Who knew the car was orange?

A third letter home from Shackleton

Dear my-humans

Time has passed quickly here, and I am very excited that I will be coming home at the weekend.  I've had lots of fun, but miss you and Luna.

The big news is that I had a bit of an accident on the moor and managed to cut my pad on who-knows-what while rushing about. However, I don't think it was too much of a problem for the Beards as they said it was typical that accidents occur outside of normal veterinary hours ("bloody typical" in fact, but I assumed that was because of all of the blood). I was very brave, and we rushed over to Bideford for the out-of-hours service with Badgerbeard holding my wound closed in the back, while Gingerbeard drove carefully so as not to make us sick. The nurse and vet were very nice to me, and I had to have sedation, stitches and antibibliotecs, which is why I haven't been near a library all week (sorry, Badgerbeard made me put in that joke, and is currently laughing all on his own somewhere).  I've had to have my foot wrapped every day, and can only go out with a plastic boot - we now have a posh one, but here is a photo of me with the make-shift version at the start - as you can see, I'm still a very happy chappy.

We've been to the vets several times for check-ups, and the receptionist gave me a treat! She also said she was sorry that Badgerbeard was back in again after last year, but he was quite upbeat and told her that with four young collies in the house, over a two month period the law of averages meant we were bound to make some kind of visit, and that he was simply going to get his wages paid into their account directly. She laughed, but probably doesn't know he is currently not working so there are no wages. However, all will be fine apparently as I have something called insurance - otherwise I would have had to work down the mines for a month to cover the costs.

Life on the farm carries on, and the sheep have been brought down from the field next to the moor. Some have already been shut in ready for lambing, which seems to be a hot topic of conversation down here...although I find the sheep a bit boring.  They either walk around eating grass, or sit down chewing grass. They also have a complicated set of marks on their wool, which Gingerbeard seems to be able to translate.  Badgerbeard has not yet learnt that foreign language, and often grumbles about it. Personally, I think it might be more useful than Italian in the short-term, but I keep quiet.

Ned has been working hard while we play about, and I have yet to find a photograph where he is not perched on the love of his life, the quad.

So that's it for the moment. See you at the weekend.  I hope you have brought home a candied albatross for me - they do look rather tasty.

Much love
Your Shackie
xxxx

The Swede Carol

(in memory of Annie, Angus and Jamie, and barked by the Blacktail Gang to the tune of Hark The Herald Angels...ish)

In six-acres swedes we found,
Nestled snuggly in the ground.
What a lovely tasty snack,
For Neddy, Harry, Scout and Shack.
Humans eat it cooked and mashed,
We dogs like our swedes unbashed...
...crisp and crunchy, no nutmeg
For swedie we'll sit and beg.
Raw swede each on Christmas Day,
Nothing more we need to say.

(if anyone knows the other lost verses, including the one about sprouts, please feel free to add to the comment)

A second letter home from Shackleton

Dear my-humans

I promised another update from Camp, so I have engineered some time at the computer and am carefully poking my way around the keyboard.  Thank goodness for the spell-checker, which covers a multitude of awkward paw-toe mistakes.

It’s been all fun here, and we’ve invented so many new indoor games while Noah’s deluge carries on outside.  My favourite is Battleground Sofa, which involves charging round the living room, using the mats as skid-boards, and seeing who can launch themselves highest and fastest onto the furniture – Harry is our current champion, and even managed to grab a mouthful of the ornamental ivy as he flew past!  My second favourite is Recycle Bin Forage, but the proxy-humans have cottoned on to that ruse and now empty it daily – spoilsports. I quite like Water Dribble too, where we take a long, long drink and see how far we can dribble it across the room.

Apparently, I am the Ring Leader for the Log Liberation Front, or at least that is what Badgerbeard calls me. We wait patiently until attention is elsewhere, then sneak out a piece of kindling or, if we are feeling particularly bold, a whole log … and then either hide it under the Battleground Sofa or surreptitiously strip the bark and chew the wood. When caught, we are full-dog-named, which means we have done something naughty – I get the whole Shackleton, while poor Harry is shamed with a complete Harold P. Eddison, and believe me, you can hear that full stop.

There was even more excitement the last couple of days when Millie and Jasper visited.  We had been told that The Squidgies were coming, but I was not sure what a Squidgy was.  Turns out it’s a slightly overweight Jack Russell (of sorts), and after our initial caution, there was much haring around, noise and drama. They did seem to get a lot of privileges that were not afforded to the rest of us, such as sleeping on the bed – most unfair.

We also have a sworn enemy now.  The Devil Vacuum Cleaner crawls out from the pantry and roams around as if he owns the place. For our safety we are shut away in the Utilitarium, but help out by barking with gusto to try and scare it back to whence it came.  I have to say that Badgerbeard is our hero – he fights it with strength and resilience, swearing only occasionally. Gingerbeard must be afraid of it like us dogs, as he never goes near the monster.

And most shocking, we found out that there is now a cat – yes a CAT! – in the sheds (and the humans knew it was there all along!)  Gingerbeard has the audacity to feed it, and while it’ll never be a pet, it seems pretty at home on the straw…a prime rat-spotting hideout. Our noses are seriously out of joint, especially as it seems to have a name too, the rather silly Alexander Pusskin.

As I sit typing, I do have to say that social media does not have sufficient barkicons to cover the full range of dog emotions – it’s very species-ist and discriminates against hound-kind. I would love to sprinkle my missives with barking-at-the-cattle, gazing-wistfully-at-cake and the very useful face-that-looks-like-I-farted-in-church-on-a-wooden-pew-and-everyone-is-staring-at-me-now.

Just so you don’t think it’s all play, the humans have been doing some work, including putting in new fence-posts.

Love, as always

Your Shack

PS – I received yet another award!  “Collie most likely to bark at random noises” (especially the mouse that lives under the back step and who cavorts around in the dark taunting us).  I also had a bit of a ballyhoo with Scout over spilled bird food (why, we have no idea), and in my defense she started it.  However, as you can see here, we are still friends.

A letter home from Shackleton

Dear my-humans

I promised that I would write from Winter Camp after a few days, once I had settled in, and I have found some time between shenanigans to put paw to paper. It’s been a bit of a whirlwind since you dropped me off, so I haven’t suffered from homesickness yet…there are just too many bins to investigate, logs to chew and bark-choir practices to attend, not to mention pulling all of the wrapping paper and cards out from under the bed where they are clearly gathering dust – Christmas is just around the corner and they won’t write themselves.

My proxy-humans are very nice, especially Badgerbeard who takes me for long adventures in the fields, where I have discovered the culinary delights of poop in its many guises – rabbit, sheep, cow and probably, from the slightly bitter aftertaste, pheasant. Our morning routine is to go out in the rain and check the perimeters of 7-acres, 4-acres and 8-acres to ensure no incursions, and if all is well and all sneaky crows are repelled, we are allowed to run riot. Neddy and I do lots of charging about, while Scout is a bit standoffish (although we are bonding slowly since Badgerbeard had the foresight to take just us two out for our very own romp). But Harry is my favourite as we fight and hurl each other about, unfortunately sometimes without due care and attention. I must look up “arse over tit” when I can, although I did understand some of the other expletives.

It was even more exciting yesterday because there was a huge monster in the field, which we all barked at and made a huge fuss to try and scare it off.  On closer inspection it was a silage feeder, and after we had a sniff and Harry gave it a bite and ran off with a mouthful of grass, we decided that hackles could be lowered and the world was safe again.

When we get back to the house, we are all told to sit while the big gate is closed, and then can run down the drive to stare at the cattle over the fence.  Barking is not encouraged, but on the rare occasion excitement bubbles out they just ignore us.

The other morning, I learnt something new about myself.  It was an early start in the dark, and Badgerbeard had on a head-torch (Gingerbeard is usually busy doing stuff in the big sheds – I have no idea what, but it sounds noisy down there, and a bit scary). The eyes of the other three in the torchlight shone white, but Neddy tells me that one of mine shines orange and the other not at all!  I was a little worried that I had turned into a zombie, but given that I have no overwhelming desire to eat brains (no more than usual anyway), I think I’m ok.

Inside there are plenty of things to investigate too.  I am particularly fascinated by the two big white cupboards – one is cold and holds interesting food, like chilli, but I was not fast enough to get in before the door closed.  The other is clearly a plate storage facility where dogs help lick things to clean them.  I don’t really know why they then wash them again as they are perfectly spotless, but humans are strange (and try to keep us out, but we are a wily bunch).

We also have a wonderful place called the Utilitarium, which is human-speak for dog paradise.  We can be as dirty as we like, and I hear tales of how at one time there was a whole floor of lino that was put in place just so Ned could pull it up and tear it to pieces. I do hope that they put some more down – what fun that would be! There are comfy beds, and tonight I will move in there with my new friends.  I was sleeping outside the bedroom door to make sure that the proxy-humans were not surprised by the zombie apocalypse, but I think I have graduated to full pack status now and can be trusted to pull up lino with the best of them.

There are lots of things to look forwards to, not least of which is seeing you again in January.  But in between, I hear we may visit the big beach and there will definitely be presents to unwrap at Christmas.

Love to you both and maluhia hele

Shack

xxx

PS – I have already won an award and I’ve only been here a few days!  Badgerbeard said I am the fartiest dog this side of the Atlantic – how cool is that?

Everyone’s a critic (06:51 from Tiverton, reprise)

I find myself once again on the early train to Paddington, gazing out of the window as other people’s land flies by. Farmers spend an awful lot of their time checking out what their neighbours are up to … are their sheep doing better than mine? Have they got their silage in yet? How many bales did they make this year? I am no different, mentally critiquing as we rush along.

Not impressed with that hedge-laying, more like hedge-murdering.

Wow, nice house of bales for those lucky red piggies; very practical and easy to dispose of at the end of the season, but not cheap with the daft price of straw these days.

That chap’s sheep aren’t going to stay in his field for much longer if he doesn’t sort out that fence.  

Those rams have been busy, all of the ewes have got red bums.

Wiltshire parkland is stunning; the cows look very happy under the enormous trees.

Won’t be much grass left soon if someone doesn’t move along that herd of deer.

Winter wheat shoots already flushing green in that field!  

Bloody hell, that swan almost flew into the window - forgot how big they are close up.

The autumn colours are amazing - yellow larches and poplars, purple reeds, chocolate soil, henna bracken, and more hips than you could shake a stick at.

Horses really do make a landscape more beautiful; Alice Walker was right.

Llamas - why?

And just outside Pewsey, a fat sheep dead on her back with all four legs in the air - a tad embarrassing.