Incoming rocket-powered kangaroo at 3 o’clock
We’re bumbling round the field yesterday,then, minding our own business (me avoiding the sheep poo and Bertie rootling and tootling about in the hedgerow) when suddenly all hell breaks loose. I can feel this weird thundering under my feet (oh yes, pink wellies are very sensitive to vibrations) and while I’m still looking around wondering what the hell it is, suddenly from under a bush comes three enormous hares, travelling at about Mach 3. Now I don’t know if you’ve ever seen a hare up close but they’re really surprisingly large. And don’t think ‘fluffy bunny’ either – when those yokes are barreling towards you like some furry spitfire, think more like small, slightly buck-toothed rocket-powered kangaroo.
Anyoo, these three bloody monsters shot, Linford Christie-like out from the undergrowth, practically knocking us both over, and pelted off down the hill. Well, Bertie stood absolutely still while it registered that three potentially tasty furry things had whooshed past him, before turning away from me and accelerating off after them like #2 on a sugar rush. I think in the split second it took me to register that I was attached to the other end of the lead was the exact moment that he got to the end of it. Stupidly, seeing as he could potentially transform me into a 45mph human kite, I held on with both hands. There was a moment of tension when I thought my arms were going to be pulled out of their sockets, and then wham, his collar tore and he was a furry beige blur in the distance. Ohhh shit.
Now yes, you’ve guessed it. With my track record at getting loose animals back, I’d started to panic before I’d even lost sight of him. We’d walked past the next door field stuffed with tasty spring lambs just a few seconds before – would he remember and double back? I picked myself up, felt both my arms, and relieved to find them still attached, started trudging in the general direction of the Bert-powered bullet, cheerily calling his name. I didn’t see any of the chase, or the end result, but knowing how crap Bert was when he was racing, I should imagine the hares ran a fair distance away, then turned back to blow raspberries, do little cartwheels, and generally rub his loser nose in it.
Just when I’d lost hope, I got to the bottom of the last field where the ramshackle old shed is and he was standing, huffing and puffing in the middle, holding one of his back feet up and whining like a girl. Phew. As I got closer he looked at me with that ‘ow, I’m dying’ look, reserved entirely for greyhounds, and thankfully allowed me to wind the lead around his neck in a makeshift collar. Well. He got no bloody sympathy from me. Especially after a quick shufty showed that one ruined and very expensive leather collar, a little nick under the paw, and a nasty scraped shin seemed to be the sum total of his injuries, and he’s got a bit of a cough, which I take it is a result of the collar pulling tight just before it snapped. He also got a rare old earbashing, which lasted all the way home.
Back at home, I was straight on Ebay to order a very, very thick new leather collar and a shorter lead. Bert stopped limping when he realised it was getting him nowhere and has taken to lying pathetically on the children, extracting every teeny little drop of sympathy they can muster. Bloody dog. Bloody hares. Bloody country living.
So, if Bert had nabbed one would we be seeing a recipe for game pie? They need to hang for a few days but they aren’t hard to skin.
Ah, I can picture you in that field! How funny!
Now go and comfort that poor maligned craethur, who was only trying to impress his Mummy.
LOLOL!
So glad you got Bert back
Thrifty: They’ve been looning around the fields since Feb! I was going to pop out and point out to them that it wasn’t March yet, but they were all too busy bonking. Ewww…they look a bit skinny. Greyhound pie anybody?
Isit: See above. Ew! xx
Jen: Humph. If it wasn’t for the fact that my arms are f*cking KILLING ME I would have strangled him. Poor craethur my arse.
K8: Thanks. Just shows you how much force is in those stringy greyhoundy muscles – straight through a leather collar with no problem at all. Lucky he’s a big fat lazy poo or he’d probably still be loose! x
Moon: Steady! I’ll tell him you said that. Anyway, thought you were on your honeymoon! San Fran pics were fab by the way x
June: Stoppit!! x
Susan: I’m probably the greyhound breed’s worst advocate – terrible stories of stolen biscuits, hogged sofas and broken leads…who’d have one eh?! And yes, copy all you want x