What A Year

It wasn’t an auspicious start to 2003, arriving as it did with me losing a ferret on a bank one January morning. Having bought the ferrets as kits the year before, I had only been out with them a couple of times. They were out of a huge polecat hob to a tiny albino jill and they were sort of in between the two camps. This outing had been to an easy seven hole bury which was situated behind an old water tower which was in the corner of a field at the crossroads of two wild hedges. Taking the two dogs with me, we made our way up to the field, passing one of the lads pushing up-rooted apple trees with a digger onto a dwindling bonfire. The dogs weren’t there to catch bolters, more in the line of me hoping they would give a mark. Once I had netted up, in went one of the ferrets and down I sat on their box to wait for the bolters. After the first few hit the nets, everything quietened down and nothing was heard for while. I naturally assumed I had a lie up and started searching with the box fully expecting to get a quick mark and a short dig. What I got was nothing. I sat and waited and still nothing. I checked the other sides of the hedge and the dogs showed me nothing either. As the morning stretched into the afternoon and dusk rapidly approached, I realised I was going to need a lamp. Not having a mobile phone on me (typical!) I had to get home, grab a lamp (and my phone) and get back as quickly as possible, hoping that the ferret wouldn’t choose this moment to emerge. I must have been sat at this hedgerow until around 9pm and I decided to call it a day. Phoning the girlfriend to let her know I was returning minus one pug, I was shocked to hear her say that one of the neighbours has just seen a ferret cross the road into the farm! I started running. Calling at the farm on the way back, I explained the situation and they kindly let me look around the yard, all to no avail. Time was getting on and I realised I hadn’t eaten all day, so I headed down to the local Tandoori for some tucker and also to ask if anyone had seen a ferret. As I sat there with my pint, the old boy behind the counter said he had seen a white “devil” crossing the road, heading for the council estate. Upon hearing that, my heart sank. If the poor bugger made it that far, he was gone now.

February saw me and my good mate Graham down at Alresford for what was my first coursing (under rules) event. Despite the rain coming down in sheets, it was a great day, one I thoroughly enjoyed. If anything there were too many hares as dogs were refused slips due to multiple hares coming through onto the course. There happened to be a photographer from some country magazine present and the organizer could be heard telling them that it was very rare for the hare to be killed in such situations – well someone forgot to tell the dogs! We witnessed some excellent courses and some great catches before the day was out. The discomfort of being soaked to the skin whilst driving home was tempered by us having had a good days sport and having met some genuine people into the bargain.

The big event on the horizon in April was my wedding, which was causing me no end of grief with logistics and what have you! My best man was due over from Australia and we had hoped to fit in some sport before the big day. We had even arranged to travel down and see the Editor in South Wales and we were both looking forward to that. Due to arrive two weeks before the big day, Ron never turned up and I heard nothing from him. Not worrying unduly, I just assumed that he would turn up at some point. As it happens, a family crisis prevented him from travelling to the UK so I had to get myself another best man and my trip down to David’s was off! Bit of a pain on both counts. My wife knows how I am with the dogs and hunting and she knows what she is getting into, but even she had a few choice words for me when she rang me on the morning of the wedding, only to find that I was at a terrier and lurcher show in Charing! In my mind, there was plenty of time to go to the show, see old mates and then get back for the ceremony, but apparently women don’t see things the way us blokes do! Needless to say, all went well in the end.

Around the same time, Graham and I drove up to Manchester for a bull breeds show which sounded interesting. Meeting up with lads we know from Essex, we piled up the motorway for a few hours and finally arrived in some suburb of Manchester to the sound of barking and screaming dogs. The scene consisted of mainly alternative bulldog types, with the occasional American Bulldog and other sorts thrown in too. There were a few nice dogs there, but the day was marred by a large Staff being stolen from the car park by local youths. If there is one thing I despise its dog thieves. A mob of lads got together and combed the area and I’m happy to say the dog was found wandering, having been released when the kids heard they were being hunted. A happy ending to an unfortunate, yet all too common occurrence.

Being left with one ferret, I was on the look out for some replacements. As the ferret is a sociable animal, my remaining ferret had begun to act strangely on his own. Nips here and there had descended to downright hostility and something had to be done. Eventually he was given to a mate who had a number of his own ferrets and has settled down again nicely in a good, working home. As I was totally back to square one, I needed some pugs for the coming season badly. A phone call from my cousin saved my bacon. Being overstocked, he offered me any number of ferrets and I travelled the length of the country back to my hometown in County Durham to pick up two fantastic castrated hobs, which have worked out perfectly. They are a joy to handle and the wife has taken a real shine to them too, which always helps! This wasn’t the only time my cousin saved my life!

There was to be a show in my hometown, put on by my uncle, who I hadn’t seen, let alone spoken to for over ten years. Speaking to my cousin, I arranged that I would be up for the day and we would have a look at the show. It was a decent affair, properly organised and with some impressive trophies but the main thing for me was speaking to my uncle again after such a long time and meeting friends old and new. To me, this is what shows should be about – a pint, a chat, have a look at some nice dogs and talk about the hopes and aspirations of the coming season. Don’t take the judging too seriously, after all it’s just cosmetics. If you do show and win, fine, but let’s see what the dog can do in the field when the rain comes. If you show and don’t place, then shrug it off as a bit of a laugh – enjoy the craic!

There was a dog that I was really taken with at this particular show – a real strong looking Lakeland which had obviously seen a few foxes. The kind of dog I would love to own myself one day. These thoughts must have registered with my red dog sat at home as trouble was in store for me. Having bought this red dog of Middleton breeding from Sunderland a few years before, myself and friend had worked him successfully for the short time he had been old enough to work. He was what I would describe as an honest dog, not a world beater, but good enough for us. You showed him an occupied earth and he would run it until he found. He wasn’t one of these dogs that sniffed the mouth of a hole and told you if there was something there – he ran the tubes until he found or was satisfied that no-one was at home. Well we decided on a walk out one day as my mate had some land he wanted to check by an old mill stream. Billy entered an earth on a steep bank overlooking the stream and after a while, we cast about with the box to see if we could get a mark on him. Eventually finding him underneath the foot of a nearby tree, we had a mark of only 3 feet. As we began to dig, we realised things were a little more complicated than we thought as the roots were sheer murder. After about and hour and a half of hacking away at these obstacles, we broke through to a stone dead Billy in a pipe. Having stood there and gone toe to toe on many occasion, it seemed he had finally met his match and had bitten off more than he could chew. Blaming ourselves, we took Billy home to the garden to be buried. We knew he was hard and he revelled in his toughness, but there is hard and there is stupidly hard and he was definitely a case of the latter. Too much grit and not enough brain had been his downfall. He had given us many a pleasurable dig and he was certainly a character but what we once viewed as an attractive trait had proved to be the chink in his armour. RIP.

Permission, whilst once being scarce for me, was now being offered left, right and centre and soon I had all I could dream of. Most of the land I have now is rabbiting land and I simply don’t have the dogs for that kind of work which presented me with a problem. Initially I had been on the look out for a replacement for Billy, and had heard of a planned litter off the Lakeland dog from County Durham. This dog was due to be put over a decent Border bitch and this cross interested me a great deal. As it happened, fate conspired against me in so much that the mating never happened and the fact that this new permission fell into my lap meant that I needed a rabbit dog. Cousin to the rescue again! He had mated his outstanding ferreting collie cross to a 5/8 3/8 collie cross and wondered if I wanted a pup! Did I ever! This just seemed to be perfect timing and I couldn’t believe my luck. There is a lot of ferreting land on my permission and this cross should suit me down to the ground. Choosing a brindle bitch for me, my cousin is keeping hold of her until I have my kennels built and then I can go and pick her up. She is called Vandal (after my black bitch’s dam) and I have high hopes for her and she will get all the work she could hope for.

Fortunate as I am to actually live on a lot of my permission, there are downsides, one being that I have a tiny shared garden. This means that the logistics of keeping dogs was difficult as I had no room for kennels and every dog I owned had to live indoors. Due to the fact that the house was a tiny old farm workers cottage meant that space was at a premium and a decision had to be made. Do I stay and be 30 seconds away from my hunting grounds, or do I move to somewhere bigger so that I can build kennels and equip myself with the dogs I needed for the land I now had? As it turned out, the decision was an easy one. If I wanted more dogs, I had to move. A house was found with a 120 foot garden (complete with fox earth!) and the move was completed. Vandal moves in as soon as the kennels are up and I can’t wait!

In terms of work, we’ve had a great year compared to past ones. For some reason the land has had an explosion of foxes and the dogs have had great sport, keeping them in fine fettle and providing me with all the action I could ask for. The little team have worked hard and have had to diversify due to me getting a lot more shooting work. The retrieve still isn’t perfect but its fun working on it! We have taken rabbits, fox, rats, squirrels and even a Muntjac (due to a huge fluke!) not in record numbers but it’s been worth it just to see the dogs working and watching the effort that they put in.

Over the year I have met many people, some good, decent folk – some not quite so good or decent! There is one bloke who I spoke to on an internet forum as we were arguing over Patterdales. Spouting shit as he was, he soon tried to ingratiate himself with me when he realised I actually knew a little bit (not much) about what I was talking about. He was all “mate” and “buddy” until I actually forgot what we were arguing about – more fool me! He told me he had terriers, had had them all his life, held a spade as soon as he was able to….you know the spiel. This same bloke then phones me up near to tears as one of his dogs has been to ground for nearly two hours and he didn’t know what to do! He pops up on a lot of sites on the net, but only ever on ones where he is quite satisfied that the existing clientele know less than he does. For someone who sets himself up as such an expert, he sure goes out of his way to avoid people who walk the walk and not just talk the talk. He has been fronted on a few occasions and can’t back himself up, preferring to resort to personal attacks, which is cheap, quite frankly. What is quite apparent is that he fancies making a name for himself and is even now, as you read this, creating his own dog breed – sound familiar? Now I gather he is thinking of writing a book. Seems like a vacuum has been created by a certain mans passing, but it also seems there are no end of those queuing to fill it.

In conclusion, I look back on 2003 as being a good year, despite the loss of two ferrets and a terrier. Having had some great sport, met some straight up people and gained bags more permission I don’t think I am in a position to complain. The plus points far outweigh the negative ones and I look forward to the rest of the season with a passion.

All the very best for 2004.

Written by Richard Christian