My dog is a very physically sensitive girl, and she hates to have anything beating down on her ears like heavy rain, snow, hail ... you get the picture.

Last year we - that's my other half, myself and our girl - were out walking in the New Forest and it started to hail very heavily. We were relatively close to the car, a few hundred yards perhaps, and so started to run for shelter inside it. Other half and Banya made it to the car before me - and then my girl did something which gave me a lump in my throat.

In spite of her hatred of her sensitive ears being hailed on, she turned from the "safety" of the car and ran back through the small wood, onto the open plain, towards me to make sure I was still coming and that we were all together. It was hailing very heavily as she came towards me, ears flat back against her head, every inch of her body showing her extreme dislike of being in that situation, yet her instinct or whatever you want to call it caused her to come back for me and escort me back to the car. She came right back to me and we ran together to the car. I felt very humbled by what she did - by the simple fact that she had a choice and could have so easily chosen to stay in relative comfort as she could hear me coming anyway.

I guess in a way, you had to be there - but it's something I'll not forget in my life with dogs.

Choosing Kip

I was so excited. After years without a dog, we were finally in a position to have one again and we had agreed we would get a rescue.

Off we trot to the rescue centre where my excitement turns to sadness. So many unwanted dogs, all looking up at us with expectant eyes. My own eyes fill with tears. What’s the matter says my husband Andy, you should be happy, we’ll be rescuing one of these. Yes, I say, but only one….what will happen to all the rest?

Round and round we go, trying to decide. In the end, we narrow it down to two – a mongrel with the cutest face and a border collie. I want to meet both, but the rescue say they are too busy, only time for one – we must choose.

I am torn, but Andy is adamant that it should be the border collie, so they bring him out to us. He is the shyest, meekest dog we have ever met - clearly happy to see us, but at the same time too frightened to get close. Then he picks up a ball lying in the exercise yard carries it towards us and stops, about 5 feet away. He puts the ball on the ground and with his nose, pushes it towards us, then looks at us, hopefully. My heart melts and in that instance I have no doubt that this is the dog for us.

We take him home the following week and name him Kip.

Kip was taken in to the shelter as a stray and as we get to know him I start being riddled with guilt. There is no way such a sweet dog could have been abandoned – he must somehow have got lost. Feeling sick at the thought of finding something, but knowing I have to check that there isn’t a desperate owner out there looking for him, I start trawling the internet’s lost dog sites. But, much to my amazement (and selfish relief), I find nothing.

I will never ever understand how he came to be in the shelter or why his previous owners didn’t go searching for him, but every day I am so thankful for our luck in being the ones that get to share our lives with such a wonderful companion.

As all stories should start:

Once upon a time....... I was a baby. Yes, I have trouble believing it, too! Anyway, we lived on the bank of a rather dirty river in Midlothian, Scotland, and it was during the nastiest winter anyone could remember - searingly cold and with mountains of snow.

One night, the lady who lived downriver from us heard a strange noise coming from near the water (most of which was frozen), but the weather was so bad that she couldn't go out to investigate. The noise went on for most of the night.

The next day was better, so she put on her coat and wellies and set off to investigate. There, on the bank of the river, was a very small Border Collie puppy. Someone had thrown it into the water with a brick tied to its neck, and the brick was now frozen to the bank.

The lady had a penknife with her, and cut the puppy free. She took the little mite home in her pocket (it was too cold even to shiver). He spent the rest of the day in a box by her fire, and she fed him, dried him and cleaned him, but she realised that she couldn't keep him.

In those days, lost dogs were taken to the police, and, if not claimed in seven days, they would be shot. On the pup's seventh day in the custody of the constabulary, my Dad was in the Police station reporting as witness to an accident. He was well-known to the police, because he used to do adult education courses for them.

Conversationally, the Sergeant asked my Dad if he wanted a dog ("that pup which was found downriver from your house"). Dad was thunderstruck. He didn't like dogs very much. "I can't have a dog! I've got a six-month-old baby at home!" (Yep, that was me ).

"A pity," says the sergeant. "We're going to shoot it this afternoon." Maybe my Dad didn't like dogs all that much, but he didn't want one to be shot, if at all possible. "I'll ask the wife!" he said, without a lot of conviction,

He went home and related these events to my mother, who reacted along the lines of "Are you out of your mind? A dog? Have you forgotten that we've got a baby?" Then she made her "big mistake", and said "I don't suppose there's any harm in having a look!"

The police sergeant emptied a cardboard box and out tumbled a little ball of black-and-white fluff. The fluffball grew up to be the best friend I could have had - where I went, he went, and vice versa. My constant friend, companion, protector and comforter for 19 years........

Sam has taught me much more than I will ever be able to teach him.

I have taught him to give me a paw, to sit, to stay, to come and to go down. I have taught him to go to the toilet outside.

Whereas...

He has taught me loyalty by example because he will never give up on me when I often give up on him.

He has taught me to be brave and to face up to the people who get angry because of his behaviour.

He has taught me responsibility when I must take him out even if I don't want to.

He has taught me how to be a good nurse when he is sick and in pain.

He has taught me selflessness when I must put his needs before my own.

He has taught me patience when his neck does not get better as quickly as I would like.

He has given me a lot of laughter and joy and heartache and tears and I hope that he continues to do so for many years to come. As that's what love is all about and I hope that he knows that he has mine even if it is not as strong and pure as his.


I love you Sam. My lovely boy.

Rjj

Where do I start ?

I have had a dog of my own continuously since 1958 until 16th September 2004 when my special boy, Brett, had to be PTS

I still had Joedee & Loukar my two cavaliers, but they are jointly owned. I felt that my world had come to an end, I had lost my job because I was ill & I sank into a deep deep depression that not even my two "beasty boys"could get me out of, in 18 months I had lost three dogs & I had lost two of them in 10 weeks.

I was at the time building a website for a Border Collie expert & he was having to defend the fact that he had mated his bitch to a"suspected"CEA carrier. He was receiving some terrible abuse(not outright condemnation but reading between the lines it was there)on the net & worst still in person, it made me very very angry

The supposed CEA carrier is in fact genetically clear & not father of the puppy with CEA. None of those who had been so horrible to him apologised & we got into a series of E mails that resulted in me booking a puppy from his next litter.

Tragedy stuck the litter & from 9 puppies only three survived so there was no puppy for me.

However a little while later he bred one of his bitches to his trialling dog(the result of years of planning)& I was to have one of the two dogs, I had the choice as he was planning on keeping a bitch. So which to choose a black & white or a tri ? No contest I love black & white Border Collies so the choice was simple.

As the breeder lives in Cornwall & I live just a few miles away(like over 400)he was to bring him to me on his way to the Orkneys for a week of Obedience shows. I had to choose a name as by the time he arrived he would be 13 weeks old.

I've always wanted a dog called Roy from when I read a story as a child about a courageous Border Collie called Roy. As his breeder is called Roy & his father is called Roy his call name is Roy, but on an obedience E mail group he was known as Roy Junior Junior or Rjj(pronounced Rjeez)

From the first day he was solely my dog he has eyes only for me in the human world, but he does have a weakness for Blue Great Danes & GSDs & Cavaliers

He is a very clever dog & at times very very flustrating as I know he could do well in Obedience but he just doesn't take it seriously & if there is an audience he acts the goat !!

However he is also a very sensitive dog & is very tuned into me. When my Dad died he sat with his head on my knees all night & was by my side 24/7. I often fall & he now comes & stands by me to help me up. If I am low he will bring me a series of toys, shoes, the coal shovel & anything else he can carry.

When I got my two kittens Jack & Reg he had never seen a cat or kitten before & thought they were puppies & when they hissed at him he hid in his crate-a big wuss. After less than a week he has realised that they are not dangerous balls of fluff but little mates who lead him & merry dance

I never thought when my Brett died I would ever feel so close to another BC, but my funny Cornish clown is now the latest in a long line of dogs that have stolen my heart & he is my soulmate

Maybe this explains my user name!




This photo was taken just a couple of months before Nippy died. The only one I have taken with a digital camera, that I can use on line.

Winter Dreams

Summertimes here
Time for a rest
Having worked hard all winter
And given me your best
You can warm those old bones
As you laze in the sun
And dream of the days
When we were out with the gun
Partridge and pheasant
You would retrieved politely to hand
Then sit by my side
Watching where the next bird would land
Casting for scent
I'd stand there and watch
Reach for my hip flask
For a wee sip of scotch
Decoying pigeons
Sat in a hide
Chatting away
To my friend by my side
I know that he listens
To the words that i say
And i know that he loves me
At the end of the day
When he's laid in his bed
He would whimper and whine
And I'd guess that his dreams
Were the same dreams as mine

“For the love of God, why don’t you get rid of him?” The disbelief in Ian’s voice was evident, as was the implication that the dog was little more than an irksome obstacle. “Nothing but a liability!”

Steve’s eyes narrowed dangerously. His brother was trying to persuade him to take the family out to visit him in Majorca. The outburst was because Steve had insisted that they couldn’t leave the dog in kennels because he hadn’t been vaccinated. And he hadn’t been vaccinated because of the seizures.

Poor Loki.

Ian was still ranting and Steve felt his anger building as Ian began to list examples of Loki’s undesirable traits – the fighting, the jumping up, the chewed-up belongings, the seizures …

The seizures had come as a shock to Steve and Linda. To witness their powerful, feisty dog reduced to a twitching, contorted heap on the floor had horrified them. The post-ictal phase had been strangely more difficult. Loki would pace around compulsively, blind for a time, stumbling into things. He’d appear to have forgotten all commands and would be a nightmare to deal with for days.

Steve glanced across at Loki, where he was determinedly trying to plant his 68-pound frame on Linda’s lap, his expression playful. Hairy idiot!

Steve remembered Linda’s frantic research into causes of seizures and natural treatments and he remembered all the tests. After the results of an MRI scan and spinal tap were normal, Loki’s condition had been put down to idiopathic epilepsy. No known cause. And after he’d suffered a massive cluster of fits – 13 in an hour - they’d faced the chilling reality that they could lose him. They’d been forced to admit that the herbal route hadn’t worked and agreed to drug treatment.

It became a way of life – the fits, the dull, un-seeing eyes and the terror of losing him followed by that magical moment when life returned to his eyes. The relief. Then the aftermath.

“You can’t even take a holiday!”

Steve raised an eyebrow at his brother’s assertion. Their last holiday had been to Wales, a few weeks after the traumatic birth of their baby girl. Steve had just returned to work after paternity leave, still reeling but walking slightly taller and feeling proud. Linda was recovering and Loki had been fit-free for a month and they had a holiday booked for a week’s time. But life sucked sometimes and Loki had been stricken by seizures on Steve’s first day back at work, so Linda had been forced to deal with him largely by herself.

Again, they’d discussed whether he’d have to be put to sleep, a gut-wrenching decision neither wanted to make.

On day one of their holiday, Loki had been in the dreaded post-ictal phase. By God, they’d needed a break after the madness of the last few months, yet they almost hadn’t made it. The packing had been left until the last minute, Loki had been pacing and howling all day long and they’d only managed to get away by late afternoon, both of them having lost patience with the dog and each other and hating themselves for it.

Steve frowned, recalling the excited howls that had accompanied them all the way during that lousy drive to Wales.

But the holiday had been great. The cottage had stood on a completely enclosed piece of land; a huge area that had enabled Loki to charge around and play unfettered. And it had stood on the shores of a lake, a beautiful reedy stretch of water that came complete with ducks that Loki had assumed were provided for him to chase. It had been a wonderful place for Loki to recover from his seizures, even if he had managed to get himself trapped in the lake one evening. His daft, furry head sticking out from amongst the prison of lily pads had been comical.

That recollection brought back another cherished memory for Steve. He’d grabbed his wetsuit and flippers and strolled down to the lake for a swim. Propelling himself speedily past the reeds and out into deep water he’d heard frantic barking. Turning, he’d seen Loki pacing to and fro along the bank, clearly agitated. Steve had guessed that his rapidly disappearing frame and the splashing had caused the dog to think he was in trouble because suddenly Loki had launched himself into the water and was swimming towards him. But if Loki had thought to save Steve from certain catastrophe he’d miscalculated because it was he who had needed rescuing. The daft mutt had become entangled in the weeds, so Steve had raced back, hauled Loki from the reeds and dragged him to safety.

But he’d tried – Furface had tried to rescue him.

Steve loved that crazy mutt.

The crazy mutt who was lounging nonchalantly on the settee. Steve scowled. “Get your hairy backside off that chair!”

His anger now diminished, Steve knew Ian could never understand the bond.

Ian had said, ‘for the love of God’.

Steve grinned broadly as the play on words left his lips. “For the love of God? Not quite – for the love of dog actually.”

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