Steve McQueen

So there I was, on a usually quiet Sunday afternoon in the garden, when I realise that the dogs are unusually quite. So I stick my head around the side of the shed, and, much to my suprise, see two of the chickens (The Burfords - A cotswold rare breed) outside the coup, merrily nibbling away at the grass. "That's funny how did they get out"? I ponder, a quick walk around one side of the pen doesn't highlight anything untoward. The Buff Orpingtons are there, merrily scratching over yesterday's grass clippings, alongside "the Assylum Seekers"(ex battery hens, that we rescued last year), so I decide to look around the other side of the coup, which runs alongside a conifer hedge.

Unfortunately, as is often the case this time of year in the countryside, Mr. Rat and his family have moved into the vicinity, and there under the hedge was the answer. The back end of one of the Jack Russell Terrorists was just about visible about four foot underground, in a newly dug tunnel, behind which was a hole under the fence, big enough for Orson Wells to limbo under! Steve McQueen and his comrades would have been proud of such a tunnel.

So I drag the culprit out, who is far more interested in the scent of a certain long tailed rodent, and proceed to fill the hole with rubble, soil and then fox proof the run, again.

But how could I be cross with such a funny looking dog? Clearly in her element, I don't think she'd had such fun in ages. A picture paints, (or pants?), a thousand words.

I had the last laugh when the dog shampoo came out, as I popped her into the Belfast sink. "Thank heavens I haven't got a Great Dane", I think, as she does a great mid-air doggie paddle impression, before landing in "her bath". Only another two to do, before the dog shampoo gets put away!