But I can’t reach!
That’s ok. It’s all about effort
But I can’t reach!
That’s ok. It’s all about effort
Here is our Border cross Lakeland terrier, a breed not known for its trainability (not sure that’s a word… Denny; I need you again!).
One thing he is great at is displaying daily his enthusiasm for life. He never gets out of bed on the wrong side, he never carries a grudge, he doesn’t take anything out on a third party because he’s having a bad day (and had to watch that cat saunter past his kennel yet couldn’t get his claws on it).
‘Rock’ is totally accepting of the hand that life has dealt him. As dog’s lives go, this a pretty good one. He is walked twice a day around farmland he’s only ever known having arrived as a 9-week old black ball of fluff.
Man of the Woods had been begging me to spend most of my waking hours in his tractor cab to keep him company, but I had stuff to do! It had been four years since he’d said goodbye to his previous terrier and not one to rush out and replace a pet, MoW had waited. Now was the time.
He soon put his trust in his new family and fast became the one-man dog they all prefer to be.
I even had to start sharing the space in the tractor cab with Rock 🤣
I know many dog owners keep their dogs inside their homes and some can’t accept that other dogs are kept outside. Now I’m not here to judge – you know that’s not my style. Mother has an indoor dog who shares the sofa with her, its coat with the carpet and tramps all the grit and goodness knows what from his paws into their home and onto their furniture.
Rock has a south-facing large run, at the back of which is a cozy kennel box in which he curls up and dreams of rabbits and whatever else his keen nose can sense on the breeze.
He doesn’t have to ask to be let out to do what comes naturally; his kennel is cleaned out daily. He relaxes when inside his run, stretched out asleep in the sun and sometimes on top of his box.
He is nurtured and loved, enjoyed by all the family. He’s a working, instinctive hunting dog and loves being taken to the old straw bales in the yard where he can sniff out and chase an occasional rat which has yet to locate the safely-hidden poison at strategic spots around the yard.
Rock is bold. No-one ever told him his self esteem needed locating and encouraging. He’ll hold his own in a crowd!
Rock knows his place. He’s not the head of this family. He’s the dog. He doesn’t share our sofas, as mother’s dog is encouraged to do. He’s not forcing his snout out of the front door before we can even open it and the first to receive guests, as mother’s dog is allowed to do (and then told off for being over-excited at the guest). He is not fed first to quiet him down.
Rock is fed when MoW is ready to feed him, and that can vary by up to two or three hours. The routine is not set in concrete and hence Rock knows tea will come but doesn’t start cadging at the sight of human food, as mother’s does.
Rock is patient, respectful, quiet – until he smells footpath walkers making their way through the farmyard, then he makes his presence heard for a few seconds. He is the best guard dog!
Happy 3rd Birthday Rock!
PS .. I have many friends with wonderfully house-trained dogs who are part of their family but do not run rings around them. I fear my mother’s dog’s exhibited behaviour says more about mother than the dog.
(Photo credit to the owners of Draven, see more below)
This has to be one of the cutest, yet deeply moving posts I’ve read for a long time.
There was no ‘reblog’ option, so instead I encourage you to take a quick look via the pingback below 🤗.
I’m an animal lover and particularly of cats so to see one loving life and providing huge support to those in need is inspiring.
We’ve all heard of dogs doing good works, but fewer cats I suspect fit the bill… but meet Draven the therapy cat 🐈
Cee’s done it again with another fun photo challenge, the details of which can be found here!
May I share two animals with you .. the first shows well I think the contrast between natural animal encased (albeit quite happily) metal and leather for control … interesting concept which is more clear in black and white.
The second is a dog I which was cadging and being cute, using its known tactics on humans to gain a titbit here and there; clever! The reflection in his eyes, now I’ve zoomed in fascinate me and I did not notice them at the time. Being a black and white dog to start with, it was only the background I needed to change and with the magic of iPhone filters, I give you two photos which were taken in Portugal last week in colour and now served to you on a black and white plate!!!
Photo credit to B Rudberg
Join the fun with Rochelle Wisoff-Fields’ 100 word prompt.
Thermals rotated and the eagle circled upon their warm lift, feather tips fluttering as minute changes in the air were detected. Her eyes focused, and zoomed into the rock face below; a barely visible movement snapped her attention away from a vehicle paused on the track.
She screeched twice and continued to circle, lowering her altitude slightly and maintaining eye contact with the rodent below who had scattered at the sound of the hunter high above.
The vehicle reversed as she glided to her final approach. Silence now as her talons drew forward in readiness.
His ears twitched and bright eyes focused on the dark surroundings of the night.
Poised on powerful hind legs, the hare tore grass from the earth and chewed while the tip of its nose glistened with dew.
Rustling nearby; a stench so recognisable from the nemesis – golden sleek hunter coming closer through the curtains of undergrowth.
Those hind legs engaging, carrying the hare across the fields darting left then right, the route etched into his memory for all eternity.
Light engulfs the field as early morning tractorwork ensues, causing the fox to hesitate when he is caught in bright beams.
Heartbeat slows and the grass is swallowed, front paws feeling their way through last year’s stubble.
In response to last Thursday’s Six Sentence Story courtesy of DENISE.
So tempted was I to scratch these on the back of the loo door yesterday, as I sat on my coat on the floor of a cubicle in the ladies loos at Victoria Station in London during the final leg of my mammoth 1500m journey. My migraine had taken hold of my brain, force-feeding it blob by blob through a mincing machine and the max-strength Nurofen as effective as a chocolate teapot.
When I felt the nausea fade enough to negotiate the underground for my onward journey to East Anglia, my right eye watered constantly because of the heavy metal rave going on just behind it. Same spot, every time.
I chose not to sit next to strangers on the 14:30 and instead opted for a floor seat next to the toilets feeling like some hungover teenage reveller with my Vilamoura wrist band still attached. I suspect only show-jumpers or Portuguese people would know what it meant – everyone else might assume I’d attended some random winter festival in the dark dregs of London’s underground nightlife!
The tiredness I experienced during those final two days cannot almost be described in words. When I drove my 4.5 hour stints I was concentrating on keeping the 7.5 tonne lorry in the correct lane, maintaining eye contact with the back of Joao Charlesworth’s lorry ahead – convoy driving is an art in itself. I never forgot I had precious cargo onboard and each time we overtook, squeezing past slower tankers with the wind buffeting our lorry and dealing with slip streams, I hung on to that steering wheel like my life depended on it. We negotiated around 85,000 tolls in France and filling up at different style diesel pumps every four hours all took focus and energy.
Can I swear a moment? I bloody loved every minute of it 💃🏼
Here’s a taco reading; I’d never seen one before! Maybe now I could apply to be on Ice Road Truckers 🤣 (no you can’t, you’re too old. They only have old men interspersed with young sexy 20 something females.)
I tell you … these 9 horses are the real stars of this trip, accepting in quiet fashion whatever each day threw at them. They place their trust in the human team around them and whether they were stood on those lorries for twelve hours solid, or asked to jump round colours poles in pouring rain back at the showground, they just gave and gave. How humbling is that?
There we were, us humans, running around logging and snapping away for our social media updates, carrying our goals and expectations, excitements and anxieties… and there they were, simply happy to be fed, watered, ridden, jumped, loaded, unloaded, put into strange stables – one night Spain and another in France, and out they clopped each morning, happy happy happy.
Will ‘watered’ them every two hours and noted that task on a register … a legal requirement on the continent when travelling horses. This involved him filling a bucket half full and offering it up to their muzzles and sometimes they take a slurp and sometimes they choose not to. You know what they say – you can lead a horse to water… !!
I learnt most of their names over the week and my favourite was Mr Black. He loved a few minutes tickles now and then. Horses can be very affectionate and this character was so endearing
Here I am saying goodbye to Mr Black yesterday in Kent. I love the wrinkles on his lips. We arrived back at base off the ferry in Dover about 7pm … and luckily the yard was only 30 minute drive up the M20 (can I just say at this point that British road surfaces are appalling compared to those in Spain and France? M20 is covered in potholes. Now I sit mind those tolls so much in France as at least they use the money on their road infrastructure!
Thanks to my iPhone’s photographic qualities I was able to bring back some wonderful memories from this trip; one of my favourite moments was driving over the river Seine as it passes through a town called Rouen, far north of Paris.
Wednesday was the toughest day as we arrived at Calais after a 10-hr drive … to have to wait two hours before loading onto ferry, and then an hour and a half crossing. Check this out though – livestock lorries are allowed to have their ramps down on the ferry to allow airflow through for animal welfare.
And there’s my Mr Black enjoying a change of scene 🤗
The onset of the migraine was probably due to the ‘stress’ of finishing the journey. Even when I wasn’t behind the wheel, I was helping keep an eye on whether the lorry in front was turning off but couldn’t clearly be seen because someone had managed to get inbetween us. Stress on our bodies can come not just from the obvious anxieties and worries or rows with family… I think the lack of good quality sleep over the week, plus excitement and anticipation of the jumping, the concentration during the roadtrip itself, then the relief to pull back into the yard in Kent sort of caught up with me.
When my train pulled into my station and I knew my husband would be standing on the platform to greet me, emotion overwhelmed me. It was all I could do to walk the final few strides towards his smile. I placed the bags down either side of me and stood there and fell into his arms and sobbed. Anyone on the train idly watching before it moved on to its next destination may have wondered if we were long-lost lovers because we held each other for a very long time. I had genuinely been happy to be coming home, and the monk would be proud again I think.
Thank you for coming with me on this adventure – I’ve loved sharing it with you. Sorry I had no energy to post these last couple of days but I know you’ll forgive me.
(Ortensia and Joseph Beech; I’ve not forgotten our book. I will get it on amazon today and read it ASAP 😘)