Darkest Hour of the Dog

I could talk about chains of events. About the little things that placed me on a road at the right time to see a minor accident. About the emergency services. How we were the only car to stop. How I am not at my best in strange situations and I don't always like how I come across. but I shan't, at least not today. Today I want to tell a different story.

One of the many greyhounds that has lived out it's life in my parents house, there was one who i remember with a rueful smile. She had the unusual markings known as brindle, seen in some breeds of dogs, but not others. She was a beautiful rich chestnut brown with black stripes. There was only one possible name for her really.... Tiger...

She had belonged to someone and lived in their house but once she was unable to race and proved to be infertile, she was of no use and was passed on for rehoming. She had obviously been us for hunting and she would alert me to the presence of prey when we were out walking. Her loud hunting call, similar but the not the same as a howl, must have startled many people within hearing distance....

I have to say i like a wilder dog to act as a companion on walks (not as wild as my current to deviant dogs unfortunately). One of my parents greyhounds was so well behaved when out walking that it was like walking a piece of rope... Tiger was fun.

One day i set off with her on a nice walk. We set out across the field opposite. Unfortunately the crops were near to harvest and had fallen over the path. We battled on through, aiming to follow the path to a small ancient wood, well away from roads. It was hard going and we had made it maybe two thirds of the way across when her lead became entangled. I had to undo her lead in order o be able to untangle us.

Being slightly lower down than me, she could see between the stalks. If I hadn't been untangling her, I might have noticed an intent look on her face. There was no hunting howl, she has no need, she was already free to hunt as my hands fought the crops. And she was gone. I couldn't follow through the crops or even see which way she had gone. Greyhounds can cover a lot of ground....

I looked for her before returning home. I had no car so called a Vet friend for advice. They joined me to hunt for her and drove up to the farm owner to see if they had seen her. No sign. We kept looking and then we found her.

On one of the edges of the huge field there is a small scrubby wood with a field entrance by it. Inside the entrance there was a large pile of dung, specifically pig dung for the owners of this land were pig farmers. She was looking very pleased with herself. She had obviously caught and eaten her prey and then celebrated by a nice long roll... in the dung pile.

She was no longer a stripey dog but a vile smelling brown dog. My friends didn't want her in their car so we walked on home and they went their happy way.

I bathed her in the garden. I scrubbed her brown and sticky skin back to silky stripes. I shampoo'd her and rinsed her. Still the rank odour lingered. I bathed her again and shampoo'd and rinsed. No matter what I did, the smell lingered...

Despite all the bathing, she still looked pleased with herself. My parents had a good laugh at my expense on their return. I think they felt the bathing had been punishment enough for temporarily misplacing one of their dogs.... Some of her odour had not surprisingly transferred itself to me...