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© Copyright Harleston Grapevine 2009
Dog Days are Here Again
When I was a child in Yorkshire I wanted a dog. We lived in a semi-rural area with fields around and the ancient forest, or what is left of it, that once covered the limestone country in the eastern foothills of the Pennines was my playground. My mates had dogs too.
My dad hated dogs. He not only believed that all dogs were wolves but that no matter how benign they appeared they were simply waiting to tear your throat out whilst you were asleep. This was also true of any animal more than 8 inches tall; indeed he distrusted pet rabbits as well, and penguins. So, no dog for me!
When I met my wife to be, I was not only introduced to her mother and father and sister but also to Judy the Airedale. Amazingly, Judy did not tear me limb from limb or try to round me up and was generally rather friendly. The only time she looked a bit odd was when I disappeared into the front room with her master's daughter. As time went on I discovered the pleasures and problems of living with canines.
I learned of the absolute trust they would give to people who often treated them badly, and of the comfort they offer to the lonely or worried. I also learned of their need for exercise and freedom and how the symbiotic relationship between them and humans could be something very special. My father-in-law to be, taught me all this by a sort of osmosis as he also tested me on my intentions towards his daughter! Sometimes, on a cold Saturday evening he would say, 'fancy a pint young man?' and I would be given Judy's lead and away we would go. I'm not sure who he trusted me with most, his daughter or his dog.
When we got married it wasn't long before a Pembroke Corgi joined us and became adept at removing the postman's glove. She also could carry enormous logs in her jaws and chase unnamed creatures through the undergrowth. Alas we had to give her up when we moved abroad. When we returned we had a Golden Retriever in tow together with three children who never had the slightest qualms about dogs or any other animals for that matter. She was called Katie and it wasn't long before she was joined by a Retriever dog called Hector. He died in the great storm in October 1987 when he became terrified and because the fence was down ran off. He was found a couple of days later drowned in a neighbour's swimming pool.
We've had one dog since then and were content not to have another – our children have grown up and have animals of their own but following an amazing stroke of luck have been offered a Golden Retriever pup to keep us fit!
I'm not sure whether that will be the case, but we already feel younger and apart from the horrendous cost of veterinary insurance are looking forward to exploring his world in this beautiful place. I'm sure that there are more tales to come. Fran Pitt-Pladdy