The forgotten?

Mrs Bitey and I walked Squirrelmetropolis, the local disused graveyard, again this morning. Well, I walked it. Mrs B was busy terrorising the local squirrel population and ferreting around in the bushes. The early morning walk is now, thanks to our posh aristo friend, a small window of peace and reflection before the chaos of the day takes over. It’s nice to be able to wander physically and within my mind without the distraction of Mrs B going MIA anxiety. Of course, the risk remains live, but it’s been two weeks now and quite a good routine seems to be bedding in. I of course type this with my fingers crossed in vain hope that I have not spoken too soon.

One thing that facinates me in a meloncholic manner are all the old grave stones, the marker points of the long gone. Many stones are cracked or broken, lettering worn smooth, one statue is decapitated, some graves retaken by nature to the point where little remains beyond random bits of stone encircled and entangled in brambles.

I often wonder who these people were. A handful of graves show some signs of care but largely they are long neglected and forgotten. One particularly poignant grave is one for a small boy, parents presumably long gone and all memories extinguished, leaving only a tiny tattered stone as memorial.

I acknowledge one deceased resident each day. I do not know his name as it is worn beyond recognition and only an esquire remains. However, I greet my unknown sleeper each day as his grave serves as my observation post while waiting for a panting, excited Mrs B to emerge.

Good advice

You’d think that after almost 20 years of working in psychiatry, I’d use the experience gained along the way to understand and get a grip of Mrs Bitey’s ways. I try to, and I know that logically that my reactions and responses willl shape hers, but when the powerful emotions of love and being protective come into play, all objectivity goes out of the window.

So sometimes the advice of a stranger pointing out the bloody obvious is embarassing, but it does stick.

Mid week I took Mrs B to Snobsville Common instead of the dogpark for a change. I prefer the common (although its not in the same league as Rodborough Common) as there’s more wild and open space and it’s a small haven of peace and green. However, as there is an overgrown graveyard sheltered in Squirrelmetropolis Wood bang in the middle of it, it is frequently a backdrop for a wild goose chase starring Mrs B as the Terminator and me as the exasperated owner. This is fine when we have time but not when we don’t and the unpredictability of Mrs B means that it is usually ruled out as a venue for pre work walks.

However, as I’d woken up early, we unexpectedly had a bit more time on our hands and so off we went.

Mrs B of course disappeared instantly in hot pursuit of a tree rat and was not seen again. As long as I can hear her, I can get a rough idea of where she is so don’t tend to worry too much these days, but that morning the silence was deafening. As time ticked on, I started to call her and found my voice getting louder, harsher and adopting that anxious ‘where the fuck are you?’ quaver.

At this point, I stumbled across a sturdy, ruddy cheeked no nonsense elderly aristocrat. She had the dress sense, accent and manner of the Two Fat Ladies whose TV cooking programme used to consist of a lot of roaring around on a motorbike and quaffing gin before tottering into the kitchen to rattle up a slap up dinner which always seemed to have a whole venison, a bucket of full fat cream and 3 slabs of butter as staple ingredients.

Old Aristo regarded me keenly for a second before barking “What critter have you lost then?”

I gave a brief description of Mrs B, i.e. Jack Russell, all white body, brown ears, naughty, running free range etc.

After pausing to haul her lovely pointer into the boot of a huge mud splattered estate car, she squared up “Oh yes, we crossed paths with that one a few times ! Not surprised you can’t get her back- Can’t do a damn thing with Jack Russells ! Adorable of course but exceedingly bally naughty. And infernally noisy. We normally collect one on our travels but not seen him this morning. Not that I’m sorry. I can’t bear all that bally barking. Noisy little beasts. How you put up with it I don’t know !”

I asked her where she’d last seen Mrs B and she vaguely waved her hand in the direction of Squirrelmetropolis “All over the bally place my dear ! She kept popping up then racing off again”. Seeing my face fall, she adopted a kinder tone, “Don’t worry. She’ll pitch up soon enough. He [gesturing at her pointer] was an absolute BEAST when I first had him! Couldn’t do a bally thing with him ! But then someone told me a trick that works and I’ve never looked back.”

She leaned forwards confidentially to explain that “The beasts get all bally excited with it all. When they hear you calling them, it just makes them even worse. They pick up on the stress in your voice and are even more beastly! You just need to sit down somewhere quietly where she can easily find you and wait. Don’t make a peep of sound! Bring a book. Just wait and they come looking for you eventually. While they can hear you, they know you’re still around. Go quiet and they’ll get rattled and come looking for you!”

I explained that although I tried to do this, it was hard as I worried Mrs B would get lost, get into a fight or run into the road after a squirrel. Old Aristo paused to chew on this then advised sagely “You can’t stop a beast from a fight or a hunt and the road will always be a problem but a squirrel won’t run that far, it’ll just go up a tree. Damn sight quicker and safer. Just sit tight on that wall there just off the path there and wait. She’ll come”

Bang on cue Mrs B appeared panting and grinning madly. I called her and proffered a treat while I hooked her onto the lead. Old Aristo beamed at me, winked broadly at Mrs B and walloped me on the back, “All ends well! Try the silent approach next time my dear” , before waving off my thanks and getting into her car with a loud tally ho to the pointer.

Today we went back there and I put this advice into practice. It worked.

Funnily enough I also saw Old Aristo as well. She greeted me jovially as I was loading Mrs B back into the car and I told her that I’d followed her advice successfully.

“Always does!” she replied with a wink and a twinkle of her eye, “Always bally does !”

The good samaritan

My faith in humanity has been roundly restored over the past couple of weeks by strangers. First there was the lovely couple who found Mrs B when she ran off (see lost and found post) and then last night a random phone call from a guy who’d found Mrs Bitey’s collar and harness after the most recent MIA episode (see AWOL post).

The unnamed good samaritan had found both items stuck on a barbed wire fence (Lord knows how Mrs B had wriggled her way out of them, I’d like to have seen it), took them home, washed them, found my number on the tag, rang me to check that Mrs B was ok and also to give me his address where both items were bagged up and hanging on the gate post for me to collect.

I’d not imagined that the collar or harness would ever be seen again so to get both back is great. Collars, tags and harnesses are not cheap and the ones that she lost were her ‘best’ ones.

Naturally, Mrs B is also over the moon as it means that there is an alternative option to the Halti. I’m letting her run with that mistaken idea for today only…

Lost and found

The joy of walkies hit a wall today.

Mrs Bitey ran off and I thought I’d lost her for good.

She disappeared off into a wood and just could not be found anywhere for ages. Whilst she has disappeared before, this had a whole different feel to it. I could hear her barking for a while and then there was silence. I didn’t know where to start looking, the landscape around me just became a huge dynamic maze. The possibilities of where she might be were endless. I acutely felt this huge wave of loss- I honestly did not think that I would find her again. The idea of this was devastating- she is one of the most important elements in my life and the idea of her been gone for good was just too awful to contemplate.

I have never been so glad to hear my mobile go- a very kind couple had found her some distance away and brought her back. She was scratched to bits and was covered in blood. Thankfully no serious damage was done but it was one of those moments when I felt so powerless, so unable to act or even know what to do. I hysterically rang my family who all pitched up to help. I was in such a state, it was unreal.

I have learnt from today and had a sharp wake up call. I must always remember that Mrs B is an animal with animal instincts. She is not a mini human despite her intuitive ways and obvious intelligence. It is really easy to forget this, especially given the prominance that she has in my life.

So it’s back to boundaries- and a long lead tomorrow. We both need to remember who’s boss.