the last word
Where there’s a horse or pony, there’s very often a dog and a whole host of affectionate ‘types’ have appeared over the year, including the ‘lorry dog’, the ‘eventador’ and less affectionately, the ‘midden mutt’ for those dogs that just can’t help rolling in anything that smells sufficiently revolting. After years of dog ownership and watching a myriad of other dog owners, when it comes to our canine companions, who better than John Collier BHSI to have...
... the last word
Puppy love
I have discovered that what draws the biggest crowd at any event is a puppy; guaranteed to melt any heart and better than any flowers or chocolate to get to a girl’s heart! These event riders though are really unscrupulous. Even I suffered at an early stage in my romance, as having got the car stuck in a snowdrift on top of Caldbeck, I carried my now wife’s, Westie down the road to Uldale, because it’s legs were too short to walk in the snow. It must have traumatised me, as we now have Great Danes and a Bernese Mountain dog that can rescue itself.
Dogs and horses seem inseparable, but I always issue a caution to clients head over heels in love; be prepared to accept your place in the order of priority, so horse, dog, the cat, any other domestic pet and then you – and you won’t even get a bowl with your name on it.
We frequently have people stabling overnight and often they will just let their dogs have the run of the place without
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asking. For those who do ask, I say it’s fine, but watch out for the cats! One such visitor had a Chihuahua; it met the cat, which hissed and then went into full attack mode. Rather than using a helpful foot to remove the cat, she bent down and lifted the dog up. Big mistake, as our cat does not do things by half, so it climbed up her leg, drawing blood through the her jeans to continue the fight. It was one of those occasions when I couldn’t do anything for laughing and I still feel guilty now.
Terriers are normally a different kettle of fish, being wilfully disobedien. A visiting instructor told me on one occasion to throw a shoe at her terrier that wouldn’t keep out of the kitchen, and barked incessantly. Well unfortunately a size twelve kicker boot smack on the forehead was too much, knocking it out cold. Now that took some explaining, but fortunately it did come round just moments later.
I sometimes wonder if I rub my eyes at a horse trial whether I
could easily be at a dog show, as it now seems to be some sort of a marketing ploy to give a rosette to the best turned out dog, or the one that most resembles the show secretary; now that’s vanity.
For the first ten years of our marriage we were puppy walkers, they were supposed to be foxhounds, but I’m sure they were trail hounds considering all the time we spent trailing after them, trying to find them. They were never where they should have been.
About the same time we tried dog breeding, taking a litter off the Bernese Mountain dog. They all sold successfully, until we got the phone call from the bloke saying he had been sold a pup; that’s right I said, it’s only twelve weeks old. No he said I have been sold a pup, because you don’t get smooth haired mountain dogs. So that was another place the foxhound pup should not have been. For years afterwards, that one dog embarrassed us with its presence at the point to point. It must have had an affinity with the foxhounds that were
paraded there.
I don’t have an affinity to German Shepherds, having been bitten by one on my ear at the age of three. However I felt sorry for the police dog that was retired after encountering a thief in the trade stands at Hexham horse trials, as instead of grabbing the villain by the arm, it went for his inner thigh with tragic results for the chap, who ended up in hospital. It was definitely one of those rare occurrences when crime doesn’t pay.
I will finish with some advice for minor royalty, who seem to be in touch with their feminine side as I write this, with an outpouring of public feelings two decades on. As my son would say, man up and if you’re still feeling soppy, go out and buy a puppy. You’ll feel a lot better, and picking up dog poo will give you something to do.
PS - I am an ardent Royalist before you put pen to paper and I will give your dog a pat when I see you at the showjumping.
Equine Page 35
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