Reflective

There have been some complaints about the blog or lack of content thereof. To be more precise, apparently I don’t write enough about the woofers progress, it’s all me, me, me and the bloody pool (the less said about that the better). Suffice to say, now that the last but one pup has left for his new home next door and the summer visitations are over, life for all has calmed down once again. And for those who also asked, the Peace Lily is still blooming even at 27 years old and thoroughly enjoys her rain showers whenever she can.

It’s weird to think that only a few months ago, Alice gave birth to six healthy puppies. I’m lucky to have regular updates from all the new families and all make me very proud. As a former behaviour consultant, watching these tiny pipsqueaks grow and develop into their very individual personalities, has been an education in itself. No matter how much attention you pay to the ‘nature vs. nurture’ thing, they are born with their own specific character traits that will stay with them for life. Of course, you can help build their confidence with socialisation, environmental exposure and training but how they cope with it all is down to what they were born with. That and having an incredible mum and a mostly supportive pack around them, the exception being Neo but then he isn’t really a fan of sharing his space with anyone anyway – grumpy old man that he is.

Alice had a wonderful mother and those genes meant that Sherman had the same. Yogi Bear came from a large family of devoted bears which in turn, allowed me with all three of them to pick the pup who was best suited to our crazy life. However, with the slight exception of Gizmo and Arry to which I have some hazy insight into their early lives, I have no idea what sort of upbringing Mo, Coco, Neo and Simi had. There are always theories one can put forward but those once again are based on the character shaped by circumstances but nevertheless, what they were born with. I’m pretty sure Simi was born on the streets though, she has that sort of savvy about her and really doesn’t care what others think. At 11 years old now, she spends almost all her time lying in a sunny spot on the driveway with her legs in the air.

The middle of September has brought out a darker side to our twice-weekly run and I’m not just talking about the sunrise being later. The chasse has begun. This is the hunting season lasting from now until early March and, although the hunters are licensed under a strict set of laws, accidents still happen. With this in mind, I have decided to change our outings to those on non-shoot days and buy bright orange reflective jackets for Arry and Alice. This, along with a cowbell on his collar (I’m told this is the best thing as the working dogs wear them), has not gone down well with Arry. Apart from ruining his street cred, the hares now hear him coming a kilometre away which has taken all the fun out of his morning pursuits. I did have a mildly scary moment yesterday when I came rather close to a man and his gun, his frantic waving however was not to warn me but to say hello, it was one of lovely builders Michel. It did strike me as somewhat bemusing that a man I know to be such a sweet and shy character was toting a rifle and watching his Springer bounce across the fields, I’m sure he has a lovely mother though……

” My dog’s so furry I’ve not seen

His face for years and years

His eyes are buried out of sight

I only guess his ears.

When people ask me for his breed

I do not know or care

He has the beauty of them all

Hidden beneath his hair“

(Herbert Asquith)