It's almost over....

Only another 10 days to go before it's over ...... and now the tone of the assembled company has changed. No more the wondering whether days will be long or short, good or bad (depending on size of bag and quality of Guns), or the going heavy (squaddy as they say around here) or cold: instead there's an air of excitement about and the banter on one of our 'shoots' has taken on a somewhat macho tone....... "There'll be no prisoners taken...."; "High or low, we'll get 'em....."; "We'll not stop till the last light's left the sky...." Almost-sane men are displaying signs of edginess and anticipation that borders on the fanatical! Even on the more 'restrained' shoots there's talk of who got what last year and whether they'll do better this......

"What are they talking about?" Cocking Day! That's what. The traditional end to the shooting season: The Very Last Day. A reward for the Landowners but more so for the Keeper and his friends' - the special ones who've eased his path through The Season - and the faithful beaters with a good eye, a steady hand and skill with a shotgun - a day when the Keeper can choose his Covers and shoot as many cock birds as will fly up in his path. It's a (usually long) day for the fit, fearless and hardy. But it's not only about killing. The cock birds need to be culled ('ware the Gun who shoots a hen bird on Cocking Day) in order to make way for the hardiest who will go on to breed, passing on strong genes to the next generation and ensuring that natural forage and corn are not wasted on the weak and infirm (particularly now with the latter selling at £200+ per tonne!). There'll be pigeons, jays, magpies, crows and rabbits shot too, but the focus will be on the cock-birds. But more of that anon....

Until then the BGiatW continues to work hard. We've had one or two faux pas - when the adrenalin pumps so hard it deafens him and drives all reason and training from his head - but they've been few and far between and, I suppose, just go to prove that he's a "normal" spaniel. On our last Drive yesterday whilst hunting along an ancient hawthorn hedgerow there suddenly came the most agonising screaming; I rushed the 10 yards or so to where it was coming from and found the Dog trying with all his might to pull what at first appeared to be a large hare from the depths of the brambles and thorn; the creature continued to scream harshly and, on closer inspection, I realised it was a Muncjac deer so told Gunner to 'leave' which, with some relief, he happily did. And we continued on our way.

"What was that noise?" "Was that a dog in a snare?" "What was all that about?" all the guns were asking among themselves at the end of the drive.

"My dog trapped a Muncjac" I told them nonchalently "and wouldn't let go". "No wonder he was making such a noise, is he alright?" Several of them said.

"It was the deer making the noise" I replied "not the Dog!" Well -some of them were pretty impressed with his courage and one or two of them went on to recite tales of dogs they'd known who'd been torn apart by Muncjac deer.

"My old dog got the wrong side of one of them and ended up having to have 26 stitches in her neck." said one of my colleagues. Apparently the males defend themselves with their tusks rather in the manner of Boars!

Plum, the Keeper, meanwhile - disappointed that we'd not caught it -exclaimed: " Cor gel you should've thrown yersen in there after it; I'd 've shared it with ye fer dinner!". "What? Head first into all those brambles and thorns?" I replied.

"We'd 've all helped wipe the blood off your face." he replied

Didn't I say end-of-term fever was setting in......?

The new Best Friend

Nearly two months on and Waifa's still here.... Pilot continues to be totally bemused and we continue to be completely amused. Any time before she arrived it would have been inconceivable that Pilot would put up with such antics from any other creature. Yet here he is allowing her to do almost anything (stealing his dinner is a definite No-no) and seeming to quite enjoy it. It's all very much at her instigation but that seems to be ok with him.

When she tries to cuddle up to Gunner, as she did just a few minutes ago, he gently moves away. Whether because he knows she's Pilot's Best Friend (and therefore wary of being told off by him) or because he just feels uncomfortable I can't tell. Be that as it may he has no worries about her coming out every morning, as she does, to help with the breakfast round. She gaily trots along behind me, or Gunner, depending on which of us is doing the more interesting thing and when all is done happily returns home to breakfast with us. The other day when I came up to the stables after feeding the pigs in the Church Field she and Gunner, having given up trotting around and sniffing together, were sitting beside each other by the mounting block, patiently waiting for me!

Not only does she know her way around outside but she's also sussed out where to go and what to do indoors. The litter tray was obviously something she expected to find, Pilot's favourite chairs are clearly hers if he's not in them and the spare bedrooms are available according to which one Puddy Cat has already sequestered (usually a matter of where the sun's shining in)! It took her a little while to join 'the family' in the Snug in the evening but for the past few she has overcome that little shyness and as I write has just sprung up on my lap and is playing with my fingers...... making it just a little difficult to type!!! She has a particular fondness for chewing fingers.....!....................! Now I've managed to persuade her to lie quietly beside me. Actually, quiet she is not - she purrs very loudly and 'speaks' even louder. Her purr announces her presence or her pleasure and her voice makes it quite clear what she wants. She really is a strong character. Soon she will have us all perfectly trained.......

Meanwhile, she's undergone a bit of a transformation since her arrival. She is no longer Wafer-thin and dull-coated; we've attacked the worms and the fleas and, last week, since she'd chosen to stay, took her along to our vet to be spayed.

"She was pregnant, you know" said he when he rang to report on the op. "Only 3 weeks or so but she'll probably be a little weaker than otherwise when she comes round". Well, I didn't know (but we worked out it must have been when she, heavily in season - which was what made me ring to arrange the op. in the first place - disappeared for 36 hours and we thought "That's it, shame but she's gone") and she clearly didn't care. Having been told by the veterinary nurse not to let her rush around or go outside or eat too much for 24 hours, all Waifa was interested in was jumping up to where her food was and demanding (a)more and (b) to be let out. She was not in the least amused at the restrictions placed on her. We gave her a little more food (well, we couldn't have her thinking that firstly we'd made her have a nasty thing done to her and then were not going to give her enough food - she might run away......) but prevented her from going out for 60 hours and there's been no holding her since!

"I don't think you need to worry" said Linda, an expert in matters Cat "She knows she's landed on her feet"!

I've a feeling she could be right and Pilot's Best Friend will be around for quite a while.......................................

Life goes on......

A pretty picture to start with: the sunset as Gunner and I were driving home from an excellent day's bush-beating last Saturday: quite appropriate too in the light of my last blog.....

Apart from that the theme is rain.... and mud. The snow and ice were tough going but at least all the outdoor piggies remained clean and dry throughout.

Now it's a totally different story. The picture says it all..... Personally I'd have the snow back any day!

Meanwhile, life continues. The Boss had summoned up reinforcements on Friday afternoon - it being Moving Day. There was Ginger to be weaned from her November litter and 6 Delinquent Boys to be moved from the field to the woodland pen in advance of 3 of them leaving for the Great Boar in the Sky on Monday. And it poured with rain all day! Everything went according to plan - almost. Linda got completely stuck in the mud whilst picking up a piglet and Tony had to heave her out - round the waist from behind! Which, as he gleefully remarked, could have given rise to a bit of misunderstanding had somebody been walking down the bridleway (which runs alongside the pen) at the time!!! "She's a little behind!" will now be the refrain anytime anyone asks about Linda's whereabouts.....

In fact, come to think of it, Tony's main role on Friday was getting people out of the mud 'cos he also had to tow The Boss's car and trailer out when they got stuck in the field en route to the Delinquents....... no 'rude' remarks there though! Except about Mercedes design...... Gunner and I arrived home from our day's work just as everything was completed and the chaps were on their way indoors to get warm and dry. Timing or what?

The 7 Indoor Games - as we called Ginger's litter on account of the fact that for the first few weeks of their lives it was so cold that they had to amuse themselves in their ark as Mum wouldn't let them out in the cold - are now happily esconced in the Old Stalls, relieved not to have The Big Snout tossing them out of the way every time they approach the feed bowls...... Within 24 hours they were transformed from mudballs into cute and cuddly (almost) balls of wool! They're also fairly quiet still. Give them a few more days though and they'll be just as noisy as the 10 Little B's in the barn who, I think, could mount a Decibel Challenge against the low flying Eurofighters which are a common feature of our skies.......

RIP Maxims 5/84 - 7/1/11

We sadly said "Good Bye" to Max on Friday night. At nearly 27 years of age, he finally succumbed to the effects of the arthiritis which has troubled him recently.

He was a sprightly teenager when, with his half-brother Mr Ritz, he joined our 'family' just over 11 years ago. The German Warmbloods had been carriage driving all their lives and had competed at major events in the UK and France.

When he developed his passion for carriage driving (one of the reasons for our move to Lincolnshire) the Boss purchased them as "School Masters". And they certainly fulfilled their part of the bargain! Between the pair of them they taught us all we needed to know, patiently putting up with all our whimsical mistakes and gently nudging us in the right direction, correctly interpreting (sometimes re-interpreting) our instructions so they ended up where The Boss wanted them to go in numerous marathon driving events and giving us a lot of fun throughout many years. Max was always the sensible, reliable one of the pair: not without spirit, he'd toss his head and paw the ground when he got impatient or excited but it would never occur to him to nip or barge his human companions (unlike Ritz!).

His favourite past-time was to stand at his window and gaze out across the fields or up at the night sky - just what he saw we'll never know. Even on the most freezing of cold nights, his was always the last head to be staring out and which had to be pushed gently back in so the window could be shut against the frost, rain and snow.

Whilst he was Ritz's closest companion throughout their lives, he was Rocco's Best Friend and the Leader of their herd.

Thank you Max for what you taught us all and for the joy you gave. You will be much missed.

Fruits of the hunt.....

Oh well, here we are in 2011 - it was a painless transition..... few things have changed: the weather's gone from fog to wet to freezing to snow and back to wet again and it's only the 5th! THE resolution is holding strong and The Boss didn't make any so he's ok too! All the animals are fine although we did lose the Old White Duck on New Year's Day. She was quite a feature of The Poultry Palace; considering she was a Cherry Valley Duck and only supposed to live for 7 weeks her 5 or 6 years was a pretty good innings (don't know why a cricket metaphor comes to mind just now...!) and she will be fondly remembered.

The Bestest Gundog in all The World and I have been out bush beating yesterday and today and, as I write, he is curled up by my feet trying to sleep. After any hunting day he finds it difficult to relax and unwind and today is no exception - he's constantly moving from one position to another trying to get comfortable but it just doesn't happen. Likely as not, once he does drop off to sleep he'll start dreaming of hunting and will be twitching and yipping; hopefully after that he'll finally relax and get a few hours of sleep.

This is one of our busier weeks with two consecutive days followed by a day off followed by another two consecutive days. Although the weather and terrain (not to mention the vagaries of the Keeper and the Guns) can make things challenging for we mortals, our canine companions have a far tougher time of it. We are only expected to walk. Spaniels in general, and The BGiatW in particular, do everything at breakneck speed: bashing through briar and brambles, struggling over/under/through every conceivable cover crop and woodland, charging up and down hill and - as today - plunging into freezing lakes - in order to flush and retrieve game. Goodness only knows how many miles they must cover, constantly following their instincts and training whilst contemporaneously paying attention to whistled commands. If they didn't love it, we'd never be able to make them do it!

The joy of working with and alongside an intelligent hunting dog is made all the more pleasurable by the unexpected results of his work. Some of the things we get to eat we would probably never otherwise have access to: for instance the game (comprising waterhen, woodcock, partridge and pheasant) and apple pie we had for dinner last night. It gives a whole new meaning to "locally sourced" and "home made" . If anyone had told me before Gunner arrived on the scene that I would one day think nothing of skinning and plucking and drawing I would have thought they were crazy! Now they would probably think I am!

But actually I think that maybe one of the best ways of thanking a working dog is to enjoy the fruits of his hunting..... so "Thank you Gunner and Pleasant Dreams........."