I find myself living in the glorious South West because of dogs. I look sideways at the second of my large hairy beasts, and know that it was her addition to the family that required a move to more abundant premises.
Living with dogs makes my life in the countryside complete. Watching them hooley through the wood, snuffling through crisp leaves to reveal a mouse hole, chase fox tracks along the hedges, stand hopefully on their back legs to see if they could just, possibly, reach the squirrel in the tree canopy, gives me another, more alert perspective on my surroundings.
Blackberrying becomes supremely companionable when I fill my basket from eyelevel brambles as the dogs delicately wrap their purpled lips round the juicy offerings at knee height. No-one can come through the farm gate without the dogs warning me that there is someone to attend to. And nothing is as good as a dog for getting me out and about for a dose of stretched legs and fresh air when I’ve been cooped up indoors, stale, pale and crotchety.
I can’t say my pair is much use around sheep, entirely unsuited as they are for shepherding work, but as long as I keep them in my sight I happily walk them through our flocks. They will, of course, spot anything ill or vulnerable and that has its benefits.
Dogs aren’t all sweetness and light. I’ve had sheep torn to bits by straying canines, and allowing unwormed dogs to foul on farmland can cause gid, a ghastly condition that attacks a sheep’s brain, resulting in blindness and death. The countryside code for keeping dogs under close control is helpful, but I doubt if all dog owners know that they need to keep their dog wormed if they, like me, love a country stroll.
But dogs and the countryside definitely do mix in so many good ways, summer and winter. I don’t know what it is about hay but the dogs just adore it. They roll in it, burrow through it, toss it about and play with it. They drape it over their ears and stick their black button noses deep into the drying grass. It’s as if they inhale life, summer, pleasure and delight with every happy whiff. Now it’s winter, my Bernese Mountain Dogs thrive in the cold weather; they are made for snow and seem to thrum with increased energy as the thermometer plummets.
The dogs give me the Bernese nudge, an insistent and forceful snout thrust, and I put on a second pair of trousers and socks, not having been naturally endowed with a fur coat. As we walk, they explore every conceivable size of hole in the ground, up trees, in the earth banks, behind troughs, under leaves. For them, the farm is thrutched up with animal life, scent flags waving for those with the sense to appreciate.
When thin sheets of ice seal the water in the troughs the dogs lick at it forlornly. They can easily break ice with their great paws, but they are slippers and pipe girls and wait for me to serve my purpose. I always oblige.
(For the full countryside code regarding dogs:
http://www.naturalengland.org.uk/ourwork/enjoying/countrysidecode/keepdogs.aspx )
Published in The Landsman Feb/March 10 Issue 18
