Dogs; Who'd Have 'Em?!

Took my lot for their usual, daily stroll today. Le Ding, being a proven dasher and cow botherer, I have to keep on a retractable lead and under strict eyeball and verbal command at every other second.

Nigger? He simply will not enter a field with a cow in it. Must be genetic to his breeding? Only, obedience to recall certainly doesn't seem to have been bred in and, till I get a bloody whistle, there's not a great deal I can do to train it in either.

So it was that today, as with probably more than half the days, he dashed at the last leg of our walk and was last seen flying down under a gate and out of sight. Bastard. Completely ignores me calling him too.

Well anyway, I don't usually worry about it too much. Because, unlike le Ding, I pretty well know he won't get up to anything that'll bring hell to my door.

Only, today? After two hours of waiting for the prodigal to return, I realised how I couldn't focus on anything. I had a pile of dread deep in the pit of my stomach. And I was generally sitting here stressing out on 'roids.

I was imagining all sorts of things, whilst recognising the futility of a search. So many banks, ditches and creases in the ground out there, it'd be pitch black before I'd aimlessly wandered a couple of acres.

Eventually, I decided I Had To 'Do Something'. I was loathe to go away, lest he reappeared and found me missing. Or worse, trailed me up to the road. Because I'd decided to go up there and have a word with Pat. It's all I could think of to do.

So, Screaming at the others to stay there and for fuck sake For Once do as they're fucking told, I squeezed out the door, threw my jacket on and, almost shaking with stress and dread ~ it was really sinking in how fond I am of this little bastard ~ I closed the gate and headed out up the track.

One plaintive and pointless call of " Nigger ....? " as I scanned the sweeping basin of ground down towards the river and beyond. He likes that river .....

Then, as my gaze levelled ahead, a movement caught my eye in the top field beside the track. Bastard!!! There he fucking was! Nose down. Tail wagging. Running carefully one way, then another in little, measured bursts.

'My' hare lives in that field. Fucker was obviously scenting her. And, for all I know, the single minded fuck head may well have been up there, trying to unravel that damn scent for the last two hours! The Dog's fucking mental!


Or, is that me? I mean; I keep the fukka's .....