End of an Era - an old article of mine about a lovely old dog

[Stabs 3]

Today is Jasper’s third birthday and it well and truly marks the end of the season for us. If the truth be known, the season finished a few weeks back, but a recent cold snap (temperatures have been as low as 19 degrees) has seen me back out for a few last runs in the forest. The freezer is physically incapable of taking any more meat, much to my wife’s consternation when she’s trying to find space for our daughter’s food that she makes up in batches. It won’t see us through the summer, but it’ll go some way in helping us make it through to the cool weather again. I’ll be out on the deer with the rifles soon enough anyway so I’ll have the opportunity to top up any depleted levels then. The temperatures are still cool enough to run the dogs (21 degrees yesterday, 23 today), but what has well and truly put the lid on it, is the rain. Last week we had 83mm in an hour, and it has not stopped since. The 250mm we got yesterday caused all sorts of problems in our area with villages being isolated, roads being cut and people being rescued. Thankfully we got away with just being flooded in our house, which didn’t really cause too much damage. Being absolutely saturated, the ground could only hold so much before it all came flooding through. It’ll dry, and it’s not the first time it’s happened and I doubt it will be the last. I ventured over the forest on Sunday afternoon and the water levels were up to my mid-thigh then, so I’d imagine it’s much worse by now. The dogs loved it of course, but I can’t say I share their enthusiasm.

 

 

So despite the still cool weather, we’ve had an enforced halt to the season. Mother Nature has had the final say on things and called time on me trying to squeeze an extra few days running in. And so with a degree of finality, I can hang my lamp up for the next few months and ruminate on how things have gone. Time seems to have flown by and I think the thing that has exacerbated this feeling of speed is the fact that Jasp started his working life at a fairly young age. I keep thinking that he’s had three seasons under his belt, but he can’t have. He pulled his first at 9 months, which was a mistake on my part, and he’s never really looked back since. I’ve talked at length about his attributes many times over, so I won’t bore you all by going on about them again. One thing is certain though and that’s as Jasper stock is waxing, that of his mother is most definitely on the wane. So as one career blossoms, the other comes to a timely and well deserved end.

 

The old girl has served me well over the years and despite the fact that we both hail from a small town in County Durham; we’ve come a long way together over the years, both in terms of geography and also experience. The scruffy, lanky little pup that I picked up at 16 weeks old grew into a confident, enthusiastic hunter who loved nothing more than to be working in the field with me. She’s shared kennel space with a few of my dogs over the years and she built up some decent relationships with them. She’s worked well with Kesh, the Staffordshire Bull Terrier, and also with Meg, the Wheaten cross, but perhaps she had the best relationship with Nell. They were best mates and seemed to know what the other was doing instinctively. Totally different dogs in both personality and looks, but they complemented each other so well. Out of the old guard, she’s the only one left now. The only living reminder I have of the old days. Kesh, Nell, Billy, and Meg have all come and gone in her time and she’s been the equal of any of those dogs in my eyes. That is the past though, and despite my tendency of dwelling on it, things have to move on. Van’s best days are behind her now and injury has added impetus to the conclusion that, if you are lucky, is traditionally delivered by age. I’ve retired dogs before, only to bring them out again when logistics have compelled me to, but I’m no longer a pest controller these days. I hunt for the pot more than anything now and there’s no pressure on me for results. That’s not to say that I view my dogs in a different light. Run them like you’re starving has always been my mantra so there’s certainly never been a relaxing of standards in my yard. Jasp works fine on his own so he’s going to have the summer to rest and then I’ll be down to one dog for the first time since I came over here.

 

 

 

Word seems to have got around where I work that I am a keen hunter, and quietly and surreptitiously, I’ve had colleagues come up to me declaring that they are hunters too. Three years I’ve been in this job, and I had no idea I worked with so many hunting folk! Most are shooters to be honest, which, although I have an interest in it, it ain’t my thing. When we’ve spoken about hunting, they have all shown a real interest in seeing a fast dog behind a hare or a fox, and I’ve told them that if they supply the land, I’ll supply the dog! And almost overnight, I’ve just gained more land than I know what to do with. One of the lads who occasionally works in our office is keen to get out and see what a lurcher can do, so he’s invited me up to his property in a few weeks time. I can’t imagine we’ll get round it all though as he owns 92,000 acres! I am pretty sure I didn’t hear him incorrectly either. I can’t even imagine having permission that size, so it’s going to be a real eye opener just driving around it. I’ve been briefed on what I can and can’t take, with the former list being a lot bigger than then latter. Pigs seem to be a universal problem over here and if you speak to anyone with a decent sized parcel of land, they will talk of them in disparaging tones. There are regular news reports on TV of the problem they are causing just north of where I am, and certain councils are desperate for hunters to come in and lend a hand in the ever-present culls. Whenever I see these news items, I can’t help but smile as it’s a world away from the news coverage we received in most sections of the media when the ban was going through a few years ago. Hunting (and I include fishing) is huge here; absolutely massive. If we just look at pig hunting in isolation, there are four different full colour, glossy, quarterly magazines dedicated to it. There’s a plethora of shooting magazines, and also species specific ones, as well as God knows how many fishing mags and also the bow-hunting ones too. Clearly pigs are a huge problem in certain areas, and we are going to see if we can do a bit to alleviate the problem in our own little way. I have no idea how Jasp will go, as he’s only seen a few of them, but he’s a big strong dog and despite my occasional reservations, he clearly does have a brain in that pointy head of his. He’ll be wearing his cut-collars so he’ll have some semblance of protection, but the rest is up to him. Providing he survives (and there’s no guarantee of that), he’s in a win-win situation, as I won’t judge him on pigs. I’ve hunted them before and I think my first ever article in EDRD was actually about hunting them with Ian Colley, but I wouldn’t class myself as a pig hunter as faster game is my quarry. If I ever was to get serious about pigs, I would get a dog for the job.

 

 

I may have mentioned one of my neighbours before, as he is, or was, a professional trapper. He’s another who’s fascinated with fast dogs and is keen to see them behind their intended prey. In exchange for a few nights of me showing him the ropes with a lurcher and a lamp, he’s going to take me out on the pigs locally. So well respected is he that he’s just been offered the chance of becoming the regional representative of the national pig hunters association which means instant access to many huge properties. He’s just come back from a trip up north where one of his mates lost a good dog to an angry 70kg pig that wasn’t about to go quietly. To add insult to injury (for injury read death), they didn’t get the pig either. It confirms a seemingly widely held view that it’s not the massive pigs that do the damage, but the mid-range buggers that cause all the problems. I’m not experienced enough to have an opinion on this, but men whose opinion I value have told me this, and I have no reason to doubt them. Maybe these pigs are more mobile and have the capacity to inflict more damage? It just goes to show you though; you can lose dogs to pigs, even experienced dogs. I just hope Jasp can keep himself out of harm’s way. We’ll find out soon enough anyway.

 

So, as I mentioned earlier, Sunday found me wading through the swamp again, which only confirmed to my wife that I have definitely got a screw loose. No sooner had I got off the main road than I heard the thud of a helicopter approaching and it was apparent by the volume that the bugger was coming in low. Straining my eyes to the leaden skies, I saw the red chopper slowly move into a gap in the tree canopy. Red meant one thing; Police. Now I was doing nothing wrong, and I was walking in a place that I had every right to be, but I’ll be damned that I still felt guilty! Even though I was walking my dogs in all innocence, I was still aware that it might look like I was up to no good, especially considering all the sane people were firmly ensconced indoors reveling in the sanctity of their warm, dry homes. Despite my old army trousers and my “digging green” Earth Dog Running Dog hoody, I was highly visible due to my brand new, bright red baseball hat. The landscape was literally a brown sea punctuated with silver trunked gum trees, so I stood out like a sore thumb. Either this chopper was looking for me, or they were playing silly buggers, so I decided to stand my ground and so began a staring competition. I have no idea if the coppers were staring back at me, but I like to think they were, and the chopper got lower and lower until its blades were causing ripples in the sea of mud that I was stood in. With one hand on my hat, I instinctively crouched and winced at the sound of the engine, and after what seemed like minutes, the chopper was up and away again leaving me relieved but confused. I’ve had the coppers round my house a fair few times in the past, and every time they have been, they have left me worried. Even when I’ve done nothing wrong, I feel nervous. A guilty conscience my wife calls it. The plain fact is I just don’t enjoy their company. Most of them do a tremendous job, but I can’t relax when they are around. I would prefer to go through life never having cause to have contact with them. Not sure if that’s going to happen though as two of my cousins are about to join the force. I remember one of my mates joined up in the early nineties and it totally changed him. He became the big “I am” when he was down the pub, safe in the knowledge that he could act the prick because if anyone punched him, they’d be up for assaulting plod. You can stick that attitude up your arse. Anyway, I cut the walk short as my mood had been soured by the flying coppers, and the going was pretty rough too. The cold flood waters were rushing off the creek and the swamp making progress dangerous and slow, so I turned for home. As I got to the road, I could hear the faint noise of the chopper still, but it was a way off and seemingly over my house! I needn’t have worried though as the closer I got to my road, it was apparent that the helicopter was some ways off in the distance. One of neighbours (another pig hunter) was under the bonnet of an old Ford Telstar, oblivious to the rain, tinkering away for all he was worth. He emerged from underneath the discoloured, once-white bonnet and nodded. Pointing with a spanner, he said “looking for stranded stock” and I nodded sagely. Of course they were! Shit, why hadn’t I thought of that? It was the most obvious thing in the world as most of the local farmers had either brought their cattle in, or moved them to shielings on the higher ground. I heaved a sigh of relief which was tempered by my own feelings of stupidity as I hurried past the soaking mechanic and away into my garage to dry the dogs off. Idiot.

 

 

One of the things that I love and hate in equal measure is Jasper’s guarding instinct. I have no idea where it comes from, but he is insanely protective of both my daughter and my wife and he doesn’t like anyone getting too close. If you introduce him to someone, he’s fine. He’ll keep an eye on them, but he’ll back off. It gives my wife a sense of security to have him outside the front door when I am away, which happens very frequently. Now you and I both know, guard dogs can be dealt with easily by a determined assailant, even purpose bred guard dogs and not mongrel bred lurchers masquerading as one. Casual cat-burglars are another story though and we’ve had a spate of break-ins in our village recently. I disturbed a couple of blokes ransacking my neighbour’s house a few months ago, and Jasper went absolutely mental which acted as much more of deterrent than I did. Luckily the little b*****ds got away with nothing, but it didn’t do much to make Mrs. Christian sleep well at nights. The little scrotes were back a few weeks later though and burgled my Ford Telstar owning neighbours place. It had to be someone local as there’s only one road in and the same road out of our village, so we get no passing traffic. We back on to forest though so it’s an easy get away for a determined thief. A good example of Jasper’s instinct was when we recently got a new sofa delivered. Jasper was lounging in his pit (a hole he has dug for himself underneath a peach tree in which he sleeps) when the delivery man entered our yard with my wife. He was introduced to Jasper who watched him quietly from a short distance, and all was going well until the delivery man put his hand on my wife. I am sure it was an innocent gesture with no malice intended, but Jasper saw this and must have thought “I bloody knew it!” so the long and short of it was that Jasper went for him. No serious damage was done, and the delivery man left safe in the knowledge that it wouldn’t be a good idea to touch my wife again with Jasper around. My wife was outwardly shocked, but secretly I think she was immensely pleased and proud of her dog. He’s got a lovely nature with our daughter, who we’ve caught pulling the hairs on his dick on a number of occasions, with only a wince emanating from the daft sod! He’s a part of our family and we love him for it.

One of that things that drives me mad about where we live, is that we get kangaroos on our front lawn most nights. This drives the dogs mental and Jasper has got a deep, booming bark which wakes us up every time. I could hear him barking last night over the sound of my shower as I got ready to go to bed. My wife and daughter were already in bed and I didn’t want him waking them up, so I jumped out of the shower and ran to the front door. Dripping wet and in the process of wrapping a towel around my waist, I flung open the door and bellowed “Jasper you c**t, if you don’t shut your f*****g mouth I will come down there and cut your f*****g throat.”

 

It was at this point that I noticed the police officer walking up the stairs at the side of the house.

“Oh, evening officer” I muttered rather nervously, staring at my feet and making sure the towel around my waist covered all it needed to. My natural sense of guilt was now heightened as I’m just proclaimed to the entire neighbourhood my intent to murder my own dog.

“G’day mate, sorry to bother you so late……..I’m after a Mr. Hanson”

 

As soon as he mentioned my recently burgled neighbour, I once again breathed a sigh of relief and I directed him next door laughing nervously in an effort to persuade him that I was actually a jolly nice bloke who didn’t really go around attempting to kill dogs for barking at coppers. He must have seen this a hundred times though as he just said thanks and off he went, leaving me too hyped up and frankly embarrassed to go to bed. Not the first time I’ve put my foot in it, and probably won’t be the last. Coppers….they bring out the worst in me!

 

So I’ll finish this article pretty much as I started it, with thanks to Van for 8 years of graft. Her era has come to an end and it’s now Jasper’s time to shine. We’ll be moving to the hills next year, away from this God-forsaken swamp, and Van will be moving into the house to take her rightful place at my daughter’s side. She’s already a favourite with her, and she’s completely house trained (more than my daughter is anyway!) so she can live the high life for her remaining years. The old girl has done me proud and I will be forever grateful for that. Here’s to growing old on a sofa with bows in her hair! Thanks old girl.

 

[inan 841]

Today is Jasper’s third birthday and it well and truly marks the end of the season for us. If the truth be known, the season finished a few weeks back, but a recent cold snap (temperatures have been as low as 19 degrees) has seen me back out for a few last runs in the forest. The freezer is physically incapable of taking any more meat, much to my wife’s consternation when she’s trying to find space for our daughter’s food that she makes up in batches. It won’t see us through the summer, but it’ll go some way in helping us make it through to the cool weather again. I’ll be out on the deer with the rifles soon enough anyway so I’ll have the opportunity to top up any depleted levels then. The temperatures are still cool enough to run the dogs (21 degrees yesterday, 23 today), but what has well and truly put the lid on it, is the rain. Last week we had 83mm in an hour, and it has not stopped since. The 250mm we got yesterday caused all sorts of problems in our area with villages being isolated, roads being cut and people being rescued. Thankfully we got away with just being flooded in our house, which didn’t really cause too much damage. Being absolutely saturated, the ground could only hold so much before it all came flooding through. It’ll dry, and it’s not the first time it’s happened and I doubt it will be the last. I ventured over the forest on Sunday afternoon and the water levels were up to my mid-thigh then, so I’d imagine it’s much worse by now. The dogs loved it of course, but I can’t say I share their enthusiasm.

 

 

So despite the still cool weather, we’ve had an enforced halt to the season. Mother Nature has had the final say on things and called time on me trying to squeeze an extra few days running in. And so with a degree of finality, I can hang my lamp up for the next few months and ruminate on how things have gone. Time seems to have flown by and I think the thing that has exacerbated this feeling of speed is the fact that Jasp started his working life at a fairly young age. I keep thinking that he’s had three seasons under his belt, but he can’t have. He pulled his first at 9 months, which was a mistake on my part, and he’s never really looked back since. I’ve talked at length about his attributes many times over, so I won’t bore you all by going on about them again. One thing is certain though and that’s as Jasper stock is waxing, that of his mother is most definitely on the wane. So as one career blossoms, the other comes to a timely and well deserved end.

 

The old girl has served me well over the years and despite the fact that we both hail from a small town in County Durham; we’ve come a long way together over the years, both in terms of geography and also experience. The scruffy, lanky little pup that I picked up at 16 weeks old grew into a confident, enthusiastic hunter who loved nothing more than to be working in the field with me. She’s shared kennel space with a few of my dogs over the years and she built up some decent relationships with them. She’s worked well with Kesh, the Staffordshire Bull Terrier, and also with Meg, the Wheaten cross, but perhaps she had the best relationship with Nell. They were best mates and seemed to know what the other was doing instinctively. Totally different dogs in both personality and looks, but they complemented each other so well. Out of the old guard, she’s the only one left now. The only living reminder I have of the old days. Kesh, Nell, Billy, and Meg have all come and gone in her time and she’s been the equal of any of those dogs in my eyes. That is the past though, and despite my tendency of dwelling on it, things have to move on. Van’s best days are behind her now and injury has added impetus to the conclusion that, if you are lucky, is traditionally delivered by age. I’ve retired dogs before, only to bring them out again when logistics have compelled me to, but I’m no longer a pest controller these days. I hunt for the pot more than anything now and there’s no pressure on me for results. That’s not to say that I view my dogs in a different light. Run them like you’re starving has always been my mantra so there’s certainly never been a relaxing of standards in my yard. Jasp works fine on his own so he’s going to have the summer to rest and then I’ll be down to one dog for the first time since I came over here.

 

 

 

Word seems to have got around where I work that I am a keen hunter, and quietly and surreptitiously, I’ve had colleagues come up to me declaring that they are hunters too. Three years I’ve been in this job, and I had no idea I worked with so many hunting folk! Most are shooters to be honest, which, although I have an interest in it, it ain’t my thing. When we’ve spoken about hunting, they have all shown a real interest in seeing a fast dog behind a hare or a fox, and I’ve told them that if they supply the land, I’ll supply the dog! And almost overnight, I’ve just gained more land than I know what to do with. One of the lads who occasionally works in our office is keen to get out and see what a lurcher can do, so he’s invited me up to his property in a few weeks time. I can’t imagine we’ll get round it all though as he owns 92,000 acres! I am pretty sure I didn’t hear him incorrectly either. I can’t even imagine having permission that size, so it’s going to be a real eye opener just driving around it. I’ve been briefed on what I can and can’t take, with the former list being a lot bigger than then latter. Pigs seem to be a universal problem over here and if you speak to anyone with a decent sized parcel of land, they will talk of them in disparaging tones. There are regular news reports on TV of the problem they are causing just north of where I am, and certain councils are desperate for hunters to come in and lend a hand in the ever-present culls. Whenever I see these news items, I can’t help but smile as it’s a world away from the news coverage we received in most sections of the media when the ban was going through a few years ago. Hunting (and I include fishing) is huge here; absolutely massive. If we just look at pig hunting in isolation, there are four different full colour, glossy, quarterly magazines dedicated to it. There’s a plethora of shooting magazines, and also species specific ones, as well as God knows how many fishing mags and also the bow-hunting ones too. Clearly pigs are a huge problem in certain areas, and we are going to see if we can do a bit to alleviate the problem in our own little way. I have no idea how Jasp will go, as he’s only seen a few of them, but he’s a big strong dog and despite my occasional reservations, he clearly does have a brain in that pointy head of his. He’ll be wearing his cut-collars so he’ll have some semblance of protection, but the rest is up to him. Providing he survives (and there’s no guarantee of that), he’s in a win-win situation, as I won’t judge him on pigs. I’ve hunted them before and I think my first ever article in EDRD was actually about hunting them with Ian Colley, but I wouldn’t class myself as a pig hunter as faster game is my quarry. If I ever was to get serious about pigs, I would get a dog for the job.

 

 

I may have mentioned one of my neighbours before, as he is, or was, a professional trapper. He’s another who’s fascinated with fast dogs and is keen to see them behind their intended prey. In exchange for a few nights of me showing him the ropes with a lurcher and a lamp, he’s going to take me out on the pigs locally. So well respected is he that he’s just been offered the chance of becoming the regional representative of the national pig hunters association which means instant access to many huge properties. He’s just come back from a trip up north where one of his mates lost a good dog to an angry 70kg pig that wasn’t about to go quietly. To add insult to injury (for injury read death), they didn’t get the pig either. It confirms a seemingly widely held view that it’s not the massive pigs that do the damage, but the mid-range buggers that cause all the problems. I’m not experienced enough to have an opinion on this, but men whose opinion I value have told me this, and I have no reason to doubt them. Maybe these pigs are more mobile and have the capacity to inflict more damage? It just goes to show you though; you can lose dogs to pigs, even experienced dogs. I just hope Jasp can keep himself out of harm’s way. We’ll find out soon enough anyway.

 

So, as I mentioned earlier, Sunday found me wading through the swamp again, which only confirmed to my wife that I have definitely got a screw loose. No sooner had I got off the main road than I heard the thud of a helicopter approaching and it was apparent by the volume that the bugger was coming in low. Straining my eyes to the leaden skies, I saw the red chopper slowly move into a gap in the tree canopy. Red meant one thing; Police. Now I was doing nothing wrong, and I was walking in a place that I had every right to be, but I’ll be damned that I still felt guilty! Even though I was walking my dogs in all innocence, I was still aware that it might look like I was up to no good, especially considering all the sane people were firmly ensconced indoors reveling in the sanctity of their warm, dry homes. Despite my old army trousers and my “digging green” Earth Dog Running Dog hoody, I was highly visible due to my brand new, bright red baseball hat. The landscape was literally a brown sea punctuated with silver trunked gum trees, so I stood out like a sore thumb. Either this chopper was looking for me, or they were playing silly buggers, so I decided to stand my ground and so began a staring competition. I have no idea if the coppers were staring back at me, but I like to think they were, and the chopper got lower and lower until its blades were causing ripples in the sea of mud that I was stood in. With one hand on my hat, I instinctively crouched and winced at the sound of the engine, and after what seemed like minutes, the chopper was up and away again leaving me relieved but confused. I’ve had the coppers round my house a fair few times in the past, and every time they have been, they have left me worried. Even when I’ve done nothing wrong, I feel nervous. A guilty conscience my wife calls it. The plain fact is I just don’t enjoy their company. Most of them do a tremendous job, but I can’t relax when they are around. I would prefer to go through life never having cause to have contact with them. Not sure if that’s going to happen though as two of my cousins are about to join the force. I remember one of my mates joined up in the early nineties and it totally changed him. He became the big “I am” when he was down the pub, safe in the knowledge that he could act the prick because if anyone punched him, they’d be up for assaulting plod. You can stick that attitude up your arse. Anyway, I cut the walk short as my mood had been soured by the flying coppers, and the going was pretty rough too. The cold flood waters were rushing off the creek and the swamp making progress dangerous and slow, so I turned for home. As I got to the road, I could hear the faint noise of the chopper still, but it was a way off and seemingly over my house! I needn’t have worried though as the closer I got to my road, it was apparent that the helicopter was some ways off in the distance. One of neighbours (another pig hunter) was under the bonnet of an old Ford Telstar, oblivious to the rain, tinkering away for all he was worth. He emerged from underneath the discoloured, once-white bonnet and nodded. Pointing with a spanner, he said “looking for stranded stock” and I nodded sagely. Of course they were! Shit, why hadn’t I thought of that? It was the most obvious thing in the world as most of the local farmers had either brought their cattle in, or moved them to shielings on the higher ground. I heaved a sigh of relief which was tempered by my own feelings of stupidity as I hurried past the soaking mechanic and away into my garage to dry the dogs off. Idiot.

 

 

One of the things that I love and hate in equal measure is Jasper’s guarding instinct. I have no idea where it comes from, but he is insanely protective of both my daughter and my wife and he doesn’t like anyone getting too close. If you introduce him to someone, he’s fine. He’ll keep an eye on them, but he’ll back off. It gives my wife a sense of security to have him outside the front door when I am away, which happens very frequently. Now you and I both know, guard dogs can be dealt with easily by a determined assailant, even purpose bred guard dogs and not mongrel bred lurchers masquerading as one. Casual cat-burglars are another story though and we’ve had a spate of break-ins in our village recently. I disturbed a couple of blokes ransacking my neighbour’s house a few months ago, and Jasper went absolutely mental which acted as much more of deterrent than I did. Luckily the little b*****ds got away with nothing, but it didn’t do much to make Mrs. Christian sleep well at nights. The little scrotes were back a few weeks later though and burgled my Ford Telstar owning neighbours place. It had to be someone local as there’s only one road in and the same road out of our village, so we get no passing traffic. We back on to forest though so it’s an easy get away for a determined thief. A good example of Jasper’s instinct was when we recently got a new sofa delivered. Jasper was lounging in his pit (a hole he has dug for himself underneath a peach tree in which he sleeps) when the delivery man entered our yard with my wife. He was introduced to Jasper who watched him quietly from a short distance, and all was going well until the delivery man put his hand on my wife. I am sure it was an innocent gesture with no malice intended, but Jasper saw this and must have thought “I bloody knew it!” so the long and short of it was that Jasper went for him. No serious damage was done, and the delivery man left safe in the knowledge that it wouldn’t be a good idea to touch my wife again with Jasper around. My wife was outwardly shocked, but secretly I think she was immensely pleased and proud of her dog. He’s got a lovely nature with our daughter, who we’ve caught pulling the hairs on his dick on a number of occasions, with only a wince emanating from the daft sod! He’s a part of our family and we love him for it.

One of that things that drives me mad about where we live, is that we get kangaroos on our front lawn most nights. This drives the dogs mental and Jasper has got a deep, booming bark which wakes us up every time. I could hear him barking last night over the sound of my shower as I got ready to go to bed. My wife and daughter were already in bed and I didn’t want him waking them up, so I jumped out of the shower and ran to the front door. Dripping wet and in the process of wrapping a towel around my waist, I flung open the door and bellowed “Jasper you c**t, if you don’t shut your f*****g mouth I will come down there and cut your f*****g throat.”

 

It was at this point that I noticed the police officer walking up the stairs at the side of the house.

“Oh, evening officer” I muttered rather nervously, staring at my feet and making sure the towel around my waist covered all it needed to. My natural sense of guilt was now heightened as I’m just proclaimed to the entire neighbourhood my intent to murder my own dog.

“G’day mate, sorry to bother you so late……..I’m after a Mr. Hanson”

 

As soon as he mentioned my recently burgled neighbour, I once again breathed a sigh of relief and I directed him next door laughing nervously in an effort to persuade him that I was actually a jolly nice bloke who didn’t really go around attempting to kill dogs for barking at coppers. He must have seen this a hundred times though as he just said thanks and off he went, leaving me too hyped up and frankly embarrassed to go to bed. Not the first time I’ve put my foot in it, and probably won’t be the last. Coppers….they bring out the worst in me!

 

So I’ll finish this article pretty much as I started it, with thanks to Van for 8 years of graft. Her era has come to an end and it’s now Jasper’s time to shine. We’ll be moving to the hills next year, away from this God-forsaken swamp, and Van will be moving into the house to take her rightful place at my daughter’s side. She’s already a favourite with her, and she’s completely house trained (more than my daughter is anyway!) so she can live the high life for her remaining years. The old girl has done me proud and I will be forever grateful for that. Here’s to growing old on a sofa with bows in her hair! Thanks old girl.

 

Great post !

[asanley 1,009]

Just as I was losing all hope with this site , an article like that comes along and shows me what this site could be capable of , well done mate , and thanks .

[birddog 1,354]

:clapper: :clapper:

[Malt 379]

Enjoyed that read Stabs, thanks for sharing!

[Born Hunter 17,751]

Really enjoyed reading that. Not very often I have the patience to read a long post but that one had me hooked.

[Simoman 110]

Top draw as usual, seen those photos somewhere before

[South hams hunter 8,921]

Great read

[rob190364 2,594]

great read

[iceman001979 1,316]

What a smashing write up

[skycat 6,173]

Brilliant! When's the book out????

[DeniseBrophy 42]

great post and pics

[dytkos 17,783]

Great post!

 

P.S. Did anyone ever tell you what a lucky b*****d you are?

 

Cheers, D.

[Sirius 1,391]

Good read Stabs, think I have read it somewhere before?

[mick c 411]

unusual for this site to have such a good read . you seem to have a great life out there