Tuesday, 29 November 2016

Free bird...

Yesterday, I took the two furballs out for a walk with their friend Neville, who is a stunning Rottweiler puppy.  His owner, Mrs P, and I are also good chums, so a pleasant time was on the cards.  Now Neville and Reg are just the best of friends, but they are also the most incongruous couple. Reg can pretty much walk without ducking below Neville's undercarriage, something  which may change as Neville reaches puberty, but he's not too worried as yet.  Reg spends most of the walk either in or on the outskirts of Neville's mouth, so after about half an hour in each other's company, Reg's coat is very damp, and it always looks like a cheap Kevin Keegan perm by the time we get back home.

Today, we were able to walk a little further than usual, so I took Mrs P round one of my favourite walks in the wood.  As we briefly came out of the wood, we were walking along the lane when a gentleman in some sort of farm vehicle stopped next to us. He looked at my two, and asked, 'Are they hunters then, those two?'  I glanced at them, half expecting them to have donned a couple of deer stalkers and flung a twelve bore over their shoulders.  'Not really,' I said.  'Why do you ask?'

Well apparently, he 'still had some pheasants in the wood'.  Oh right, I understand.  You don't want my two to catch the birds (fat chance) as you're saving them to shoot them at a later date.  Oh well, that just makes complete sense. 

What made me laugh is that he didn't ask Mrs P the same question.  Perhaps Neville doesn't have 'Pheasant Murderer' written all over his beautiful face, unlike my two who in real terms are actually shorter than a pheasant and have as much chance of catching one as I do.

Anyway, duly chastised, the boys were put on their leads until the pheasant-killer was out of sight, at which point we let them off again.  As we turned the corner, a pheasant sprang from the undergrowth, scaring the pants off the dogs.  Did they chase it?  No they didn't.  Did they ignore it?  Completely.  There was an element of chat between the three dogs which probably went something like..

Neville: What the bloody hell was that?
Reg: No idea.  It must be on a long lead to get up that high though.
Neville:  But what was it?  Percy, you're the oldest, you should know?
Percy: Mmm...not sure.  Did he have biscuits?

As time goes on, Neville is going to get even bigger, the prospect of which I find quite appealing.  Of course, as he gets older, we will be walking him further and further, and I would imagine that we will have to cover some miles to wear him out. 

And if we all get too tired on one of these long walks? 

We'll just saddle him up and ride him home...
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