then a drive to the local garden centre for three large bags of topsoil to mix with and "dilute" the clay.

I rang the local turf supplier and said I needed some. "We deliver free on orders over £50", he said, "how much do you want?" I only needed 6 rolls for the job so I collected them myself  (went into the back of the "Popemobile" very nicely, thank you).

Then a visit to a builders outlet for a quantity of 180 cm. lengths of timber (again the Popemobile swallowed the lot, no probs.).

The result is a fenced area half slabs and half grass. Little madam is confined therein and is happy to perform on her personal bit of lawn. Usually I am able to follow her with a watering can to dilute her deposit.

So, job done. But it does occur to me, just who is training whom?

THE NEW ADDITION - ROXY

House trained and eager to be part of the family, she has settled in well and made this her home almost at once. She sleeps on her bed most of the day and this is placed on the upstairs landing at night, where she stays quiet until we get up in the morning. (I am not a fan of dogs in bedrooms)

When she arrived she was so excited at being set free from the rescue centre that she pulled a good deal on the lead. But using a special lead  I overcame this within 5 minutes of her wearing it. It is an incredible piece of kit which I would recommend to all dog owners. Now she is quiet and well behaved on walks but dislikes the wet and steps daintily around puddles (she is a lady, after all).

The vet reckons she is probably a cross between a terrier and a lurcher so, when I have fully trained her to return on call, I expect her to be pretty fast off the lead. The local squirrels better watch out!

She may be totally different from my previous and much loved German Shepherds, but she is a great addition to my life.

A VERY HAPPY CHRISTMAS PRESENT

I am not hoping for a similar Christmas present to the one I received last year (a stroke), but did treat myself to a little something:

Roxy is a medium size little bitch, cross breed, about 6 years old, in residence at the local  RSPCA kennels. She had been taken into care because her female owner had to seek sanctuary in a refuge centre where pets are not allowed. My wife and I spent some time with her and became good friends. The inspector came to look at her new home yesterday, pronounced it "ideal" and we pick her up on the 28th December. (It did not seem fair to take in a new dog until after Christmas day when we shall have about 8 people in the house).

She is a bit different from my previous, large/male GSDs, but I no longer have the physical/mental strength to control such dogs, who need strong owners otherwise they can "take over" and become pack leader.

I have had dogs in my life for over 50 years, but did wonder, when my last one was put down, whether I should get another, particularly after the stroke. But the wound of loss never quite heals over. Even after 18 months I still expect a dog to welcome me home as I open the front door.

 I was looking at dogs at rescue centres on the internet. Many appealed but  Roxy had something that said "take me please" so take her I shall. It may have had something to do with her colouring, reminding me of my last black and tan GSDs. It may have been the expression on her face. But my dog-friendly daughter (HHnB) has always maintained that " when the right dog needs you, it will find you".

May I wish you all  a very happy Christmas and a peaceful and healthy 2016.

"Anyone can do it......"

I had occasion to give the attic a clearout the other day and came across a battered, hard briefcase used before my retirement. As I picked it up it rattled. Inside were these:

They stirred memories of about 25 years ago. We were caravanning in one of my favourite areas - Wiltshire, the "cradle of the British race". One day my wife dropped me and the dog (the glorious Sabre) off so that I could walk the ancient track over the Pewsey Downs and across the fields down to Silbury Hill and the 5,000 year old cult centre of Avebury. As we walked we passed through the ancient hill-fort of Rybury Hill 

and I reflected that the track we were on must have been used by those original occupants to go down to  festivals at Avebury, just as we were that sunny day.

Eventually, as we approached Silbury we came to the prehistoric long barrow of West Kennet

 a burial chamber which, when excavated was found to be packed with dis-articulated skeletons of the ancient race which occupied the Avebury area. It is able to be accessed so dog and I went in to look around. I have a deep "sense of place" (the genius loci) and found the atmosphere affecting. But Sabre was absolutely fascinated and I could not get him away. Of course there may have been some dead animal tucked away in there but I like to think that dogs can feel things we don't.

       

This is all by way of introduction to the event which then took place. A small old lady was standing outside by the massive entrance stones and doing something with two metal rods that she held in her hands. I watched her whilst waiting for Sabre, then politely asked what she was doing. When she could see I was a genuine enquirer she explained that she was dowsing with rods and that when they encountered an "energy field" they would cross in her hands. "Try it", she said, "anyone can do it".

I did and the hairs stood up on the back of my neck when the rods crossed as I went between those entrance stones. She said that people spent a lot on dowsing rods but that she made hers from old metal coathangers. "It is the dowser, not the equipment that matters", she said

Well, I was sufficiently interested to make my own and had some success with them finding the courses of lost Roman roads and prospecting archeological sites. These were what I found it that old brief case the other day.

Why it works I don't know. How it works I have no idea. But work it does. I am not, nor ever have been, some "New Age" hippy, but will accept that there may be "more things in heaven and earth Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosopy"

Dowsing seems to be in the news at present with Russell Crowe's new film, "The Water Diviner" so I thought this warranted a post.

Dog Walk in the Spring

A warm spring morning, with no rain for the last few days. Our local woods have been hard to access since most entrances are across drainage ditches. These have been serving their purpose recently and have consequently been full of water. However, one has at last dried into a muddy puddle and is possible to cross.

Dog Rex was delighted since recent walks have been on pavements - good for keeping claws in trim, but no squirrels to chase!

Everything is blooming about a month ahead of time because of the mild winter, so bluebells are apparent everywhere; their beauty all the more poignant because of their ephemerality.

 

Good, too, to see the black-thorn in frothy blossom. A reminder to return here in about November, after the first frosts have been on the resulting sloe berries. Sloe gin is a good restorative after a winter walk.

 

 



CANIS PRESTIDIGITATUS

I happily made up a meat sandwich for a light lunch, topped it with a packet of crisps and laid a square of paper napkin on top of the pile. Then I made a cup of tea.

Having left the plate on the low table beside my reading chair I returned to the kitchen to fetch the teacup, sat in my chair and turned my attention to the plate. There lay the packet of crisps with serviette atop, all perfectly undisturbed, but no meat sandwich under them.

Rex, the new dog, lay contentedly stretched out on the carpet before me - not a crumb in sight. How the hell did he do it so perfectly, quickly and surgically?

(the images are reconstructions of the crime)

REX

It is 8 months since we lost our last dog, Sabre and just recently I have felt the time was right for another animal to come into our lives - in spite of Kipling's view on the subject.

I have never been one for puppies, preferring to rescue an unwanted or stray dog in need of a good home. Not having much luck with the national German Shepherd Rescue Society my wife and I, on the spur of the moment, decided to visit a rescue kennel some 20 miles away.

My daughter, with similar affinities, has always said that "when the right dog needs you, he will find you" .

And there he was - sitting in cage 5, bright eyed, tail wagging, tongue lolling, waiting for us to come along and take him home. Rex, 3 years old, taken into kennels a week ago because of a broken marriage.

The obviously heartbroken previous owner (never identified to the new one) had left a note with him giving some details of likes and dislikes. The last sentence read "once he gets to trust you, you are his friend for life. I know".

He is settling well, obviously had some training and eager to please (too eager sometimes!) . However, we are off to the vet's in an hour for a checkover and jabs, so I might not be flavour of the month for a while after.

"ONLY A DOG"

(click any picture to enlarge)

Sabre "found" us, aged two. A local German Shepherd Rescue Society directed me to him and he came untrained, ungroomed tangled coat and with the strength of a young horse. However, I have an affinity with dogs and with the help of a Halti lead and that splendid book, "The Dog Listener" he learnt that I, not he, was the Alpha Male.
Happy with this understanding he took his place in our "pack" and became a great softy who loved a romp with our 6 grandchildren - I have a happy memory of him vainly trying to shepherd them as they ran over a local field.
We caravan and he was a constant companion on all our holidays, making the load area of the estate car his own sleeping area. When we visited towns or country houses he was happy to be left guarding the car, loosely chained with the back door open.

With us he "triangulated" England. From Hadrian's Wall in the North,




where he became "mascot" to my fellow members of The Ermine Street Guard,



South-West to the Cornish coast


and, nearer to home in the South-East, walking the paths above the White Cliffs of Dover with my eldest grandson.

Reaching the age of twelve he was still happy to romp in the recent February snows.

Three days before our Australian holiday he showed signs of panic and distress - meandering around the house, pushing his head into tight corners and upsetting objects. He was due to be cared for by our son and I could not leave with him in this state, so the day before we flew I took him to the vet. She immediately diagnosed a brain tumour, to which elderly Shepherds are susceptible. Our eyes met and I knew there was only one decision to make.
A great English countryside writer is able to tell the rest far better than I:
"he died, swiftly and easily, with his head in my hands. Such is the price of love, which exacts nothing less than a part of ourselves, great or small, according as the occasion and our temperament decree. A dog is, of course, only a dog. His death is universal and not new. Two thousand years ago a Greek countryman suffered a similar bereavement, whereof the monument was discovered by archaeologists. "If," said the inscription, "you pass by this way, and happen to notice this stone, do not laugh, even though it is only a dog's grave. Tears fell for my sake, and the earth was heaped above me by a master's hand, who likewise carved these words."












Goodbye old friend.