Woof
Another story, this time concerning my wonderful (and now sadly deceased from old age) dog, Mappy. She was a rescue dog, having been born on a narrowboat, the owner was intending to drown 5/7 of the litter because he simply didn't have the room for them on the boat. We got her at 6 weeks old, and found she had a lifelong love of scrambled eggs and weak tea, having been given them from time to time as a pup. She was lovely, affectionate and playful... but as thick as two short planks.

Or so we thought. Sometimes she displayed an animal cunning that was genius. Taking her for a walk along the riverside, she was old enough and well trained enough that she didn't need a leash unless near the road. She loved it, all the scents and other dogs we met occasionally on the walk. Sometimes she'd even jump in the river and go for a swim.

Now, this river was popular with fishermen. You couldn't catch anything big, just little guppy like runts, but it was a relaxing way to spend an afternoon. And we walked past several fishermen just chilling out.

One of them had just caught something. He reeled it in, a little tiddler as always, and was lowering it into his net (the ones you attach to the bank but in the river so you can count your catch and the end of the day). She padded up behind him, about a metre away.

And suddenly started barking. Loudly. The poor bloke jumped... toppled... and fell into the river, knocking his net away from the bank at the same time. It wasn't the bloke who owned the narrowboat... which is a shame, the irony factor would be off the scale.

My mother believes that she saw a squirrel or something, but I secretly think that she wanted to give something back to the river that she came from.

Good dog. Good dog.
(calamarain just invented dehydrated water, Fri 25 Apr 2008, 11:24, Reply)