Doggy memories

Watching the ‘Collie Walk’ video in my previous post brought to mind a couple of memories.

I first started work in a village where everyone knew everyone else. Most of the families had been living there for generations. The vicar, a charming ex-Naval padre, was closely associated with the school. He often talked to me, bringing me up to speed on the family circumstances of the pupils. His turn of phrase was frequently colourful, evidence of his service life.  He was proud of his son who had had much to do with designing hovercraft.

The headmistress, Joan, was a pleasant, amusing woman who had lived in the village for many years. She had been the inspiration for one of John Betjeman’s ‘young women’. Her husband lectured at the nearby college in Shrivenham where my soon-to-be husband was studying. They had a collie with a strong herding instinct and it was not unknown for the dog to herd the children along the road into school. This dog also attended church, remaining quiet throughout the service until the time came for the vicar’s sermon. The dog would then walk out of the church, no doubt watched ruefully by some of the congregation.

At that time, dogs at Shrivenham were commonly allowed to attend lectures with their masters (there were only male military students then) Our yellow Labrador, Whisky, lived with Barry and accompanied him everywhere. Consequently, she was a very well-educated dog in all aspects of life, appreciating beer and bar snacks, and swift and neat at helping herself to tempting morsels in people’s hands – or shopping baskets. She liked hedgerow fruits, too, sucking blackberries off the thorny brambles. During lectures, Whisky was quiet and unobtrusive most of the time but there were occasions when she sensed that the young officers around her, all fit and healthy and fidgeting to do something physical, were bored. She would then produce a loud drawn-out yawn and wander to the front of the room to sit next to the lecturer and look at him. This caused much mirth among the students and broke the tedium, at least momentarily.  

Whisky came to school with me on a few occasions when Barry was away and was a great favourite with the children. Though she was a large dog she nonetheless considered herself a lap dog and would clamber up so that when the children looked up from their work they would see her gravely observing them rather than me. She enjoyed joining in their games, too, and was instrumental in teaching at least one child to overcome a fear of dogs.

You can read more about Whisky here.

Every dog has an individual personality and a lifetime of living with dogs bequeaths a wealth of memories.

I'm linking to Camera Critters, Pet Pride and Shadow Shot Sunday.

The Dog Days of My Life: #1 - Bob the Collie

The first dog I remember was a handsome black and white Collie called Bob. As far as I recall he came into our family and my life when I was about three years old. I'm sure he arrived as a fully-grown dog for I have no recollections of a puppy in the house.

Bob was a member of the family from the start and my father used to lay a place at the table for him, complete with cutlery and a chair to sit on. I don't think he actually ate from the table; I think the exercise was meant as an entertainment for us children.

One day Bob went out of the front door and I followed him. Up the road he trotted with me close behind. At the end of our road was a junction with a main road. Bob, off the lead and having no road sense whatever, walked out into the traffic and so did I. Suddenly I was grabbed and lifted back onto the pavement – my elder sister, fifteen years older than me, had noted my disappearance from the house along with Bob's and had managed to catch up with us before either of us came to any harm. In those long-ago days there was very little traffic. Most people could not afford cars and heavy lorries and trucks were creations for the future. The cars that were being driven then were neither powerful nor fast, though equally their brakes were not as swift to act nor as reliable. I suppose that Bob and I were lucky – we surely would not have survived such an event without incident or injury in our current vehicle-laden roads.

When I was four my family moved. My father had left the Royal Navy and had no wish to spend the rest of his working life in Chatham Dockyard. He and my mother decided to buy a business and we left our large, comfortable house and moved into a small flat above the shop. Of course, Bob came with us. It was not long before he developed 'a lump' which caused him pain and soon he had travelled on to his eternal rest. As an introduction to dogdom Bob could not have been bettered. He was gentle and obedient, an example for all other dogs.

The next dog in my life belonged to my sister, of which more anon.